Saving Nathaniel

by Jillian Brookes-Ward

  He took hold of her arms at the elbow, his fingers digging into her flesh. 'I'll never hurt you, Meg, never. I'll look after you.'

  She looked down at his hand on her arm. 'You're hurting me now, Nat.'

  'I…I'm sorry.' He unclamped his fingers and let his hands flit a bare inch away from her.

  She rubbed at her elbow. 'How can you look after me, Nat when you can't look after yourself?'

  'I can…I can do it,' he said. 'Losing Joanna almost destroyed me, but since I met you I've got stronger, much stronger.'

  'But not strong enough, Nat, and that's why I can't marry you.'

  He shook his head forlornly and dropped his chin onto his chest. 'I don't understand.'

  She lifted his head up so he could look into her face. 'If I marry you, how we are will change. Everything I do for you now, I'm doing out of love and because it's my choice. If I become your wife, then it becomes an obligation, something I have to do rather than want to do, and I don't want to be obligated to anyone, not even you. I love you, Nat and I'll happily live with you, if you'll have me. I'll take care of you, I'll be your lover, I'll even wash your socks, but I'll only do on my terms, for as long as I want to. I will not be forced to do it. And that's what marriage will do; it will tie me to you and it will take away my freedom to choose.'

  Nat looked horrified. 'No, it won't…you…you can do whatever you like. Go where you like. See who you want. I won't stop you.'

  'It's not enough, Nat.'

  'I can give you anything you want…a house, money…anything!'

  'I don't want them…'

  'What then, what can I give you that will persuade you marry me?'

  'Nothing. I don't take bribes. You can't make me do anything and you can't buy me and don't insult me by trying.'

  'But, I love you, Meg.'

  She closed her eyes to shut out the vision of Nat's desperate, pleading face and put her hand to her brow, massaging the skin hard with her fingertips. Her thoughts muddled and her words turned harsh. 'Nat, please, stop it! Didn't you hear anything I just said?'

  He nodded sadly. 'I heard you.'

  'Then why can't you understand?'

  'I do,' he said. She thought he did, until he said, 'But you will at least think about it won't you?'

  Her retort was a sharp, 'No! Enough!' She suddenly felt very claustrophobic as the room closed in on her, stifling her. Pale and shaky, she took a step back from him, to increase the gap between them.

  'What's wrong, Meg. Are you sick?

  He stood and made to approach her. She held up her hands, palms out, to ward off his advance. 'I can't deal with this right now,' she said. 'I need some air. I need to go away for a while.''

  Nat took a strong hold of both her hands. He had already worked himself into a state of anxiety, breathing fast. 'Don't…' he begged. 'You can't go now. Please, let's talk about it some more.'

  She shook off his clutch and began to walk away. 'There's nothing more to say. Let me go…leave me alone. I need time to clear my head.'

  He followed her as far as the doorway. 'You'll come back, won't you, when you've had a think?' She kept walking. 'Megan?'

  'Just give me some space, Nat…please,' she called back as she crossed the hall and vanished from his sight into the kitchen. Seconds later, he heard the back door slam.

  He watched from the study window as her small blue car disappeared down the driveway and out onto the road. 'She'll come back. Give her a few minutes…she'll come back.'

  He threw himself heavily into the old armchair…and waited.

  Chapter 36

  She marched through the kitchen and out through the rear door, slamming it behind her. Once outside she ran to her safety of her car and locked herself in, feeling dizzy and trembling. To her relief, Nat had not followed her out to try to persuade her to return. She knew, though, he would be watching from the study window as she drove away and she could well imagine the look of distress on his face as he did.

  He was an emotional man, too emotional at times, and emotions were persuasive to her. If she had stayed a moment longer, his anguish would have been too much for her to bear and she may have surrendered to him, and then lived to regret a reckless decision. She needed to put some space between them; to get away and think.

  She left Struan Lodge having no idea where she was going. After driving aimlessly for over half an hour, she found herself at the picnic site where she and Nat had declared their love for each other. Had it only been two days since she were last here? It seemed like a lifetime ago, so much had happened - coming to the lodge to meet Nat, making plans for the future, making love - twice, her fight with Rebecca, his marriage proposal….too much had happened, and all far too quickly.

  She turned off the engine and leaned back against the headrest staring at the roof. She closed her eyes and let out a long, deep sigh and gradually she stopped shaking.

  Her mind began to stir and the magnitude of what she had done engulfed her. Nat's proposal had caught her completely off guard and she had been astounded by it. Her rejection, with one little word, of both man and deed may have destroyed everything between them…destroyed him.

  She sat up and catching sight of herself in the rear view mirror, looked directly into her own eyes.

  'You callous, selfish bitch,' she addressed the reflection. 'How could you do it? That darling, beautiful man loves you…he wants to marry you and you stamped all over him. You didn't give a single thought to his feelings, did you? You only tried to save your own skin.'

  She crossed her arms on the steering wheel and rested her head on them. 'Oh dear God, what have I done?'

  'You've made a mistake, is what you've done, lass. You panicked and you ran away.'

  Megan turned her head toward the origin of the familiar Northern accent. In the passenger seat, as solid as herself and engaged in her ever present knitting, sat her long dead mother. She understood the woman to be just a figment of her own fevered conscience, but welcomed the presence nevertheless.

  'Hello, Mam,' she said. 'How come you always know when I need you?'

  'You're my daughter, it's my job.'

  Megan sighed deeply. 'I've done a terrible thing, Mam.'

  'What's that, love?'

  'I've turned down a wonderful man's proposal of marriage and I've ruined everything. I don't know what to do.'

  'Aye, you're right. That was a rum and hasty thing to do. I suppose now ye'll want me to tell you why ye turned him down? The real reason, not the poppycock you spouted to him.'

  'I hoped you might.'

  She came to the end of her row of knitting and counted the stitches. 'You turned him down because you're scared. You're afraid yon man'll become too clamped on ye and ye'll lose your own sen.'

  Megan nodded. 'I did accused him of being weak and needy. It can be a bit overwhelming at times.'

  The knitting needles clacked rhythmically. 'So what if he needs looking after, what's wrong with that? Everybody does sometime.'

  'But Nat needs so much, Mam.'

  'Ye're also scared you'll become an extension of him without a life of your own. Am I right?'

  'True. I could end up using up so much of myself supporting him, there would be nothing left of myself.'

  'Ye're strong enough to make sure that doesn't happen, lass. Once he realises ye're there for him when he needs you, he'll soon get back onto his ain two feet.'

  'I promised I would never leave him and that I would always take care of him…now I've done just that, I've walked out on him.'

  'It's not far back, and there's still time and ye know he'll welcome ye with open arms.'

  'I doubt it. I've really hurt him this time.'

  Mother sighed and lay her knitting in her lap. 'Look at the bigger picture, Meggie. Ye've had a bad time before wi' yon bastard Evan, but this one's not Evan, he's a whole different kettle o' fish. Give him the chance he deserves.'

  Megan smiled. 'Chalk and cheese Mam.'

  Her mother chuckled. 'A
ye, they are. Evan was scum; he didn't deserve the air he breathed, but this 'un, he deserves to be happy.'

  'Yes, he does, Mam. If anyone does, it's Nat.'

  'And will marrying you make him happy?'

  'I know it will…and I so much want him to be happy.' She twisted her silver ring

  'Will it make you happy?'

  'I honestly don't know.'

  'Well consider this, my girl. Ye'll not find better at ye're time of life, and neither will he. He's got his faults by the cartload, there's no doubt about that, but that's who he is and that's why you love him. You do love 'im, don't you, lass?'

  'Yes…oh, yes. Completely.'

  'Then get back there and tell 'im. Tell 'im you'll wed 'im. Ye'll have nowt to lose and a lot to gain. Make him happy…make ye sen happy. Ye both deserve it.'

  Megan glanced at herself in the mirror again and saw that, without realising it, she had been crying. She wiped her eyes with a tissue from her pocket. She glanced over to the other seat, but the apparition of her mother had vanished and she was alone again in the car. 'Thanks, Mam.'

  She got out of the car and walked around the picnic area, stretching her legs and taking some fresh air. She sat at the picnic bench and gazed out over the river, allowing the gentle undulations of the water to aid her thinking. When she finally decided what she had to do, she got back into the car.

  She took a couple of deep breaths and checked herself in the mirror one more time before starting up the car to began her journey back to Struan Lodge.

  At the junction with the main road, with the sun dazzling her eyes and her mind distracted with how she might apologise to Nat, she didn't notice the approach of a large, black car.

  She pulled out…

  A squeal of brakes, a crunch of metal and the sound of breaking glass...and the airbag came up to meet her.

  Chapter 37

  Nat waited…

  The first hour passed quickly, and he was not too concerned, but with a chime of the clock, it had progressed to two hours. A seed of restlessness began to germinate within him and each passing minute of Megan's absence fed and watered it. The seed swelled, split and began to grow.

  He rooted in the chair for the remote control, switched on the TV and flicked through all the channels, giving each one no more than a cursory glance. Seeing nothing of interest, he turned it off again. He remained in the easy chair gazing out the window at the oak tree in the garden, watching the crows pecking at the remainder of last year's acorns. All the while his fingers drummed on the chair arms.

  Suddenly unable to sit still, he leapt to his feet and began steadily walking the space between the chair and the door. He went to the window and stood looking for her car. If he strained his neck he could see right down the curve of the driveway to the main gates; no car came through them.

  It may have been his imagination, but the ticking of the clock seemed louder and more insistent.

  Tearing himself away from the window, he crossed to the far end of the room and peered at a painting on the wall. It was a particular favourite of his, Bruegel's Tower of Babel. He looked closely at it, at the tiny figures toiling endlessly to build the ill-fated edifice, and noticed one he had not seen before. He tapped on the glass. 'Ha!' he exclaimed. 'I see you!'

  He stood before the mantle and examined the clock; his eyes followed the brass second hand on its journey around the white enamelled dial, sweeping time before it.

  He drifted back to the window - the driveway was still empty.

  His idle, twitching hands fidgeted for something to do, and he thrust them into his pockets, toying with his keyring and small change coins until the jingling annoyed him.

  He picked a random book off the shelf. 'Read something. Reading will pass the time; she'll be back soon.' Before he had reached the end of the first page, the words had become jumbled and made no sense and he found he had been reading the same sentence over again. He slammed the book closed and tossed it aside. He checked the clock again; had it only been ten more minutes? He returned to the window; the driveway was still empty.

  His restlessness was ripening and he began striding again. He deliberately made himself stop. He was wringing his hands together, linking and unlinking his fingers

  'Calm down, Nat,' he told himself. 'She'll be back. Have a drink.' He opened the desk drawer where he hid his bottle. 'Just a little one won't hurt.' He pulled out the bottle and twisted the cap. 'No, she won't like it. Megan doesn't like me drinking.' He put the bottle back and closed the drawer. 'Make coffee…coffee will be good.'

  He managed to get halfway across the hallway, heading for the kitchen, when he changed his mind. If he were not by the study window, he would not see her coming back. He abandoned the idea and returned to his vantage point.

  'What time is it now?' Answering him, the clock chimed the half hour. 'Where is she…where's she gone? Clear my head, she said. What does that mean? How long does it take?'

  He wandered over to the desk to pick up the newspaper. 'Crossword. Do the crossword…' and flicked through the paper looking for it. He thought he heard a noise outside - was it a car?

  He threw down the paper and ran to the window. It wasn't Megan, just the mail van. It pulled up for a few seconds while the postman deposited mail through the front door before drawing away down the driveway again and with it went Nat's hope for his lover's return.

  'She's not coming back…she's been gone too long…she's gone.'

  Now firmly convinced she had decided she no longer loved him and had abandoned him, his restlessness developed into a definite disquiet. It blossomed, subtly at first, into a chorus of small voices. They whined like gnats inside his ears and they started to badger him.

  'You're right…she's gone…she's not coming back.'

  'No more Megan…she's left you… for good this time.'

  'She's won't come back to you…'

  'If she were coming back, she'd be here already…so where is she?'

  He began to tap his hand against his leg in agitation. The disquiet grew steadily, like a vine. Small thorny tendrils of doubt and insecurity burrowed and wrapped themselves around his thoughts. They began to tighten their grip and the voices grew louder.

  'You couldn't keep your big fat mouth closed could you?'

  '…she doesn't love you…she's too good for you…'

  'She doesn't want to be tied to an old soak like you.'

  'You're pathetic… you're not worth her time.'

  'She said you were ridiculous….that's what you are...ridiculous…to think a woman like that could love a hopeless shit like you.'

  'She's not coming back,' he said, 'and it's my fault.'

  The Voices continued to nag and taunt and mock, on and on, relentlessly crushing his senses. They stirred up his anxiety until it began to overtake him. His mind clouded and darkened. His pacing quickened and his heart began to race.

  'She's gone…abandoned you…she's found someone better…'

  'You wanted to own her…'

  'You've ruined it…'

  He stopped striding back and forth and sat down at his desk. Resting his elbows on the desktop, he covered his ears with his hands. He could hear his blood pounding, but through the thrumming of his heartbeat the Voices still came.

  'You got greedy…she's gone…'

  'It's all gone now…there's nothing left…'

  'She's not coming back…she was lying…'

  'You really are an idiot, aren't you?'

  He balled his hands into fists, pressing them to his eyes until they hurt.

  'There's only one thing you can do…make it all go away.'

  'You have to…she's made you look a fool.'

  'Make her pay…no-one makes you look like an idiot…'

  'It's all my fault! She's left me…' He jumped up from the chair and recommenced striding and turning, back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching.

  'You drove her away…she doesn't love you…'

  'She doesn't love me
…she never did,' he said.

  'She's left you '…make her suffer…she deserves it.'

  The Voices tormented and harassed until, like a sudden attack of vertigo, he became dazed and disorientated. Rational thought rapidly deserted him, and as it did so, the Voices took advantage of his growing paranoia, whirling around inside his head, making him dizzy.

  'You're all on your own…you don't want to be on your own do you?'

  'I don't want to be on my own…I'd rather die…' he said.

  He leaned onto the desk to steady himself, his arms straining, breathing fast.

  'It's so easy…it won't hurt…'

  He opened the desk drawer and put his hand inside, closing it around the gun cabinet key box. 'I'd rather die.'

  'It's the right thing to do…you know it is…it's all her fault.'

  He took out the box and it lay hard and cold in his hand. He fixed his eyes blankly on it. Barely aware of his actions, he put his hand in his pocket, pulled out his keyring and opened the box. The cabinet keys glinted at him; mocking him, daring him…he picked them up.

  'It'll be quick...you'll be doing yourself a favour…'

  '…you know what to do…'

  '…finish it...and nothing will hurt any more…'

  '…it'll solve all your problems …'

  Moving as if in a trance, he unlocked the gun cabinet. He took out one of the twin shotguns and broke it open. From a box on the shelf above the guns, he took two cartridges, loaded them into the barrels and snapped the gun closed with a solid click.

  '…finish it…punish her for leaving you.'

  'If you don't…you'll be on your own forever…'

  'Go on…just a little squeeze and it's all over…'

  'It's your only chance…or you'll die a lonely old man.'

  His palms were sweating. He seized the gun tightly by the barrel and pushed it firmly up under his chin. The cold metal dug into his flesh. By now, he was breathing so hard his chest hurt. He stretched his arm and placed his thumb on the trigger, and pressed his eyes tight shut. He applied just the smallest amount of pressure, enough to indent his skin, but not enough to move the hammers.