Stuart James - Apartment 6

Meagan brushed herself down, inviting the lady inside, thankful for the little saviours in life.

As the old lady came into their apartment, Meagan peeked out to the hall. The door to

gloved-man’s apartment was still shut.

It was late by the time the old lady left their apartment. Rob went up to take a look at the electrics and found the main fuse board had tripped.

The old lady thanked them for looking after her and said to call her if ever they needed anything, proclaiming to Meagan that Rob was a total sweetheart and to hang on to him.

As Meagan walked her to the door, a knot developed low in her stomach and fear rose through her body. But once she’d closed the door she was relieved to find that Rob had already gone up the stairs to bed.

She messaged Oliver once she knew it was safe.

I’m fine. Thanks for tonight. Rob’s home, he’s just gone to bed. I know it was stupid. I just wanted to help.

She watched the screen as Oliver typed:

Don’t do that to me again. I was worried sick. Fuck’s sake, Meagan. What were you thinking? You could have got yourself killed. You’re too vulnerable to go doing stupid things like that. Promise me you won’t put yourself in a position like that again. I’ve been pacing the floor.

She wrote back.

I promise. Look, I’ve got to go. Rob can’t know I have this spare phone. I’ll see you soon. xxx

Over the next couple of months, Meagan and Oliver met most mornings on the station platform and often on the way home from work. The trains were packed, and they talked whenever it was safe, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to themselves.

Meagan often sat opposite Oliver, occasionally touching his leg with hers, giving him a flirtatious smile, or holding eye contact with him. Oliver struggled to stem his lust, and Meagan needed her husband out of her life.

She often imagined how life would be with the stranger she met on the train; he was winning her trust the more they met.

Oliver fought with the rage, the sheer hatred he had for her husband. The more he saw Meagan, the more marks he noticed appearing on her face, her arms, and how she fought to hold onto her confidence. He witnessed her downfall day by day. He knew time was running out.

He was desperate to help; he had to do something before the bastard killed her.

Finally, when Oliver was at breaking point, his chance came.

The train was unusually quiet on the way home and Meagan came into the carriage a few seconds before the doors closed. He watched her as she approached him. Meagan struggled to contain her enthusiasm. Her spirits had lifted and her body language was alive as if she had a surge of electricity racing through her veins.

She sat beside him. ‘How was your day?’

‘Oh, busy as usual. You look like you’re going to burst.’

‘I need to talk to you. Rob’s going away for a couple of days next week. He has business of some sort in Spain, so I’ll be on my own. He’s leaving next Tuesday, and he’s not back until Friday lunchtime.’

Oliver was unsure of what to say, but he knew it would give them time to gather their thoughts and try to sort things out.

‘Wow. That’s great. It is, isn’t it?’ Oliver was unsure if Meagan’s plans involved him.

‘Oliver. It’s bloody amazing. I’ve never looked forward to anything so much. I’m going to spend as much time with you as possible.’

Oliver placed his hand in hers. ‘That sounds like a plan.’

Meagan saw Oliver a couple of days before Rob was leaving for Spain.

As she boarded the train on her way home from work, she saw Oliver sitting alone, dressed in a smart suit, well-groomed and cleanly shaven. His black hair was swept back, and he was looking over documents.

As Meagan approached, he looked up, his face gleaming. ‘Meagan, hi.’

‘Mind if I sit?’ she asked.

He placed the papers into his rucksack, making room for her to join him.

‘I’m glad to see you, Oliver. How have you been?’

He smiled, clasping his fingers together and pushing them out in front of him. ‘Oh, you know, keeping busy, tired of commuting, in need of a holiday.’

They both laughed. ‘And you?’ He scanned her face, trying to read her expression. He saw faint scratches along her cheek.

‘I’m okay, I think. Look, is the drink still on offer?’

Oliver’s face flushed as a rush of excitement raced through his veins. ‘Hell, yeah. You mean you and me?’

‘Yes, just you and me.’

‘Of course. Absolutely it’s on offer, Meagan.’

She looked flustered. ‘Good. I’ll message you as soon as Rob’s gone.’

Oliver and Meagan held eye contact as the train slowed to their stop.

Present day.

Now, Oliver stood in the living room, holding his phone, still excited by the message he’d received earlier, thinking about the last three months.

He looked at the screen again, a smug grin across his face, struggling to contain his emotions. Meagan was going to meet him for a drink. The woman he met on a train, the person he couldn’t stop thinking about.

He wanted to send a text, tell her how he felt, thank her for agreeing to meet. Calm down; it’s just a drink. You know she’s married, and it’s wrong. Nothing can change, but maybe it can. Meagan is obviously unhappy; her partner is abusive and beats the shit out of her regularly. I’ve seen the marks; she can’t make a life with him. He’s a brute, a persecutor of the highest order. Finally, it’s my chance to make a difference. Get closer. Gain her trust. Win her over.

Oliver went to text her, then closed the phone, deciding it was better to wait. She’d agreed to meet him. What more could he ask at this moment?

Meagan messaged Oliver on Sunday; a short, to the point instruction.

My husband is leaving Tuesday afternoon for Spain. Let’s meet at a pub close to Kensington for around seven. Don’t reply to this message. Meagan.

A second text came through with the address of a pub. He knew it well; Oliver had been there a couple of times with his ex. He recalled the great food and a large beer garden.

He opened his phone, marking the date and time, simply writing: drink date.

Oliver had struggled to contain his excitement; he’d kept busy, throwing himself into work, keeping his head down. However hard he tried, he thought of her, the woman from the train. Meagan. Her image splashed across his mind like a newspaper scattered over the floor.

He arrived at around quarter to seven. The pub was busy even though it was early evening.

As he scanned the bar, he saw a handful of couples sat at round wooden tables. The place was lit by candles on white shelves along the wall and the sound of pool balls were clacking in the distance. A guy was leaning over the counter chatting to a woman while she served the drinks and a group of lads were at the bar, plonked on high stools, guzzling shots of whisky. Oliver imagined they wouldn’t last the night.

He went to the bar, contemplating where to sit. He was nervous, unsure of himself, thinking he shouldn’t get involved. It’s too late for that now.

The tall young woman behind the bar informed him she’d be with him in a minute.

Oliver removed his phone, checking for messages, silently hoping Meagan had cancelled.

‘What can I get you?’

As Oliver went to order, the door opened and Meagan walked in confidently. She was wearing a bright red dress under a long brown coat. She had her hair up, held in a bun and tightly pulled back. Her face was beaming and she looked breathtaking.

‘Hello, glad you could make it.’ Oliver leant forward, kissing her cheek. He helped her out of her coat, inhaling the strong perfume.