Saving Nathaniel by Jillian Brookes-Ward Read Free Book Online Page B

Nat was glad to see him go. Both the meeting and the client had been tedious and had drained his enthusiasm. Every proposal had been agreed to without argument. 'You're the expert, that's what I'm paying you for,' the man kept saying. He even agreed to Nat's outrageously inflated fee without negotiation. 'Seems fair enough,' he said when presented with the projected expenses.
    There was no challenge, no difference of opinion and no sense of achievement.
    Nat looked over the paperwork, at the signed contract, and felt…empty. There was no drive, no motivation – nothing. Before, it had raced through his bloodstream like quicksilver, now, it had all gone and in its place, a vacant dark hole. He opened his briefcase and tucked the papers into it. With a heavy sigh, he clicked the lock closed.
    He had almost killed himself to get the contract signed, but what did he have to look forward to in order to fulfil it? No doubt it would entail a few hundred solitary miles on the road, negotiation with the landowner to seal the best price and a dozen or so hours in his study on the telephone and internet. Even the prospect of a big fat cheque at the end of it didn't cheer him any. Was it really worth it?
    He felt something was missing, that there should be more to it. There used to be. He used to look forward to the challenge. He used to enjoy it. Something had gone wrong. Maybe it was because the client had been a boring, pompous prick, but maybe there was something more to it. Maybe there was something wrong with him.
    Pull yourself together, man! Get a grip! he admonished himself as he rubbed little circles on his temples with his fingers. The room felt stuffy. He needed some fresh air. A glance at his watch told him it was nearly one o'clock - lunchtime.
    He stopped in at the pub around the corner from his office building for a pint of light beer and a ham salad sandwich. It was noisy with chatter and intrusive muzak and neither did his growing headache any favours. He spoke to no-one except the waitress who took his order and brought his meal.
    When a group of raucous builders from the construction site down the road invaded the pub, he abandoned both his food and drink.
    Braving the still chilly day and the crowd of shoppers, he wandered up and down Union Street for an hour. Having trudged from shop to shop without having found what he wanted, he picked up a coffee from the Starbucks across the road and returned tired and frustrated to his office.
    He leaned wearily back in his chair to sip at the hot sweet brew and let his eyes scan the room. The office was small but tidy. It didn't have the space for clutter. When his vision fell on the large map of Scotland, covering most of one wall, Megan's voice sounded clearly in his head.
    'For Heaven's sake, it's just a piece of paper!'
    He couldn't fold maps, he had never been able to. They conspired to defeat him and she had made fun of his ineptitude. He smiled and closed his eyes at the thought of her merry laughter drifting across the hallway.
     
    At four-thirty, he woke with a start. He had fallen asleep in the chair with his head lolling almost on his left shoulder. Now he had a stiff neck and a throbbing headache. He stretched himself to ease the stiffness and his extended arm knocked over the paper coffee cup. The top came loose and tepid brown liquid spilled onto his desk top, dribbling over the edge and down onto the carpet.
    He cursed aloud as he attempted to mop up the spillage with a copy of the free newspaper retrieved from the wastebasket. He managed to get most of it but a damp sticky patch remained on the carpet.
    Spilling the coffee was the final straw. He now felt thoroughly miserable and desperately wanted to go home. He knew when he got there, Megan would be waiting for him with her smile, a hot cup of tea and a welcome, and, if he was lucky, she might even offer to massage and soothe his sore neck.
    He would tell her about the accident, complain about his day and