Saving Nathaniel

by Jillian Brookes-Ward

  Beads of sweat broke out at his temple and ran down his face. His damp palm began to slide on the barrel and he readjusted his grip. He took one final deep breath…

  'Nat, darling…don't do this…wait for her…'

  A new voice broke through the thick, suffocating fog of his desolation. 'Don't listen to them they're lying to you…listen to me, I won't lie…Megan loves you.'

  The voice was soft and female; gentle and calming…like Megan's. It reached into him like a cool, comforting hand. 'Meg loves you so much…you know she does...don't do this to her…'

  The quiet, soothing presence began to gather up the scattered strands of his sanity. Thread by thread, it started to weave them back into some semblance of reason.

  'She'll come back…give her a chance…wait for her…if you do this you'll never know…she'll come back to you…'

  His eyes began to stream and he panted through clenched teeth. 'She won't come back…she's left me on my own…I don't want to be on my own.'

  'You're not alone, Nat, she won't leave you…she loves you with all her heart…you know she does…you know it!'

  'She loves me…' he repeated in a shuddering breath. His grip on the cold steel barrel had turned his hand white and his arm shook with the strain.

  'She won't leave you…she promised…'

  'She promised…'

  'Megan loves you... do this and she'll never forgive you'.

  'Megan… she loves me…she said so.'

  He could feel the fabric of his senses being re-spun. It was smooth and silken and he could smell…roses. He released the pressure on the trigger. His grip on the barrel slackened and it came away from his skin leaving two round red marks.

  'That's it…let it go…put the gun down…if you hurt yourself…'

  'Megan loves me.'

  The cruel chorus tried one last time to corrupt him. 'No she doesn't…she's gone…' 'You'll never see her again…you're a pathetic worthless loser…there's no other way...do it!'

  The female voice cut them off. 'Don't do it…think of Megan…think…think of Megan…how much she loves you.'

  He slid his thumb off the trigger and let out a loud sob. 'Stop talking! All of you! I can't think! I can't…I can't…help me, Meg!'

  With a heart-wrenching howl of anguish, his nerve broke and his little remaining strength left him. The gun slipped from his hands and dropped to the floor with a clatter. He fell back against the wall and slid slowly down to his haunches. His whole body trembled violently and sweat soaked through his shirt.

  'Help me, Meg. Come back. Where are you? Please, come back.'

  '…deluded idiot.'

  'Leave me alone!' he spat at the mocking chorus.

  'You're a fucking coward…'

  'Shut up!'

  'Coward!!'

  'Shut UP!' he yelled. 'All of you SHUT THE FUCK UP!!'

  He snatched up the shotgun, swung it round, his finger on the trigger…and fired.

  Chapter 38

  The back of the chair disintegrated where the shot entered it, opening into a gaping maw of splintered wood, torn leather and pulverised stuffing.

  Nat's ears rang with the deafening noise. His nostrils burned with the stench of powder, and smoke filled the room, stinging his eyes. He was shaking, relieved to be alive.

  Pulling in deep breaths to steady himself, he tasted gunpowder. He gingerly placed the smoking shotgun onto the floor and laid his hand to his ribs, against the tender spot where the gun's recoil had bruised him.

  He stared at the destroyed chair, and the sudden realisation of what he had done hit him like a fist to the solar plexus.

  'Holy Christ! Holy fucking Christ. What a mess! Megan's going to kill me.'

  He pictured the goggle-eyed look of horrified astonishment on Megan's face when she saw the damage and began to giggle. The giggling quickly developed into a wild, maniacal laughter that made his sides hurt and his eyes water. Seamlessly, the laughter turned to loud, hysterical weeping.

  Gaining control of himself, he wiped his eyes with his handkerchief and blew his nose. On his hands and knees, he crawled over to the chair and ran his fingers around the jagged edge of the hole. He put his hand inside.

  'That could have been me; I could have done that to myself. There would have been nothing left…no me…and if Megan had come back she would have found…'

  In his mind's eye, he could clearly see her as she tripped across the hall and pushed open the study door. She would enter the room, expecting him to be sat in his chair reading his paper, alive and well. Instead, she would stumble over his bloody mangled corpse, the shotgun clutched in his stiff dead fingers, a mass of pulverised bone and flesh where his head should have been and a spray of scarlet blood and brain matter coating the wall and ceiling in a halo of gore.

  The horror of what he had almost done caused a wave of nausea to rapidly rise in him. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled through to the kitchen, throwing himself over the sink, retching as his cramping stomach forced burning yellow bile and the last of his partially digested breakfast up his throat and into his mouth. He spat it out and retched again, bringing up more bile. He filled a glass with cold water and took a large mouthful, gargled with it and swilled it around his mouth, diluting the acidic taste. When he spat out the liquid and let fresh water carry it down the drain, it took with it the last toxic remnant of his temporary insanity. He turned off the tap. The drain gurgled and the room fell silent. He wiped his mouth on a paper towel and listened intently. Apart from the rustling of the paper and the ubiquitous hum of the fridge, he heard no other sound. The voices had gone.

  Wetting his hands, he splashed cold water over his face and it revived him a little. As he dried his hands and face, his eyes came to rest on Megan's overnight bag, still standing on the kitchen table.

  'If she had meant to go for good, she would have taken you with her,' he said to the bag.

  He unzipped it and peeked inside. In it were her clothes; slacks, tops and clean underwear, neatly folded and economically packed. There were enough for at least two days. She had brought them with the full intention of spending the whole weekend with him. He dug about in the bag some more, finding a wash bag, a hairbrush and…a book. He pulled it out.

  The leather binding had at one time been blue. It was battered from handling, and on the front cover the gilt lettered words, 'Selected Stories by Anton Chekhov' were faded, almost worn away. Some of the pages were dog-eared, a few still turned down. A bookmark indicated her current reading place. This was a well-beloved tome, a treasure.

  'She would not leave you behind on purpose.'

  He repacked the bag and closed it up. 'She didn't take you, because she knew she was coming back. The fact that you're still here can only mean one thing…she can't come back, something's happened to her.'

  He went back to the study to reclaim his keys, grabbed a coat from the closet and set out to look for his missing lover.

  He drove through the village noting every car he saw. It was almost six o'clock and the shops and the café were closed or closing. He checked the car parks of the Community Centre and the convenience store. There were no small, blue cars.

  'Where else would she go? Think man!'

  He turned the car around and headed for Rebecca's house.

  She opened the door to her caller, astounded to see him on her doorstep. 'Mr Mackie?'

  'Rebecca…where's Megan? Have you seen her?'

  'She's out…she's been out all day.'

  'Do you know where?' He was trying to look past her shoulder to see if there was any sign Megan was in the house. She might be hiding from him.

  'I thought she was with you,' said Rebecca.

  'She was…then she left. I don't know where she went.'

  'How long has she been gone?'

  'About six or seven hours…maybe more.'

  'What took you so long?'

  'I've had a few…problems of my own.'

  She opened the door wide, inviting
him to enter. 'You'd better come in.' She ushered him into the sitting room and as he passed by her, she could not help but notice a strong, unusual smell. Powder residue from the shotgun blast had settled on him.

  'Do you have any idea where she could be?' he said. 'Any at all?'

  'No, none, but…'

  'I'm worried, Rebecca. She walked out this morning saying she needed some air and she didn't come back.'

  She motioned for him to sit down and he sank into the easy chair, cocooned by too many cushions. 'Can I get you something? Tea? Something stronger?'

  'No thanks. Does Meg have a mobile? Can you call her?'

  'No. She doesn't like mobile phones. She's never had one.'

  She sat on the sofa and took a good look at him. He looked tense and anxious and tapped his hands restlessly on his knees. His eyes looked swollen and red rimmed, as if something had been irritating them.

  'Where the hell is she?' he said.

  'I don't know, but if she's in trouble, someone would have called already. No-one has, so she must be fine.'

  He began to drum his fingers again. 'Oh Christ, where in hell can she be?'

  'Calm down, Mr Mackie, I'm sure she's fine. She'll come home soon.'

  He stood up and began to pace, clenching and unclenching his hands as he strode up and down the room. 'I should go back home. If she goes back there and I'm not…'

  'Then she'll come here,' Rebecca said calmly, as he trod back and forth over the rug. 'There's nowhere else for her to go. Tell me what happened, did you have a fight?'

  'No…sort of…aye…I think so.'

  'You don't sound so sure. Did you upset her?'

  He stopped walking and rubbed his hand over his brow. 'I must have…aye…aye I think I did.'

  'Well that's it then! A typical Megan reaction. She'll have found somewhere to sit and cry and sort herself out. She's done it before.'

  He looked at the clock on the mantle. 'But she's been gone so long.'

  'She stayed away overnight once and we had no idea where she was.'

  'Why hasn't she called?'

  'Because that's just her way, she won't want to talk to anyone. It's like the nursery rhyme; 'leave her alone and she'll come home'. What did you fight about?'

  He resumed his frantic striding. 'I asked her to marry me,' he said.

  Rebecca gaped at him. 'You didn't? Bloody hell!'

  'That was more or less her reaction.'

  'So what did she say?'

  'She turned me down flat and walked out…and I haven't seen her since.'

  Despite her hatred for Nat, Rebecca felt a degree of sympathy for him. He was obviously deeply concerned for Megan's welfare. The very fact he was striding up and down her sitting room in a state of grim agitation gave her more than a twinge of apprehension that, despite Megan's habitual desire for solitude in a time of crisis, something serious could have happened to her.

  Their argument was immediately cast aside as an irrelevance. Her sister's safety held a higher priority than a tiff over a man, even if it was a man she abhorred with a passion, and now, his treading her carpet was beginning to irritate her. 'Will you sit down please, Mr Mackie. You're making me dizzy.'

  He apologised and re-took his seat in the chair.

  'Don't worry. She'll be okay. I guarantee it.' She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. 'I'll make us some tea while we wait.'

  She went into the kitchen leaving him sitting alone in the lounge. While she waited for the kettle to boil, she made a series of quick, enquiring phone calls.

  None of their friends or acquaintances had seen Megan.

  Neither she nor Nat noticed the lights of the taxi drawing up outside.

  Chapter 39

  The accident had left her shaken and confused. She wanted to go home - but where was that now? Rebecca had thrown her out of the cottage, and Nat might not want to see her at Struan.

  'Where to, hen?' asked the taxi driver.

  'Rose Cottage on Langdon Road?'

  During the ten minute ride she thought about what she was going to do next. Nat deserved an explanation for her prolonged absence and he would get it, but first she would go home, freshen up and change her clothes. She would then plead to borrow Rebecca's Volkswagen for a few hours.

  The taxi pulled up outside Rose Cottage and she paid the fare. Closing the garden gate, she glanced across the street. She felt her stomach turn over when she saw Nat's Range Rover parked under the street lamp.

  'What is he doing here?'

  She slipped silently through the kitchen door. She could hear voices; first Rebecca's and then Nat's. She heard her name mentioned.

  'He's talking to Rebecca…they're talking about me.'

  The door to the sitting room stood ajar and she sidled up to it and eavesdropped.

  'Megan's independent, she always has been,' Rebecca said.

  'I know,' said Nat. 'It's one of the reasons I'm so fond of her.'

  'She's had some very tough times in her life, Mr Mackie. She's been used and abused more times than I can count. When her husband cheated on her for about the millionth time, she finally confronted him. He didn't appreciate her complaint. He knocked seven bells out of her.'

  'He beat her up…she never said…'

  'She wouldn't. Evan was very handy with his fists, especially when he'd had a few drinks inside him. He was trouble even when he hadn't. I think he just enjoyed bashing her around.'

  'So why did she marry him in the first place?'

  Rebecca sighed. 'Because he pitched her a tale of woe and she fell for it. She thought marrying him could make everything alright for him. It turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life. It almost cost her her life.'

  'How do you mean?'

  'One night he came home legless after a bender. She said something he didn't like and he gave her such a severe kicking he fractured her pelvis and ruptured her uterus. She had to have an emergency hysterectomy and she almost bled to death on the operating table.'

  'That's why she can't have children? So what happened…did he get punished…go to prison?'

  'Nothing happened. She wouldn't press charges and he got away Scot free. She put up with him for another six months or so, took another beating and we haven't heard anything of him since.'

  Nat shook his head, sickened. 'I didn't know any of this. Why didn't she tell me? Why…why couldn't she confide in me?'

  'Probably because she thought you had enough on your plate already and because she thought it more important to help you.'

  He put his face into his hands, traumatised by the catalogue of dreadful disclosures.

  'While all this was going on, of course,' Rebecca continued, 'she had to take care of Dad when it became obvious he couldn't look after himself properly any more. I'd already made the break here by then, so she took it on herself to look after him. She moved him into her home. He took it over and treated her like a slave. He made her life a misery. Over the last six years, Meggie has, not to put too fine a point on it, Mr Mackie, been wading knee deep in an ocean of crap.'

  Nat listened, enthralled and appalled. 'I had no idea, my poor, lovely Meg.'

  'Enough! Don't tell him any more, Becky, please.' Megan sent out the silent plea to her sister. She desperately wanted to throw open the door and march into the room and prevent her relating the horrors from her past, but she found herself unable to move, frozen in place at her listening post. She could only lean her head against the doorframe and let them carry on.

  'Megan has a heart of gold and a soft nature, Mr Mackie,' continued Rebecca, unaware of Megan's presence only ten feet away. 'She can't help it. No matter what personal cost to her, she always has to take care of everything. She always has to make everything and everyone…'

  '…better?'

  'Yes. And because of it she's always been open to exploitation. She seems as tough as old army boots on the outside, but that's just a sham. Inside she's as soft as marshmallow.'

  'And people take advanta
ge of her?'

  'All the time, but she just can't see it.'

  'I'm not taking advantage of her, I'm truly not.'

  'I believe you.'

  Tears silently ran down Megan's face.

  'The one thing she could never do,' Rebecca said, 'was find a decent man to take care of her. She attracted needy pathetic sorts that used her up and then tossed her aside like a dirty rag when they went home to their wives. She needs a good man she can rely on.'

  'She thinks I'm needy,' he said. 'She thinks I'm weak and pathetic. I'm not good for her. I'm not strong enough to look after her. That's why she turned me down isn't it?'

  'I couldn't say, but I'm sure she had her reasons. You both have your fair share of baggage to contend with.'

  'Aye, some bags heavier than others.'

  'And I know she thinks you're a bit…how shall I put it, lonely and…vulnerable.'

  'She might be right.'

  There was a brief lull in the conversation. Megan nudged the door open a touch to see more. She saw Nat leaning forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees. He wiped his hands over his face in the gesture that always betrayed his angst.

  Rebecca was out of sight on the sofa, but she could well imagine her perched on the edge of the seat, her hands gesticulating as she made her points.

  'I have to tell you the God's honest truth, Mr Mackie,' Rebecca said. 'I don't like you, I never have. Megan's made some shitty choices in her life and I thought she was making another one getting involved with you. I told her so and we had a huge fight about it this morning.'

  'Is that why you quit Struan?'

  'Yes'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'So am I, because I was wrong, and you don't know how lucky you are. Megan is soft-hearted, that's her way, but I believe she's very much in love with you and because she is, she will always be loyal to you. She won't cheat on you. She will never, ever walk away from you if you are in trouble. You will have to leave her.'

  'I won't do that…I couldn't. Megan's done everything for me. From the first day she set foot in Struan, everything changed…I changed.'

  'You do love her, don't you, Mr Mackie? Swear to me.'