Saving Nathaniel (24 page)

'Meg? Wha'…is that you, Meg?'

'You bastard!' she said, prodding him hard in the chest with her index finger. 'You scared me half to death - I thought you were dead.'

He ran his hands over himself. 'Nae, 'm still 'ere.'

'No, not dead, just dead drunk more like. Look at the state of you!'

His eyes focused on her with some difficulty. 'What're you doing here, J'st Meg'n?' His words were slurred and barely comprehensible.

'You called me,' she said. 'On the 'phone.'

'Eh? Why?'

'I don't know. You tell me.'

She took in the scene around her. The telephone lay upside down on the floor beside Nat, the receiver some distance away at the far end of its cord. It looked as if he had thrown it. She could hear the
'
off hook' alarm beeping. She gathered the pieces of the telephone together and put it back in its customary place on his desk.

Close by Nat, on the floor, an empty whisky bottle lay on its side. 'You've been gone a long time, Meg,' he said in a small, plaintive voice.

She picked up the bottle and examined it. Not a drop remained within it. 'Only two weeks,' she said.

'I missed you.'

'Yes, I'm sure you did.' She held the empty bottle up in front of his face. 'How much have you had?'

His eyes almost crossed as he tried to focus on it. He shrugged. 'I dunno.'

'More than this?'

He snatched the bottle from her and turned it upside down. 'It's all gone.'

She took it back. 'What sort of platinum plated idiot are you, Nat? Are you trying to drink yourself to death?'

'Drink. That's what I need...a drink.'

'You've already had more than enough.' She squatted down and put her arms under his and attempted to lift him. 'Let's get you up off this floor and cleaned up.' He didn't co-operate, stubbornly refusing to move.' Come on…help me,' she urged.

'No…leave me!' He flapped his hands uselessly at her. 'You don't wanna see me.'

'I'm here, aren't I?' she said. 'Now help me.'

'No.'

'Get up, Nat, or I swear I'll smack you again.'

'I don't wanna get up.'

'You have to get
UP
!' She used all her strength to try to lift him, feeling her back strain.

'No!' he yelled and pushed her away. She lost her balance and fell backwards, banging her head on the desk leg with an audible
thud
. Instantly, bright star flashes of all colours darted before her eyes.

'You said fuck off an' leave me alone,' he said, not realising what he had done.

She touched her fingers to her scalp and checked for blood. There was none, but her head had begun to throb. Slowly, the stars cleared.

'I didn't know it was you, you berk.' She leaned against the desk leg and regarded the awful spectacle in front of her. 'Oh Christ Almighty, Nat. What have you gone and done to yourself?'

He had stopped fighting her and slumped back against the window seat. He reached out for the empty bottle, managing to get his fingertips to it. It toppled over and spun out of his reach, and he watched with vacant eyes as it turned in slow, lazy arcs, coming to rest with the empty neck pointing at him like an accusing finger. He swivelled his head to look at her.

'You left me on my own. Why'd you leave me, Meg?'

'I didn't leave you, Nat. It was time to go. I thought you understood.'

'I needed you,' he moaned pitifully. 'I needed you and you weren't here. I was on my own.' He held out tremulous hands to her. 'I wanted you to hold me, Meg, like you did before, when it was warm and safe and you made all the bad things go away and I...I need someone to hold me now.'

Stirred by the vision of utter dejection, she crawled over and put her arms around him as she had before. He rested limply against her.

'It's alright, Nat,' she assured him, pressing her lips to his hair. 'I'll take care of you.' A bad odour surrounded him and she wrinkled her nose against the sour mixture of stale sweat and alcohol, some of which he had spilled on his shirt.

'I don't wanna be on my own,' he mumbled miserably into her sweater.

'You're not on your own. I'm here now…you'll be okay. I'll look after you.'

After a few moments encased in her embrace he appeared calmer. 'Are you ready to get up now?' she asked.

He nodded. She prepared to haul him to his feet, and then stopped. The colour had drained from his face; he had started to sweat and was swallowing rapidly. The symptoms were instantly recognisable.

'Oh no, no…don't…hold on...'

She scrambled over to the desk and grabbed the metal wastebasket, wheeled around with it in her hand and thrust it in front of him. Immediately he bent over it and vomited noisily, soaking the discarded paper in there with a malodorous combination of alcohol and bile. Three times he threw up, with hardly time to draw breath between each episode. Even with his cramped stomach emptied, he continued to clutch the bin, to retch and spit and groan.

'Better out than in, I suppose,' she said and rubbed his back gently with a smooth circular motion, patiently waiting for him to finish.

Finally, he appeared to be done and sat up. She extracted the bin from his grasp and put it safely aside.

'Now, can we get off this floor?' she said as she wiped his mouth and chin with a tissue from her pocket.

In a tangle of disobliging limbs, she got him to his feet and over to his chair. He collapsed into it with all the strength of a man made of straw.

'You'll look after me, won't you, Meg?' he murmured, hardly able to form the words, his head flopping against the back of the chair.

'Yes, I'll look after you, Nat, I said I would.' She lifted his feet onto the footstool.

'You'll stay with me won't you, Meg?'

'Yes, Nat, I'll stay with you.'

She arranged the cushion under his head and within minutes he had reached the depths of sleep only an intoxicated man could.

From the floor, she picked up the empty bottle. There was no drinking glass to be seen and she could only assume he had been swigging directly from the bottle. She took the wastebasket into the kitchen to deal with later. When she returned to the study, she brought with her a tartan picnic blanket from the hall closet and draped it over his snoring, comatose form.

She pulled out the office chair from behind the desk and positioned it beside the armchair. She wasn't going to leave Nat alone in this condition, and made herself as comfortable as she could in it while she waited for him to come round.

Turning on the TV, she flicked through the muted channels, not really looking at them. Her mind buzzed with finding a possible reason for Nat's miserable situation. Something dramatic must have happened to get him into this state, something had obviously distressed him deeply, but he was in no position yet to tell her what it was.

While she pondered his condition, she swivelled in the chair. On her final sweep, her eyes were drawn to the gun cabinet in the corner of the room. Unbidden, a conversation began in her head.

'
He
'
s not going to do anything
, he can't even stand up.'

'
How do you know? You
'
re going to have to go home and leave him here on his own. Are you willing to take that chance? Look at him.
'

'
He wouldn
'
t.
'

'
He might. You need to make sure that he can
'
t.
'

'
How?
'

Nat slept for more than three hours and for every minute of it, Megan fretted about what to do, but finally, she came to her decision.

With him still safely asleep, she removed her shoes and padded around to the working side of his desk. There were three drawers, each one bigger than the one above. What she wanted, she knew, was kept in the smallest, topmost drawer on the right. She tugged gently on the handle. It was locked. Nat hadn't been out that day, or the previous day probably, and she knew where his keys ought to be.

From the fruit bowl in the kitchen, she took the keyring and identified the key for the desk drawer. Taking care not to make a sound, she opened it, took out the metal box containing the gun cabinet keys, closed and relocked it. She took the box and dropped it into her handbag on the kitchen table, replacing the keyring in the fruit bowl. After a period sat at the table, quietly contemplating her action, she was satisfied she had done the right thing and switched on the kettle to make herself a coffee.

At that moment, Nat's voice drifted across the hallway. 'Meg! Meg, where are you?'

'In here!' she called back.

Does he know? Did he see?

She glanced at her bag to ensure the key box couldn't be seen just as Nat reeled into the kitchen, his legs barely operable.

'I'm just making myself a coffee,' she said. 'Do you want one?'

He nodded, pulled out a chair and sat down, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. 'I thought you'd gone,' he said.

'I said I'd stay and I always keep my word.'

She made his coffee extra strong, found him some aspirins, and sat with him at the table. 'How are you feeling?'

'Don't ask.' He rubbed his brow with his fingertips and closed his eyes briefly. For a moment, he looked as if he might be sick again.

'I've seen some sights in my time, Nat, but you really do take the cake.' He looked at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes.

'So, do you want to tell me what brought this on?'

He sipped at the hot drink and swallowed the tablets. 'Nothing.'

'Don't treat me like an idiot, Nat, something did, something serious. So tell me.'

He didn't say anything, but stared into his coffee cup, still a little disorientated.

'You don't even remember calling me, do you?' she said.

He shook his head carefully, afraid if he moved it too quickly, it might part company with his neck and float off like a balloon. 'Not really,' he said. 'It
was
you who told me to fuck off and leave you alone wasn't it?'

'I'm afraid so, and you're lucky it was me who answered. Rebecca may not have been that restrained.'

'You shouldn't swear. It's not ladylike.'

'And you shouldn't make nuisance phone calls even if you are leathered. I nearly called the police. Why
did
you call me, Nat?'

'I don't know.'

She reached out for his hand. 'Why won't you tell me what's wrong? Didn't I promise I would always help if I could?'

Moments passed before he took in a deep breath and blew it out slowly. 'It's the anniversary of Joanna's death today,' he said. 'And my son; his birthday…and his death day. He would have been five…ready to start school…'

Megan felt tightness in her chest and covered her mouth with her hand. 'Oh, Nat, I had no idea. I'm so sorry.'

She looked on in dismay as large wet orbs formed in his eyes and spilled out, splashing onto the tabletop. He clamped a hand over his eyes as if to hide himself and his shoulders slumped and heaved. His hold on her hand tightened so much she heard her knuckles crack.

His agony ripped at her and she went to him. As soon as she put her hand to his shoulder, he fell onto her, folding his arms around her and nestling his head against her breast. 'I miss her so much,' he murmured, his voice thick and choked. 'I just want her back. I want to hold her again. I want to kiss her. I want...her.'

'I know you do. I know.' She cradled his head with one hand and ran the other up and down his back in gentle, comforting strokes. His body shuddered under her hands. She kissed his hair and rested her cheek against his head - offering comfort was the only thing she could do for him.

When he had nothing left and the tears stopped, he sat up and wiped his puffy, red eyes with his hands. She rested her hand lightly against his cheek and smiled tenderly at him. He laid his own hand over it. 'Will you stay with me, Meg?' he sniffed. 'I don't want to be on my own.'

'Of course I will. You don't need to ask.'

When he seemed more composed and steadier on his feet, she suggested he might go and wash his face and change his clothes to help him sober up and feel better.

He was gone for a good while, eventually returning to the kitchen having put on a clean, grey shirt, and jeans. He was still barefoot and hadn't shaved, but she could smell toothpaste and mouthwash. He had made an effort, and soap and deodorant certainly smelled better than stale sweat and booze. His eyes though were still red and slightly swollen.

Whilst he had been away, she had cleaned away the vomit from the wastebasket. She had also tried to ring Rebecca to let her know where she was, and that she might be late home, but there had been no answer.

She made sandwiches and tea for them both, and they returned to the study where they continued their discourse.