Saving Nathaniel (14 page)

'
No thanks, I don
'
t think I
'
m up to eating anything yet. My throat is still sore.
'

'
Is there anything else I can do for you?
'

'
Actually
…
there is,
'
he said.
'
Can you help me get to the bathroom
…
I really need to pee.
'

Under Megan's careful nursing, Nat slowly improved. He still slept a great deal, but when he was awake, she sat with him and kept him company during the day, chatting or reading to him.  At night, under strict instruction he should not get out of bed, she left him alone

'
I don
'
t want to come in and find you at the bottom of the stairs with a broken neck,
'
she told him.
'
That would take a bit more nursing than I can manage.'

'
You can stay over some more and make sure I don
'
t get into trouble,' he suggested.

'
If I stay overnight again the neighbours will talk.
'

He waved his hand dismissively. '
Let them. I don't care.
'

'But I do. I have my reputation to think of. Besides,
that chair will be the crippling of me.'

He patted the bed beside him
'
You could always get in here with me. There's plenty of room.' His returning sense of humour, no matter how misplaced, she regarded as a sure sign of recovery.

Nat rubbed
his hand over his scratchy face. It made a sound like coarse sandpaper.
'
I need a shave,' he said, 'before I'm mistaken for the local hobo.'

'
Are you sure you're up to it?
'
Megan asked. 'You're still pretty weak.'

'I'll manage if
you help me,
and I'm sure it'll make me feel better.'

She agreed and brought a bowl of hot water and shaving accoutrements from the bathroom and set them out for him to use.

'I take it I can
trust you not to cut my throat?' he said.

She
had seen men shave themselves many times, but had never done it for them.
'
I don't know, are you willing to risk it?
'

'
There
'
s nothing to it,
'
he assured her.

'
Alright,
on your own head be it.
I hope you don
'
t bleed too freely.
'

She draped a towel over
his chest and under his chin. He dipped his hands into the bowl and wiped hot water over his beard. She shook the can of foam and sprayed a small white blob into the palm of his hand. It began to grow alarmingly.
'
Is that too much?
' she asked.

'
No, that
'
s fine.
' He spread the white foam across his face, working it into his whiskers.
He then picked up the razor and took off the cap.
'
Now,
'
he said, taking her hand and positioning her fingers around the razor handle.
'
You hold it like this...
'
He put the blade to his face.
'
And you just
…
stroke so
…'

Their hands moved together and the honed edge cut through the foam and stubble, leaving a clean trail like a harvester through a wheat field.

'
Now you do it,
'
he said.

'
What if I cut you?
'

'
You can
'
t. It's called a safety razor for a reason. Off you go.
'

She
caressed the blade over his cheek and down his chin, matching the stroke she had made previously.
'
Like this?
'

'
Perfect.
'

He
allowed her to move his head wherever she needed it to be as she continued removing the stubble and foam, dipping the razor into the water between passes and tipping up his chin to shave his throat.

All the while, he watched her face closely, particularly the way her eyes moved, and he could see her confidence growing with every stroke of the blade. Soon the combination of the
gentle touch of her hand on his face and his neck, the smell of her perfume, her physical closeness, and the way the tip of her tongue stroked across her lips as she concentrated, began to have a startling and disturbing effect on him. Alarmed, he focused on not reacting. He prayed she would be so intent on not slitting his jugular, that the state of his growing arousal would go unnoticed.

When she finished, she cleaned the remnants of foam from his face with the towel. 'How's that?'

He ran his hand over his newly naked chin and cheeks and smiled.
'
Nicely done. Good job.
'

She
slowly caressed her own fingertips down his smooth cheek, nodding her own approval.
'
Hmm. Not bad for a first go.'

'
How…how do I look?
' It bothered him to hear a slight quiver in his voice.

'
Human again. Much better.
'

She removed the shaving materials to the bathroom, and in her absence, Nat slipped his hand under the duvet to take the measure of what she had done to him – his cock was already half-masted, his erection still developing
and making its way through the opening of his pyjama bottoms. A few more minutes and she couldn't have helped but be aware of it.

Oh, dear God
, he thought.
Did she see it? Did she feel it? Is it possible to die embarrassment?'

If she had seen, or felt, anything, she stayed silent.

As quickly as it had arrived, Nat's headache resolved. His temperature returned to normal and although still a bit unsteady on his feet after nearly a week in bed, he had recovered enough to sit in the chair.

'
I think I'm in dire need of a shower. Any chance of a helping hand?
I am still a bit…weak.' He faked a cough for effect, but Megan was not fooled. She declined the invitation and left him to manage quite adequately, by himself.

The rest of
his recuperation was uneventful. For another week, under Megan's eagle eye, he spent his time sleeping, watching TV or reading, gradually rebuilding his strength…and his appetite.

One afternoon during his convalescence, Megan answered a tuneful knocking on the kitchen door.

'
Megan Thomas?' asked the florist's deliveryman.

'
Yes,' she replied cautiously.

'Then these are for you.' He
handed her a conical green cellophane package tied up with ribbon. She stared after him, mystified, as he strode off along the path to his waiting van.

At the table,
she carefully unwrapped the package. Inside were a dozen tightly coiled, crimson headed long-stemmed roses. A spray of tiny white flowers, commonly known as baby
'
s breath, and large green ferns complemented the scarlet blooms perfectly.

She
put her nose to the bouquet and inhaled. Disappointingly the flowers had no fragrance, but they smelled fresh.

Tucked to the packaging she found a small white envelope, and inside it, a card.

'For my favourite nurse,
thank you for taking such good care of me. Love, Nat.
'

She put the card in her pocket and knew exactly where to find the perfect vase.

She was still arranging the striking bouquet when Nat ambled into the kitchen. 'Is there anything to eat?' he said. 'My stomach thinks my throat's been cut.' He sidled up to her and peered over her shoulder, inspecting the flowers. 'Very nice,' he said, with approval.

Megan grinned at him.
'They're beautiful
,
Nat. How did you know I liked roses?
'

'Oooh, picked up on one or two subtle clues. Your perfume, for instance, and your hand cream, also the fact you live at Rose Cottage, and that you always choose roses for the display in the hall. And I see you found the Mackintosh rose vase.'

'
'
Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone; all her lovely companions are faded and gone
'
,' she quoted, as
she carefully inserted the last stem into the display. Nat ran his fingers up and down the instantly recognisable stylised flower etched in the glass. Pensive sadness clouded his face.

'
Joanna bought this from the Mackintosh museum gift shop in Glasgow. It cost a fortune. She wrapped it in so much newspaper, and fretted about it all the way home in case it should get broken.
'

'
She had exquisite taste.'

He quietly cleared his throat.
'
Aye, she did.
'

'
Would you rather I didn
'
t use it? If it's special to you…
'

'
No, no, of course not. It…it should be used. Take the flowers home with you. Take the vase too.
'

'
No. I
'
d rather keep them here where I can enjoy them, if that
'
s alright with you.
'

'
If that's what you want.'

'
It is. Thank you.'

H
e kissed her tenderly on her cheek. 'No Meg, thank
you
, for looking after me so well.
'

He left her to fuss with the flowers while he rooted around in the cupboard and the fridge for a snack and a drink.
With his hands full, he
picked up an apple in his mouth and, resembling a suckling pig prepared for the plate, walked leisurely back to the study to watch football on TV.

Chapter 13

Nat didn't celebrate Christmas, which came as no surprise at all to Megan. He declared it to be over-commercialised, exploitative claptrap, and as such, there were to be no cards, no tree and no decorations, in fact no festivities of any kind. To him, it would be just another normal working day. As a result, he was reluctant to allow her to take time off to spend the holidays with Rebecca and Paul. She insisted she needed the break and eventually, to keep the peace, he relented.

She returned to Struan after four days to find the place exactly as she'd left it – spotless. It was as if he hadn't used a single cup or plate while she'd been away.

'It looks like you don't need me,' she said, half joking. 'Maybe I can go part time, let's say two days a week…' He looked horrified at the prospect.

It wasn't long before she discovered why the place was so clean; the recycling box held ample evidence. He had favoured drinking over cooking and eating a proper meal, and he had managed to get through several bottles of beer and spirits.

She made him well aware of her displeasure, particularly in light of his recovery from the flu being so recent. There followed a few days of tension between them until their normal domestic routine resumed.

Hogmanay also passed unobserved, an event Megan imagined to be verging on blasphemous to a full blooded Scotsman, and the New Year slipped in virtually unnoticed under a thick blanket of snow.

While waiting for hot, soapy water to fill the bowl in the sink, Megan peered out through the kitchen window, mesmerised by the large flat flakes of snow floating lazily down from loaded clouds, to add to the already considerable accumulation.

A robin attracted her attention as he paid a visit to the bird table, which she dressed without fail every morning. His chirpy appearance and cocksure attitude made her smile. She watched him as he ate his fill of her offerings, dried mealworms and wholemeal bread, and then satisfied, fly away. Once he had vacated the table, the other birds felt brave enough to approach it. That beautiful little bird, she had observed, was a greedy, red-breasted bully.

She turned off the tap and plunged her hands into the water. Immediately she felt a sharp stab in the fleshy part at the base of her left thumb. She withdrew her hand from the water and red, as bright as the robin's chest, began to mingle with the white froth of the suds.