Saving Nathaniel

by Jillian Brookes-Ward

  The two women returned and the couples paired off. The drinks continued to flow freely. McNeil and Elaine were soon engaged in each other, and Irana, taking her cue from her friend, cosied up to Nat.

  'Is Nat short for something?' she purred with an accent he couldn't quite place.

  'Nathaniel,' he said.

  'That's a lovely name, it sounds so…biblical.'

  'I believe it is. It means something like 'gift of God'.'

  She took a delicate sip from her glass. 'And is that what you are, Nathaniel, God's gift?'

  'I've never had any complaints.'

  She giggled coyly and put her hand on his knee. 'Phil told me you would be quite the charmer.'

  'Did he now? What else did he say?'

  'Not much. He told me you were handsome and pleasant and he also said he thought you might be a little lonely and in need of cheering up.'

  'Really?'

  'And he also said you don't live too far from here and you haven't had any company for a while. Might we keep each other company?'

  Nat took a mouthful of his drink. 'Phil has had a lot to say for not saying much.' he said.

  She sipped from the glass again. 'Don't you think it's a bit noisy in here? I can hardly hear myself speak. It's hot too. Do you think we might be more comfortable somewhere else?'

  'Where did you have in mind?'

  'How about your place?'

  The drink may have had an influence on his decision making, because he suddenly thought getting out of the stuffy, crowded bar might not be such a bad idea.

  McNeil was far too occupied with poking his tongue into Elaine's cleavage to give his friend's departure anything more than a cursory wave.

  Nat struggled to put one foot in front of the other as he weaved his drunken way to his car. Irana, clinging to his jacket sleeve, tottered along behind him in her heels. If he had any inkling how far over the legal alcohol limit he was or that he was almost physically incapable of driving, he didn't care. More by good luck than good management, he managed to get both himself and Irana to Struan Lodge without incident.

  There was no real conversation on the journey, that would have required some degree of cognitive thought and reasoning, and Nat at the time, possessed neither. Irana had her hand on his leg the whole time and was stroking it provocatively, slowly inching her way toward his crotch.

  They were on each other before they were properly through the door; kissing and pawing each other hungrily. A trail of cast off clothes led through the hall and up the stairs and into the first bedroom they reached; the front guest room.

  They tore at the remainder of each other's clothing until they were both naked. He took a firm hold of her, pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. He then lifted and dropped her none too gently onto the bed, falling on top of her.

  After next to no foreplay, the sex they indulged in was animal-like in its urgency. Devoid of any desire or passion or emotion, it was a drunken, empty act designed to satisfy purely physical need. Although both climaxed there was no sense of fulfillment or satisfaction for either. Within half an hour, it was all over. They separated and lay on their backs on the bed.

  Irana fell into post coital sleep while Nat lay staring at the ceiling. The whole room seemed to be moving and he felt nausea reminiscent of seasickness. Too much drink, the woman's heavy perfume and the exertion of the sex act had all served to turn his stomach. Stumbling into the bathroom, stubbing his toe on the bed leg on the way, he fell to his knees and vomited copiously into the toilet bowl. For a good while he clutched at the cold white porcelain, retching violently, ribbons of spittle hanging from his chin.

  As he waited for the queasiness to subside, he suddenly felt very tired indeed. He folded his arms over the bowl, rested his head on them and fell asleep.

  Irana, hardly disturbed by his noisome misery, stirred on the bed and turned over.

  Chapter 11

  Megan swept in through the back door, accompanied by a flurry of snowflakes and a frigid draught. She closed out the wintry weather and stamped her boots on the stiff coir mat to shift the snow that had gathered in their treads.

  'Sorry I'm late,' she said. 'But this snow caught me a bit...'

  Too late, Nat tried to block her view into the room, but she had already seen. 'Unawares...' she finished.

  'Megan!' He seemed surprised to see her. 'I...um, thought you weren't coming in today.'

  'You know it'll take more than a bit of snow to keep me from my duties, Mr Mackie,' she said formally, looking past him to the reason for her propriety, sitting at the head of the table, dressed in his bathrobe and sipping tea from one of the china cups kept for best.

  Megan, sensibly she thought, had dressed appropriately for the weather in corduroy trousers and a thick, padded anorak zipped up to her throat. She had rammed a bright yellow bobble hat on her head and pulled it down over her ears. Her feet were encased in heavy waterproof boots, and her nose glowed a fierce red where the cold had nipped at it. Compared to the woman whose understated elegance could not be concealed even by Nat's shapeless bathrobe, she felt positively dowdy. Her instantaneous assessment of the woman also left her with twinge of envy.

  She was of average height, although skinny with it. Her face had a fine structure, with a neat, straight nose and full lips. A disheveled mass of bottle blonde curls crowned her head, the dark roots plainly visible and in need of a touch-up, and her thin ring decorated fingers, curled around the teacup, ended in long scarlet talons. Under Megan's scrutiny, she shifted in her seat and Megan made out the outline of breasts which seemed, to her, suspiciously pert for a woman whom she estimated to be somewhere around her own age.

  Her eyes darted back to Nat, silently challenging him for an explanation. He swallowed his unease.

  'Erm…this is Irana,' he said, introducing the woman. 'She's an…um, acquaintance. Irana this is Megan, my general factotum.'

  The two women regarded each other with a palpable coolness.

  'Good morning, ma'am,' said Megan, stiffly. Irana, holding herself erect in her seat, her chin tilted upward, merely nodded a haughty acknowledgement. Both women simultaneously turned their attention on Nat who, feeling tension building between them, looked edgy and ran his fingers through his hair, making an unsuccessful attempt at tidying himself up.

  He looked as if he had dressed in a hurry that morning. His shirt was crumpled and he was unshaven, and had dark shadows under his eyes. He blinked a lot and frowned as if the bright light in the kitchen hurt his eyes, signs Megan had seen often enough before to know them for what they were...he had a stinking hangover.

  He sidled round the table to Irana and put his hand on her shoulder. 'It's time I took you home,' he said. 'Megan has work to do and we don't want to be in her way. Besides, I don't like the look of this weather. It might worse before it gets better.'

  Irana nodded and got to her feet, and Nat, giving Megan a guilty glance over his shoulder, escorted her from the room and upstairs.

  What a cow! Megan thought, pulling a face of revulsion as she unzipped herself from her coat and tugged off her boots.

  She poured a cup of tea from the still hot teapot and sipped at it as she planned her chores for the day, all the while listening intently for any sounds from beyond the kitchen door. Hearing nothing significant, she gave up and turned on the radio.

  After about twenty minutes, she heard the front door slam. A few moments later, Nat's car started up and drove away. He had ushered Irana through the little used front entrance in order to deliberately avoid her.

  Megan's first duty any day was to make up Nat's bed, and change the towels in his en suite; a prime example of his fussiness - he liked fresh linen each and every day.

  On entering his bedroom, she discovered his bed had not been slept in. A quick room by room search determined, however, that the one in the front guest room, had.

  Its blue cotton sheet was roughly separated from the mattress and lying in a creased heap in the middle of the
bed. The white stains on it told their own undeniable story.

  The pillowcases were smeared with makeup and lipstick, and the whole room reeked of a cloying, cheap perfume. The bathroom didn't smell too fresh either. The toilet seat was up, and the sour odour of stale alcohol and vomit hung in the air.

  Despite the deep chill outside, Megan threw open the window to rid the room of the bad air. She gathered up the soiled sheet and pillowcases and pushed them deep into the laundry hamper.

  After handling them, she felt a very urgent need to wash her hands.

  'Oh, Nat, what have you done? You silly, silly man?'

  'Where shall I drop you?'

  It was the first time Nat and Irana had spoken since leaving the house. She gave him an address in town. When he pulled up outside the indicated green door, she turned to him. 'Thank you for a pleasant time. Nathaniel.'

  Nat sniffed. 'Aye,' he muttered.

  'Shall I see you again, soon perhaps?'

  He gave her a false, insincere smile and shook his head. 'Thanks, but I don't think so, sorry.' He took his wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket and opened it. 'It was fun while it lasted. Another time, maybe, but not yet.'

  She looked at the open wallet, and then at him. Before he could react, she dealt him a full open-handed slap across the side of his face. 'You bastard,' she yelled. 'I am not a whore.'

  Rocked back in his seat by the blow, his skin burned where her hand had connected, the sting making his eyes water. 'I never said you were,' he protested. He had intended to offer her one of his cards, as a courtesy, but before he could, she had already let herself out of the car and was marching towards the green door. He waited as she let herself in and slammed the door behind her, before reaching across the passenger seat to pull the door closed.

  'Bloody women. Who needs 'em?' he muttered, examining his face in the rear view mirror. He rubbed the sore spot on his face; it had been quite a belt and the skin would no doubt colour.

  He took his time returning to Struan after dropping off his guest. He sat outside in the car for a few moments, contemplating the hand shaped print on his face. He had imagined it developing like a Polaroid print, but it was nowhere near as bad as he expected. If he was lucky, Megan might not even notice.

  Ah, crap, Megan.

  The look of abject horror on her face when she clapped her eyes on his be-robed guest brought on him an uncommon stab of guilt. He had put her in an awkward position and no doubt embarrassed her, and that wasn't in her job description. If he got in first with an explanation, he might be able to forestall her questioning him.

  He let himself into the kitchen. She wasn't there. He drew himself a glass of water, took a large draught from it, and went in search of her. He found her in the laundry, sitting on a low stool with her legs crossed over, sewing a button onto one of his shirts. She was concentrating hard, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips.

  He knocked sharply on the doorjamb, attracting her attention. She looked up and flashed him a brief smile of acknowledgement, albeit not a particularly welcoming one. He leaned against the doorframe and took a sip from the glass of water. 'You really don't need to do that,' he said. 'I usually just buy a new shirt.'

  'Just because you have money doesn't mean you have to waste it,' she said, and carried on sewing.

  He sniffed and cleared his throat. It felt dry and scratchy. 'I, erm, feel like I owe you an explanation for this morning, for...whatshername...Irene.'

  'Irana,' she said, not looking up.

  'What?'

  'Her name was Irana.'

  'Was it? Hmm. You might be right.'

  'And you don't need to say anything about her because I don't want to know.What you do in your own home is your business, and absolutely nothing to do with me.'

  'Well I want to tell you anyway.'

  She sighed unenthusiastically. 'Okay, if you must.'

  He took another gulp of water to wet his dry throat and began. 'I went out last night with a mate, Phil McNeil. We've been friends for ever, but I hadn't seen him for ages. She was a friend of a friend of his and he introduced us. We got to chatting and had quite a bit to drink…and coming here for some peace and quiet seemed like a good idea at the time. I'm not sure, but I think it was her idea. Anyway one thing led to another and...well, in a nutshell, there you have it.' He sipped at the water again. 'I didn't know her from Adam and I won't be seeing her again.' He rubbed his face where Irana had slapped him.

  Megan, who had listened to the whole tale in silence, snipped the end of the thread and folded the shirt into her lap. She looked directly at him, sighed and shrugged. 'Why are you telling me this?'

  He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, feeling the beginnings of an unpleasant headache. 'I don't know,' he said. 'I just thought you ought to know.'

  'And what is it you want me to say?'

  'I don't know.'

  'How about, 'It's okay, you made a silly mistake and it might be for the best if you didn't do it again'?'

  He smiled dryly. 'That might do for a start.'

  She got to her feet and stood in front of him. Still clutching the shirt, she looked up at him with an expression he couldn't quite determine and his inner voice warned him he wasn't going to like what she had to say. He had already learned to his cost how ruthless her tongue could be when she had a mind to use it.

  She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. 'Let me get the story straight in my head,' she said. 'You picked up a strange woman in a bar and she persuaded you to drive her here, in the middle of the coldest night of the year, on a pitch black icy road, whilst you were off your head with drink.'

  A statement of the facts or a question? He wasn't sure. He pursed his lips. 'Aye, I suppose I did.'

  'Did you have any idea of the risks you were taking? That road is lethal at the best of times. You could have been killed! Worse than that, you could have killed some other poor innocent bugger!'

  'But I didn't.'

  'Only because you must have some kind of guardian angel who does night duty. And what about the other danger?'

  'What other?'

  'With her! The woman! Jesus Christ, Nat, she might have cut your throat in your sleep. She could have stolen your wallet and ransacked the place.'

  'Now you're being ridiculous!'

  'Am I? These things happen. Read the papers!'

  'Not in a backwoods place like this they don't.'

  'And you were lucky you weren't caught by the cops. If you had, you would have lost your licence for sure. You might even have gone to prison…and then where would you be?'

  'In prison.'

  His flippancy only served to inflame her further. 'Don't get smart with me, matey! This has to be, by far, the most incredibly idiotic thing you've done…as far as I know, although I have no doubt you can put me right on that score?'

  'No…no, you might well be right. I'm sor…'

  She jabbed the air in front of his face with her forefinger. 'Don't even say it, Nat. Do not! You're not sorry, not at all! You didn't consider the consequences for a second, did you? You'd have no licence, no job, no money, no house - you could have lost everything all for the sake of a quick drunken grope!'

  He shook his now throbbing head and scowled at her. 'I should have known better than to say anything to you. I should have known you would react like this; blowing it up out of all proportion.'

  'Well, excuse me, but I told you not to say anything. You insisted on confessing it all to me because you thought it would make it go away and you could forget about it...'

  'I did not...'

  'And don't forget, you are the one who put yourself and others in danger. How else do you expect me to react? Do you want me to just ignore it and pretend it never happened?

  'Maybe I do.'

  'Well, I won't.'

  'That much is for damned sure.'

  She cocked her head to one side, ignoring his acrimony. 'Was it worth it?' she asked.

  'Was what wort
h what?'

  'The sex? Was she any good? More to the point, were you?'

  Nat felt himself redden at her brazen audacity. 'Um...I don't really know, I can't really remember. It's all a bit of a haze.'

  'And I don't suppose you used anything,' she said, knowing full well he hadn't. He gave her a blank look. 'Did you use protection? A condom?'

  He flustered like an embarrassed teenager. 'Er...no…no, I didn't.' He took a long drink from the glass.

  'Let's hope you didn't get her pregnant then.' Her tone softened and she looked at him with earnest concern. 'It's not worth the risk, Nat. There's a better way to go about it.'

  'About what?'

  'Finding a decent woman to have a relationship with, to settle down with and have a family with. Picking them up in bars and having casual sex is not the way.'

  His face clouded with irritation at her presumption. 'That's not what I was doing,' he said with a scowl. 'I didn't set out to end up with her, but I did. I'm sorry she wasn't up to your impeccably high standards. It was a mistake, okay? I won't be seeing her again, but it wouldn't be any of your business whether I did or not. Would it?' He rolled away from the door and stormed into the kitchen.

  At least I do have standards, she thought to his retreating back.

  She stayed in the laundry. There was more work to do. She took the bed linen from the washer and put it in the dryer. A few minutes later, a contrite looking Nat reappeared in the doorway.

  'I'm sorry, Meg. I've done it again, haven't I, blowing up at you for no good reason?'

  'Yes, you have.'

  'I know you only ever have my best interests at heart and I appreciate it, I really do. But believe me, I had no interest in the woman apart from…' He hesitated. '…apart from the sex, and even that was a spur of the moment thing.'

  'And I just can't seem to help but interfere,' she said.

  He dropped down onto the stool and sipped at the water. 'Aye, it's a bad habit you're cultivating there. You might want to nip it in the bud before it gets out of hand.'

  She leaned against the dryer, feeling it vibrate against her back. 'What a pair we make.' She looked down at her feet. 'I know you think it's too late for you, Nat,' she said, 'and that you think you're too old to find someone again, but the truth is, you're never too old and there is someone out there for you. Someone who's good and decent, who'll love you back and give you what you need. You just have to get out to the right places and find her, not try and pick her up in some dubious hangout. A good-looking chap like yourself should have no trouble, they'll come to you like flies round a jam jar.'