BY CAT.
Chapter 5.
Quick re-cap...Nat is still in a strop, Paul is still in his bedroom, Caleb is meditating, Chris, God help him, is in the company of James and Nigel. Anna is somewhere around, Martin is still dead. Gordon is coping, but only just, and it’s still only one o’ clock on Saturday. Break out the tranquillisers.
*
Dear Nathaniel,
Today has been yet another surviving from moment to moment sort of day, a day of argument and reminder that I have duties other than to my own self. Nat, please forgive me, but I’m so very tired, and the arguments lack conviction. The fact is, I’m weary of the fight; the will and strength are no longer there. I concede defeat, I want to pass into nothingness, to be dead. I’m smiling now, some small part of me hoped that by setting the words to paper, by taking them from my mind; giving them exit from the confines of my inner self, it would reduce their potency. It doesn’t, and strangely that calms me. Giving them birth upon the page makes them swell and grow, lends a truth, however misconstrued Gordon would say that truth to be. The truth is the truth whether it swirls around the galaxy of cells that we define as mind, or whether it takes the form of word, sentence, paragraph, rigid in format. My truth is this: Life holds nothing for me, only long days to be borne. I have sought meaning in many things; they taste briefly upon the tongue, a salt tang soon lost in the sour taste of despondency.
There is no meaning, no purpose, no place, not for me. Neither God, nor man can offer me a reason why I should rise in the morning. Nor do I believe in, or seek a ‘better’ life beyond the grave. There would be no damn point in committing suicide if I believed that I would somehow go on living more of the same in some other place. Nothing affords me joy; it is my insufficiency, I do not blame the world, corporeal or otherwise, there is something, some element, missing in me.
Thank you for your long friendship, for sharing thoughts with me, for being there when I needed you, for understanding, as no one else could understand, the deeds that stain our past. It is my wish that my remains be cremated without service or ceremony. I want no mourners. I ask one last thing of you, that you scatter my ashes you know the place. When you’ve done that, my dear Nathaniel, I’ll be free. I enclose the charm, it seems right that you should have it. Of the three of us, you were meant to survive Nat, why else would you have found Gordon; he’s your missing element. Be happy and don’t grieve for me.
Much Love,
Jennifer.
Nathaniel, fighting back tears, re-folded the thin sheet of paper and slipped it into the drawer of his bedside table. As he did so, he lifted out a twist of yellowing tissue paper. Unravelling it he looked at the silver charm held within, it was tarnished and in need of polishing. His closed his eyes as memory raked his mind like the teeth of a steel comb.
‘The ancient cobbles gleaming with recent drizzle and the flames of small fires. The tinny, but exciting sound of fairground music on night air, accompanied by the screams and shrieks of happy punters. The three of them, star struck by the sounds and sights of the autumn fair as it wrought it’s yearly magic.’
The sound of familiar footsteps on the stairs brought Nathaniel back to himself. Hurriedly re-wrapping the charm he pushed it back into the drawer.
When Gordon entered the bedroom, Nat was sitting up in bed, arms folded, a sulky scowl on his face. “Haven’t you heard of knocking?”
“Why, what were you doing that required me to knock before entering, performing an autopsy on Nigel’s goldfish with a penknife perchance?” Gordon gave his partner an appraising look; obviously his mood had improved little from earlier. In fact if anything it was even worse. “All else aside,” he continued, “this is as much my room as it yours and my hands, you might note, are rather full.”
Nat eyed the tray bearing his lunch with something less that appreciation. “Milk! A glass of bloody milk; how old do you think I am Gordon? Why didn’t you just put a straw in it and be done! What next, a bloody gingerbread man?”
The blue of Gordon’s eyes lightened by several shades as a glacier of ice formed over them. If Nat weren’t careful, archaeologists would excavate his perfectly preserved remains from it in years to come. “Don’t you dare speak to me like that Nathaniel. I know exactly how old you are, though at the moment you’re far from acting it. I brought you milk out of simple courtesy. We’re out of tea and fruit juices, all we have left is coffee and you’re NOT having any more coffee, you’re edgy enough as it is! I’ll get you a glass of water if you prefer.”
Nat blushed slightly, ashamed of his lack of grace, but in too foul a mood to admit it. “I’m not hungry, so you’ve wasted your time.”
Gordon ignored the sulky statement, setting the glass and plate down on the bedside table beside Nat. “Gouda, cut thin, wholemeal bread, no butter and,” he shuddered delicately, “a hint of HP, just the way you like it.”
Nat pointed both index fingers towards his mouth, saying slowly, “read my lips Gordon...I said, I’m not hungry.”
“Yes you are,” Gordon straightened his spine and folded his arms, looking forbiddingly down his nose. “You’re always unpleasant when you’re hungry, and even if you’re not, you still need to eat something.”
“Why?” Nat scowled, “why do I need to eat something if I’m not hungry? I’m hardly in danger of starvation. I should know whether or not I’m hungry, it’s my stomach, it talks to me about its needs, not you. You look after you’re own stomach’s needs and leave me to look after mine!”
“I do so dislike it when you’re grumpy!” Gordon glared at his awkward other half, with exasperation.
“Who do you want me to be,” snapped Nat, “Dopey, Sneezy, Bashful?”
“Happy!” Retorted Gordon sharply. For a brief moment he thought Nat was going to smile, but no, it seemed he was determined to hang on to his bad mood. He watched as the dark eyebrows clamped more closely together in a fractious gesture he knew well.
“How about Snow fucking White? You could feed me a poisoned apple and put me on show in a glass coffin. That way you’d have me totally where you want me, silently compliant and at your divine mercy!”
Gordon moved fast for a big man with an old, but still troublesome, rugby injury to his knee. Snow fucking White suddenly wished he’d kept his astringent remarks to himself!
*
“Are you going to tell me what’s behind this vinegar mood, apart from wilful neglect of medication?” Gordon settled himself more comfortably against the headboard, drawing Nathaniel closer against him, and winding his fingers through the soft hair. “I mean it Nat, if something is troubling you, I want to know, I need to know, I demand to know.”
Nat tightened his arms around Gordon’s waist, but remained silent. The tears flowing from his eyes onto his partner’s chest were no longer to do with the spanking he’d just received, they were an expression of something gradually unfurling inside himself, something he couldn’t yet form into coherent words and sentences. Instead, he allowed himself to be momentarily comforted, closing his eyes as Gordon’s fingers stroked soothingly through his hair.
Gordon silently cursed John for his selfishness in going away for the weekend when he could have done with someone to talk to about Nathaniel. The room darkened as the rain that had been falling all day set in harder still, hurling itself petulantly against the window panes, seemingly intent on matching Nat’s mood of something brewing.
A high-pitched scream from the vicinity of the kitchen caused Gordon to emit a sigh. “I must go darling,” he bent to impress a gentle kiss on Nat’s hair. “I’ve left poor Christopher alone with Nigel and James, he’s probably a gibbering wreck by now, and I still have Paul to deal with. Will you be alright?”
Nat lifted his head slightly, he didn’t want Gordon to go, he wanted him close by, a reassuring defence against the dark force building within him. “I’m fine, really, and I’m sorry.”
“Eat your sandwich,” Gordon regretfully got up off the bed. He bent to kiss Nat on the lips, “I’ll look in at every chance I get.” He indicated the pad and pen that he’d brought up with Nat’s lunch; “you can occupy your mind by writing that article on goldfish care for the Parish magazine. After that you can rest, and if you’re very good, I’ll let you get up later to help prepare dinner.”
Nat gazed at him sourly, “you’re all heart Gordon! Sometimes I regret not having sold myself into slavery.” He gave his backside a tentative rub, “I’d probably have been flogged less for a start!” He might have known that such attempts at imposing guilt would fall on sterile ground where Gordon was concerned.
“You, my pet,” a smile lit up Gordon’s face, “have no idea what it is to be mistreated, or flogged, but,” the smile broadened, accompanied by a twinkle in the vivid blue eyes, “carry on in this vain and you’ll quite possibly find out.”
Nat stuck his tongue out as Gordon headed for the door.
“I saw that Nathaniel!”
“You did not, you just guessed that I’d do it! You can live with someone for too long you know?”
Gordon turned to look over his shoulder, “if we both live to be a hundred, I’d still feel I hadn’t lived with you for nearly long enough.”
Nat’s throat contracted with sudden emotion, he held out his hand. “I love you,” he whispered as it was held and gently kissed.
“I’ll see you later poppet,” Gordon gave a small wink, “I might even bring you a gingerbread man.”
Nat smiled, not exactly the ear-to-ear variety, but a smile all the same.
*
Gordon closed the bedroom door behind him, certain that his love for Nathaniel was returned in equal measure. He was also certain of something else. Nat was fretting over something, something that he was deliberately withholding. Time, like the sneak it was, would eventually tell! He took a deep breath, picked up a plate and glass from the landing table, and headed for Paul’s room, it was turning into quite a weekend for conflict and drama.
A quick glance around his nephew’s bedroom told Gordon more than he wanted to know, it had not been tidied. In fact, if anything, it was even untidier than it was when he’d confined his nephew to it. The essay on the ethics of stealing had obviously not been written, the block of paper was untouched, as virgin as the hypothetical catholic nun. Paul himself, made deaf by earphones, was currently so engrossed in a forbidden playstation game that he was unaware of his uncle’s presence, but not for much longer.
Quietly setting the plate and glass containing Paul’s lunch on the bedside table behind him, Gordon reached purposefully for the headphones.
“A fortnight!” Paul, his heart still hammering with fright, glared furiously at his uncle, “a flaming fortnight?”
“You’re quite right Paul,” Gordon met the boy’s angry gaze without flinching, “a fortnight does seem unduly light in view of your deliberate disobedience, let’s extend that to a month, and,” he pointed a warning finger, “if you say another word I’ll ban you permanently from using that wretched playstation!”
Paul scowled, but didn’t dare say another word.
Another couple of screams from downstairs made Gordon head quickly for the door.
“Eat your lunch, and I’ll expect you downstairs in my study in half an hour, accompanied by that playstation. We’ve got serious issues to discuss.”
The door closed briskly behind him and Paul satisfied his temper by slamming an angry fist into his sandwich. “Bloody pig,” he muttered, it was too, he lifted the top slice of bread, glaring at the ham with something less than enthusiasm.
*
“What on earth are you doing Nigel?”
Nigel, slightly flushed of face, had his ear pressed tightly against the study door. He put a finger to his lips and whispered deafeningly, “I’M LISTENING FOR MARTIN, I THINK HE’S SHOUTING ME!”
“The only shouting young man,” Gordon took hold of Nigel’s hand, pulling him away from the study and towards the kitchen, “is being done by you. All else aside, Martin isn’t in there.”
“Where is he Gordon?”
Gordon met the big brown eyes resolutely, now was the time to tell him about Martin, and Nigel’s own part in his demise. The big brown eyes stared trustingly back, and Gordon swallowed slightly, opting for, “he’s in a better place.”
“A better place than here, but you can’t get any better than Hope House Gordon,” there was a hint of tears in the voice, “what’s better than being here with me?”
Fighting away images of the failed fish reclining in the wastebasket, and figuring that perhaps now wasn’t quite the time after all, Gordon spoke soothingly. “I meant he’s with Nat, he’s resting quietly, we’ll talk about Martin later.” He moved quickly on, “tell me why you were screeching.”
“I wasn’t!” Nigel shook his head, but avoided making eye contact.
“You were Nigel, I could hear you all the way upstairs. Look at me young man and tell me why you were making that noise?”
“James stole my jelly baby, my green one,” Nigel frowned, “and bit his head off, you shouldn’t bite babies heads off should you Gordon, it’s anti-sociable.”
Gordon sighed, “Nigel, surely you’ve learned by now not to offer them to James to look at, you know he always eats them.”
“I didn’t Gordon, he stole it, I was playing with them and he just stole it. You shouldn’t steal other people’s friends should you Gordon, it’s not friendly.”
“I still don’t think it justified you screaming three times Nigel, we’ll have Mr Driscoll complaining again.”
“I didn’t Gordon, I didn’t scream three times. I only screamed once, when James bit off my friend’s head.”
Gordon suspected he was going to regret asking, but the compulsion was too much. “Who made the other screams then?”
“James and then Christopher,” Nigel smiled, adding helpfully, “once each, that makes two, and with mine three. I’m good at counting aren’t I Gordon?”
“Yes, thank you Nigel, I did manage to work out the statistics for myself, and why did they scream?”
“James screamed because he bit off my jelly babies head.”
“Why would that make him scream Nigel?”
“I poked him in the eye!”
Gordon sighed even more deeply, “why did you do that?”
“I didn’t mean to Gordon,” the brown eyes looked sorrowful, “I was just trying to get my jelly babies head out of his mouth, but he wouldn’t let me, then my finger slipped.”
Gordon steeled himself, “and Christopher screamed...because?”
“James made Christopher scream,” Nigel shook his head virtuously, “not me.”
“And how exactly did James do that?” Gordon pushed open the kitchen door.
Anna, holding a cold compress against James’s eyes, answered the question as Gordon led Nigel into the kitchen. “Nigel kept saying that James’ mother had eaten his goldfish, so James got mad and held one of Nigel’s jelly babies hostage. Nigel refused to apologise to James’ mother, so James bit the jelly baby’s head off. Nigel screamed and tried to prise open James’s mouth to retrieve the head and ended up poking James in the eye, making him scream and subsequently swallow the head, which then got stuck in his throat. I banged James on the back, the head shot out and hit Chris in the face, which made him scream.”
Christopher, still looking rather shaken, blushed slightly, “sorry, I just got a fright, it was all slimy.”
“That’s perfectly understandable young man,” Gordon patted the slight shoulder kindly. “This pair is enough to make anyone scream with their antics.” He inspected James’s eye, deemed it slightly bloodshot, but otherwise undamaged and thanked Anna for her attentions. He then asked Nigel and James to apologise to each other for quarrelling. They stubbornly refused.
Placing them firmly in opposite corners of the kitchen to think about their behaviour and ego states, Gordon then set the steel kitchen timer for three minutes. Filling the kettle he prepared to make himself a cup of strong coffee. He had a feeling that he was going to need a caffeine boost to get him through the rest of the day.
“Can I come out now Gordon?”
Gordon switched the kettle on. “I said three minutes Nigel, you’ve hardly been there for thirty seconds yet.”
There was a brief lull, then...Gordon closed his eyes as soft singing emanated from the vicinity of Nigel’s corner.
“Don’t stand for coughing, when to Billy a cough is nothing, he’ll stop the cough in its tracks!”
“Be quiet please Nigel, I didn’t stand you in that corner so you could have a pleasant singing session.” He was no connoisseur of The Sound Of Music, but he was almost certain that a song about coughing had not featured. He was just too afraid to ask what musical it HAD come from. He measured coffee granules into a mug. “Tell me why I put you in the corner?”
Nigel stopped singing and turned to look over his shoulder, “have you forgotten Gordon?”
Gordon added a few more granules, poured on water and stirred it while thinking longingly of retirement, “no, I haven’t forgotten, but I’d like you to tell me the reason, just so I know that you understand.”
Nigel considered for a second or two, “I quarrelled with James and hurt him, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
Gordon smiled, “well done Nigel.” He turned his attentions to James, “why are you in that corner James?”
“Because you put me here Gordon.”
Gordon took several sips of the strong coffee, and then asked calmly. “For what reason James?”
“Mother says you shouldn’t put people in corners, it’s unhygienic because all sorts of dust and germs accumulate in corners.”
“I asked you a question James, not your mother. I can’t ask your mother a question can I, because she isn’t here, where is she James?”
James turned to look at Gordon, a look of sudden confusion in his eyes, “in here,” he laid the flat of his hand against his forehead and frowned. “She takes up a lot of space Gordon, sometimes it makes my head hurt.”
Gordon put his coffee mug down. Moving across the kitchen he placed his hands either side of James’ head, gently massaging his temples with his thumbs. He gazed searchingly into the vague green eyes, “what day is it today sweetheart, can you remember?”
James nodded, “Saturday, it’s Saturday.”
“Well done,” Gordon smiled, “and where is your mother James, you do know, don’t you?”
James looked doubtful, but said the words. “She’s in a better place Gordon.”
“Is James’ mother with Nat and Martin too then?”
“Be quiet Nigel.”
James’s look of confusion deepened. “I didn’t know Nat was dead, nobody told me.”
Everyone in the room rocketed a foot in the air with fright as Nigel let out an earth shattering shriek, before bursting into tears and sobbing. “Who killed Nat, was it Anna, Gordon did Anna kill Nat, she said she was going to kill Paul, couldn’t she find Paul, is that why she killed Nat? Has she killed Martin too? I don’t like Anna. I don’t like her any more! You can’t go round killing Nat and Martin, it’s not nice is it Gordon?”
At that moment the kitchen timer rang piercingly, the vibrations sending it skedaddling across the counter top towards the edge, from where it took an almighty leap onto the floor, its springs and bolts bursting forth.
Gordon sympathised, he knew just how it felt! If there’d been a high enough counter available, he’d have seriously considered flinging himself off it.