Читать книгу The Second Life of Nathan Jones: A laugh out loud, OMG! romcom that you won’t be able to put down! - David Atkinson - Страница 8

Laura brought the girls to see him every evening whilst he remained in hospital and although seeing his daughters acted like a tonic, staring at his wife’s stressed and unhappy face had the opposite effect. He was glad when, after four days, they let him go home.

The consultant appeared on the Friday afternoon with a clipboard and a printed list of things he wasn’t allowed to do once they handed over the strong painkillers and released him from their care.

Motocross

Hang gliding

Parachuting

Rally driving

Water-skiing

Boxing

Bull riding

Nathan had never attempted any of those things and it left him wondering if he’d been missing out on life somehow. He signed the bottom of the form, promising not to do anything dangerous, though he had to remember he’d ended up in the morgue by simply trying to cross the road.

The young-looking consultant – too young to be a senior doctor in Nathan’s mind – took the signed disclaimer from him and ticked another box on her clipboard and said without looking up, ‘Now, you shouldn’t drive or operate machinery whilst taking these pills either.’

He waited for her to look up and wafted his sling and plastered arm at her.

‘Oh, yeah, sorry, I’m on automatic, but you’d be surprised at what some people try and do.’

‘Like bull riding.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s on your list of prohibited activities.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yeah, right at the bottom.’

She peered at the form then looked up and smiled. ‘Yeah maybe give that a miss for a few weeks at least.’

‘I’ll try, but there are so many opportunities to bull ride in Edinburgh that it might be unavoidable,’ Nathan informed her.

She ignored his sarcasm and left his discharge forms on the bottom of the bed.

Apart from the obvious sling and a few cuts on his forehead, Nathan looked none the worse for his experience. Underneath his shirt, his broken ribs were bound tightly, and his damaged skull bore no marks, but he’d been told to be careful because, although the linear fractures required no treatment as such, he had to return immediately if he experienced any unexpected or severe headaches. Heading home to a grumpy wife and three young kids meant the chances of developing a severe headache were somewhere near one hundred per cent.

Despite this, mentally, he felt elated. It might be down to some sort of post-death high, but he reckoned that, as there wouldn’t be many discussion groups available who’d shared his experience, he’d probably never know.

Laura arrived to take him home in an unusually animated and chatty mood and did most of the talking. As his head hurt and he felt drowsy this suited him fine. He spent most of the weekend watching TV and falling asleep unexpectedly. One minute he would be watching a re-run of an episode of the Antiques Roadshow, the next he’d be snoring, although he suspected this might be more to do with the programme than the pills. Chloe woke him up. ‘Dad, how can you sleep when you’re snoring so loudly?’

‘I don’t know, Chloe.’ He yawned, and Laura came over and made a fuss of him, which he really enjoyed.

Then Daisy jumped onto the couch and gave him a huge cuddle. Dying had certainly made his two youngest daughters very appreciative of him. It probably wouldn’t last so he needed to make the most of it – once they sensed he’d recovered fully they’d be back to normal. Daisy jumped down and tripped over his foot.

‘Shit.’

‘Daisy, don’t say that; it’s not a nice word,’ scolded Laura.

‘Daddy said it.’

‘He shouldn’t have. Nathan, don’t say shit.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘Shit,’ squealed Daisy with delight.

‘Daisy, stop it.’

‘You said shit again, Laura, that’s why she’s doing it.’

‘Shit!’ yelled Daisy again, gleefully.

‘I didn’t, did I? Shit, I didn’t mean to.’

‘Shit,’ said Daisy, bouncing up and down on the rug.

Laura put her head in her hands. ‘We need to stop saying shit. I hardly ever say it – it’s you she’s learned it from.’

‘Why’s everything my fault?’

‘Because it usually is.’

‘Shit,’ cried Daisy as she walked over and picked up her doll. She took the doll into her bedroom whispering, ‘Shit,’ into its ear.

On Monday, Laura dropped Daisy at her day nursery and went to work, leaving him alone at home for the first time since he’d come back from hospital. His wife had been making an effort to be civil to him and he felt guilty about the recent disingenuous thoughts and feelings he’d had when she’d so easily given up on coming to see him in hospital that first day. He hoped it might be a sign that they could begin to patch things up.

Their marriage had started off amazingly well considering the circumstances under which they’d got together. After Millie had been born they’d remained close; people even referred to them as ‘devoted’ when they saw them together.

He couldn’t put his finger on when exactly things had begun to turn sour. He supposed it had been a gradual process. Somewhere between falling pregnant with Chloe and the birth of Daisy everything had changed. They’d not had a lot of time together as a couple before Laura fell pregnant with Millie. Perhaps if they’d been given that time socialising, holidaying and doing the normal stuff that young couples did then the relationship might have run its course and ended. Kids complicated everything. They naturally became a priority and somewhere in the mix Nathan and Laura had got lost. Money had only started to become an issue after Chloe came along. At that point Nathan’s work had dried up – companies took more decisions and jobs in-house meaning contractors were used less. The practice had begun to reverse in recent times, but good contracts remained elusive.

Going back further, Nathan suspected that part of Laura’s initial attraction to him could be put down to the fact she’d thought him posh. True, he’d gone to boarding school, but his private education had come about more from the fact he’d been an inconvenience to his parents rather than any aspirational hopes they’d had for their son. He’d interfered with their lifestyle, so he’d spent most of his pre-school years in assorted day nurseries and most weekends with babysitters or childminders. (He still didn’t understand the distinction between the two.)

Shortly after Nathan’s birth, an elderly aunt had died, leaving her entire and considerable estate to his mother. He learned later that she had been waiting years for this happy event, and his parents had spent many hours planning exactly what they were going to do with the money – which included a lot of travel, some nice cars and a holiday home in France. The inconvenience of having a brat would be something they’d deal with as long as it didn’t cramp their style.

‘Mum, why did you have me?’ he’d asked her once.

‘I don’t know, Nathan.’

‘What do you mean you don’t know?’

‘Well, you weren’t exactly planned, let me put it like that.’

‘So, I’m an accident?’

‘Kind of. Once I found out, though, I decided to keep you. Auntie Caroline had hung on longer than anyone expected so I thought you might be a welcome diversion, something to help pass the time.’

The only family trips they ever made were to the house in France. Even then, he only got to go during the summer holidays, which he suspected had more to do with the fact it was cheaper to hire a childminder in Brittany, where they had their cottage, than to pay for one in London. His babysitters in France were more colourful than the middle-class young girls they employed in London.

One evening, just after his ninth birthday, his parents engaged Monsieur Masson to look after him while they went to a party. As soon as they were gone Monsieur Masson’s mistress arrived and they left Nathan to his own devices while they made full use of his parents’ huge four-poster.

By the time his parents returned home Nathan had managed to shave his eyebrows off, using his dad’s razor and shaving foam. During the process, he’d nicked the skin above his eyes in numerous places, leaving his face a mask of blood. It made him resemble some demonic child from a cheap horror flick. He then attempted to make a meal by smashing eggs into a large stainless-steel bowl, adding a liberal portion of tomato sauce and grated cheese before putting the whole lot uncovered into the microwave. The resulting multicoloured explosion took weeks to scrub clean. Monsieur Masson didn’t get asked back.

A few days after his fifteenth birthday his father, aged only fifty-six, died of a heart attack. Perhaps the hedonistic lifestyle he and his mother had undertaken could be blamed, or perhaps it could be put down to faulty genes. In any event, the loss of his father curtailed his mother’s excesses for a while and Nathan started attending the local comprehensive in south London as there was no sense in needlessly wasting money on private education any longer than necessary, according to his mother.

Despite the disruption he found that he enjoyed the local school much more and, although his mum could never be described as ‘doting’, at least she took an interest in him for a while.

Laura’s upbringing was in stark contrast to his. She came from a poor background in Fife, growing up in a cramped flat. The glamour of being associated with someone from his background, despite it being completely dysfunctional, might have been intoxicating for her. Nathan admitted it was possible he played the ‘posh’ card a little too much with Laura in the beginning, but as she had been so exceptionally gorgeous he’d felt he needed every advantage he could get.

His wife now worked for a venture capital firm. She’d started as an administrative assistant but, after taking dozens of exams to ‘better herself and her chances’ (her description), she’d progressed to operations manager – a remarkable achievement given she’d had three children along the way. She still wasn’t satisfied with that, though, and continually moaned about how much more she could earn if she moved back to London. Nathan had grown up in the capital and had no wish to return, yet another thorn in their relationship.

The postman noisily shoving something through the letterbox pulled him from his thoughts, and he padded down the hall to retrieve the mail.

There were four items; the first two were a bank statement, which wouldn’t make good reading – he left that to one side – and a small catalogue for children’s books, which had Laura’s name on it. He placed that on top of the bank statement. The last two envelopes intrigued him. They were of the white windowed variety and, although both were addressed to Laura, he could see underneath the window on one of them and noticed his name and a policy number. On the back, the name and address of the sender: The Corporate Mutual Insurance Company.

Nathan opened it and read the script:

Dear Mrs Jones

Mr Nathan Jones – Policy Number CM2345GY98

We were sorry to hear about the recent death of your husband. As discussed with you in our telephone conversation on 23 November please find enclosed the requested information. We apologise for the delay in forwarding this to you but due to an issue with our systems we had not realised this request had not yet been actioned. We apologise for any distress or inconvenience this may have caused you.

Enclosed is the relevant claim form for completion to enable us to consider the claim under this policy.

Please note, in order to be able to pay the proceeds, under policy number CM2345GY98 we will need sight of the original death certificate and for this reason we recommend you return the completed form together with the death certificate by recorded delivery to ensure no delay is caused by lost documentation.

Our thoughts are with you at this difficult time, and if you need to speak to us directly, please call our confidential customer helpline on 0804 345 6788. The phone line is staffed between the hours of 8.30 a.m. until 5.30 p.m., Monday to Friday.

We trust that you will find this to be in order.

Yours sincerely

Mr K Stanton

Senior Claims Executive

Encs.

Relevant Claim Form

Nathan sat down on the couch, stunned. The morning he had been found alive by the mortuary girl his wife had been on the phone to the insurance company chasing money. No wonder she’d been so ‘shocked’ to find him still living. He knew his wife could occasionally be, well, if he was honest always, ‘money orientated’, but his body had hardly been cold and the first thing she’d decided to do was cash in on his death. Nathan had two life insurance policies, the one referred to in the letter and another joint one with Laura that covered the mortgage. He’d no doubt that she’d been on the phone chasing that one as well. What a cold-hearted bitch.

He decided to open the other envelope, fully expecting it to be from the other insurance company, but this one turned out to be even more bizarre as it contained his death certificate. As he sat staring at it he suddenly shuddered, as if someone had just walked across his grave. He then comforted himself with the thought that not many people got to read their own death certificate.

*

He decided to wait until all the girls were asleep that evening before confronting his wife. She’d poured herself a large glass of Shiraz and slumped down onto the couch to watch TV. Nathan sat opposite in an armchair and watched her, wondering if she really could be as hard-hearted as her actions appeared to suggest.

It was clear Laura could feel his eyes on her. ‘What is it, Nathan? Why are you staring at me?’

‘I opened some letters today.’

Laura sipped her wine and smiled. ‘That’s nice; highlight of your day, was it?’

He nodded. ‘In a way, yeah. The first letter came from The Corporate Mutual Insurance Company.’

He watched the colour drain from her face. ‘Nathan, I can explain.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Err, well, I had concerns that they’d cancel the policies before I could register a claim – you know what these insurance companies are like, they’ll try and weasel out of paying any way they can.’ Laura smiled, obviously happy with her quick thinking.

‘Why would they cancel the policies, Laura? They were up to date and as far as they were concerned I’d been killed legitimately, so why would there be any issues?’

‘Well …’ Laura paused and chewed on her bottom lip. ‘Yeah, but the premiums came out of your bank account and with you dead all your accounts would have been frozen. The bank wouldn’t have paid so I wanted to make sure I got the claim in before they could cancel due to non-payment of premiums.’

‘Is that why you were so fast to get my death certificate as well?’

Laura nodded. ‘Yeah, they said they needed that to process the claim.’

Nathan thought that over for a moment. He really wanted to believe her, but the problem was, he knew his wife inside out. ‘Doesn’t exactly tally up with your earlier claim to be really upset and grieving, though, does it?’

Laura sighed and put her glass down on the floor. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say, Nathan.’

Neither did he. Did he want his wife to beg for forgiveness, admit she was cold and unfeeling towards him and tell him that everything would change? If she did he wouldn’t believe her anyway; they were too far gone for that and he knew it. ‘We could go to counselling.’

Laura stared at him for a moment, blinked several times and dismissed the suggestion. ‘I don’t believe in that sort of thing.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t believe in it? You can maybe get away with not believing in fairies, UFOs and leprechauns, but marriage counselling is real, proven and helps loads of couples.’

‘I think our marriage is beyond fixing, Nathan, and has been for a long time.’

‘What you mean is, you don’t want to fix it.’

Laura picked up her glass, took a gulp of wine and shook her head. ‘I can’t be bothered, Nathan, and I think that’s worse. It just seems like too much effort. I wasn’t glad when you died but, I should tell you, I was relieved. I know that sounds cold-hearted and unfeeling but it’s the truth. It meant I wouldn’t have to deal with this, deal with you, deal with us. I wanted to wait a little longer until you were completely healed but … well, there you are … you forced it out of me.’

‘It didn’t take much.’

‘No, it didn’t and there’s the problem, isn’t it? I need to leave and move on. I need more from my life than you.’

‘What about the girls?’

‘It’ll be hard at first, but they’ll adapt. In the long run it’ll be better for them not to have to live with our arguing and … what would I call it … apathy?’

‘Indifference.’

‘Yeah, see, you get it, don’t you? Deep down you know I’m right. It’ll let you move on too, maybe find someone new.’

‘I don’t want anyone new. I want the Laura I married.’

Laura smiled sadly at her husband. ‘That Laura died a long time ago. You killed her slowly over time, strangled the life out of her.’

‘That’s horrible.’

Laura shrugged. ‘It’s the truth.’

‘It’s your truth.’

*

Laura looked at her husband for a moment, trying to remember what it had been like to love him. She’d changed over the years while he’d remained pretty much the same, stuck in a rut. Maybe it had been unfair of her to expect more given his family and background, the very family background that had made him so attractive in the first place. Laura knew she had an ambitious social-climbing streak in her at a time when it had become increasingly unfashionable to admit to such a thing. In her mind, quality mattered and whatever else she thought about her husband he had quality – if such a thing existed. It helped he was good-looking, but he never seemed to realise that, which over the years had been at times a comfort and at others a curse. He attracted people to him with his easy manner and chilled-out personality. That personality trait annoyed her the most, though – he didn’t worry about things. Appointments to Nathan were vague arrangements, deadlines something to work towards, the future … what future?

She could have had anyone; at the time she probably hadn’t realised that, but it had been true. She’d been intelligent, beautiful and outgoing. Nathan was so loyal, so devoted like a little puppy, and almost as cute.

Over time, though, loyalty and devotion became wearing and irritating. With Nathan dead her plan had been to sell up and relocate to London. The life insurance money would have come in handy, especially given the costs of living down there, but, in any event, she’d get by.

She sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter whose truth it is, Nathan. I’m going to make it easier on everybody and move out. I’ve applied for a transfer to London and as soon as that’s approved I’ll leave. You can live here with the girls and that way they don’t miss out on their schooling and stuff. I’ll see them at weekends and holidays.’

*

Nathan sat in shock; he hadn’t known how the conversation would end. He hadn’t anticipated a happy ending but Laura’s returning to London hadn’t even been on his radar. ‘If you want out, London’s a bit drastic; couldn’t you just stay with your mum and dad for a bit and see how it goes?’

‘I know you can’t, but, if you could, would you go back and live with your parents?’

Nathan shook his head. ‘I barely lived with them the first time around, so no. But why London? You were the one desperate to get away from there years ago.’

Laura nodded and bit her lip. ‘Yeah, that was then, this is now. The world’s changed, I’ve changed. This way life will be much more pleasant for everyone.’

‘Much more pleasant for you, you mean, living it up in London.’

Laura shook her head. ‘I won’t be doing any of that, Nathan. I’ll be working hard to try and build a better future for myself and the girls. And you know what? For the first time since I was nineteen I’ll be doing it on my own.’

She waited for a reply and when none came announced, ‘I’ll be out of here in early January. What we need to do over the next few weeks is pretend that everything is normal for the girls’ sake over Christmas. That shouldn’t be too difficult for us really – it’s what we’ve been doing for years.’ She tossed back her hair and the rest of her wine and stomped out of the room.

Nathan switched off the TV and sat back in his chair, thinking. He couldn’t contemplate life without Laura, despite their problems. He’d somehow always believed that things would get better, fix themselves in one way or another. Her cold determination left him reeling.

After a while he went to bed and slipped in beside his sleeping wife – well, he assumed she’d gone to sleep as she made no movement when he snuggled up beside her. He’d been sleeping like this for over a decade now, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else, but some time soon his bed would be cold and empty. Would he be able to cope?