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I heard Coburn’s front door bang hard against the wall as I flew into the store. I looked round for a moment, then headed straight for Nigel, who was on his knees stocking some damn thing in the canned goods section. Didn’t even speak to Della—who was standing behind the counter with her jaw hanging open.
I grabbed Nigel by his shirt, raising him up to my eye level. He looked so scared that some of the steam went out of my fury; I was an awful lot bigger than him. But I wasn't done with him yet.
“What have you brought on to my family, Nigel? When Fiona and I came to pick up Conor yesterday evening, Della told us about that lowlife coming to the store and scaring the shit outta him. This morning when Conor was sick to his stomach, the little fella burst into tears. He told us about that bastard coming to our farm earlier and threatening you. How could you let that happen?”
By then I’d lowered Nigel so his feet were firmly on the ground; he staggered over to a chair by the wood stove and sat. Even oncet he’d caught his breath he couldn’t seem to find his words. I guess I’d scared them right out of him. Della came over and made some soothing sounds, and eventually I felt calm enough to sit in one of the other chairs. I looked round the store and noticed it was empty.
“Well, I’m glad nobody was here to see that,” I offered.
“Oh, they were,” Della told me. “They left. In a hurry.”
I could feel the heat rising up my neck, ashamed of myself. But then I remembered how hard my boy had cried, and I got mad all over again.
Della turned to Nigel. “You never mentioned that Conor had seen Fedora before. Was Conor there when Meeks threatened you?”
Nigel nodded. He looked so woebegone, I almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
Della went in back and came out with tea and teacups. “I’d just made a pot. You Brits always say a nice hot cuppa cures all ills. I doubt this is strong enough for that, but it’s a start.”
We sat there not saying a word, sipping our tea. I felt like a damned fool—the cup handle so small I had to hold it with my little finger sticking straight up, just to make room for the rest of my hand. I was back to feeling bad I’d been so gruff with my friend. I seemed to always be saying sorry to people who should be apologizing to me, but sometimes you had to be the first to make amends.
“I’m sorry, Abit. I never thought it would turn out like this.” That was Della. Nigel was still silent as a grave.
“I’m not mad at you, Della—we wanted Nigel to stay with us.” I looked over at him, but he was studying his shoes. “He’s our friend. But this can’t go on.”
Nigel nodded again. Thing was, we didn’t want Nigel to leave; we just wanted Johnny Ray Meeks out of our lives.
After a time, Nigel started talking, though he didn’t sound like the Nigel I knew. “It’s a right mess, innit? Meeks told me a bunch of porkies, and I dunno how things got so bad. The last time I knew he’d come round was when the boy and I were having a grand ole time making scones. I tried to keep Meeks at bay, but then he started getting rough and, crikey, things went to shite.”
As Nigel went on, I could feel the terror Conor must have felt, sure as if I’d been there. I started glaring at Nigel, which made him clam up, and we were at a dead end again. Then Della stepped in and got us back to talking. Della and I kept saying we could help with a plan to get Meeks offa his back, but Nigel shook his head. “I can fix it,” was all he’d say.
When the store closed that evening, Della drove Nigel back to our place. She knew I was in no mood to give him a ride.
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After breakfast the next day, I walked over to Nigel’s room to tell him I was sorry. He wasn’t there. I figured he musta stepped out for some fresh air because his flannel shirts and jeans were neatly hanging in the closet, and some books and underwears still lay in the dresser. The only thing missing was the suit he’d been wearing when he arrived months ago. I couldn’t imagine him taking a walk dressed like that, but I’d learned the Brits (and the Irish) had their odd ways.
We all expected him to show up any minute, but a coupla days later, still no word. I stopped by Coburn’s several times to check with Della.
“Nigel just isn’t the type to go off without leaving a note," she said, shredding a tissue. “And to leave his mess for you to clean up. I’ve been his friend for decades, Abit, and that isn’t the Nigel I know.”
“Well, you didn’t really know him when he was a full-fledged forger, did you? Maybe this is a different side of him.”
“But even back in the day, he was known as a gentleman. Always polite to everyone, including the cops. This just isn’t like him. And he knows how much I need his help at the store, so I’d expect at least a phone message from the road.” She started biting her nails. “Something’s terribly wrong. I just know it.”