Stuart James - Apartment 6

‘Why are you tutting, Mrs Tunney?’ Meagan asked.

Sarah’s mother turned round from the front. ‘Never you mind, Meagan. Being nosey will only get you in trouble.’

Meagan looked at Sarah, and they both giggled.

Tricia leant towards the two girls. ‘Stop acting silly now, come on. We’re lucky to get a lift home.’

Meagan watched the wiper blades racing left and right, the condensation forming heavily on the front window. Mr Tunney wiped the glass with the back of his hand. He cracked the window open slightly, causing a spray of water to hit the three of them in the back seat.

The girls screamed, and Mr Tunney told them to keep it down.

‘Mummy. Can Sarah have a sleepover in our house? Please, please Mummy?’

‘Meggy, it’s a school night, you know the rules: no sleepovers when you have to get up early.’

‘Why are there rules? Daddy says you don’t follow his rules. Does that mean I don’t have to follow yours?’

Tricia looked at her daughter, gearing herself up for the next bombardment of questions. They were never-ending, and the more she answered, the more Meagan came back with, like a continuously looping conveyor belt.

Mr Tunney pulled up to his drive. Tricia got out of the back seat, thanking them for the lift, and Meagan followed.

As Tricia looked across towards the house, her heart sank as she saw her husband’s car in the drive.

The rain had eased, the clouds breaking slightly, allowing light through, lifting Tricia’s spirit ever so slightly. Meagan pointed to a captivating rainbow in the distance. Her eyes were wild as she pulled her mum’s hand, pleading her to bring her closer to the spectacle.

Tricia jumped as she placed her key in the front door lock. Sean flung it open from the inside, causing her to cry out.

‘You made it then?’ Sean asked.

Meagan stepped forward. ‘Daddy, why did you leave us?’

He turned, walking back towards the kitchen. ‘Dinner is nearly ready.’

Tricia removed her jacket and placed it over the stair rail. ‘I’m not hungry. You and Meagan eat. I’m going for a lie-down.’ She kicked off her boots and went up the stairs.

Sean paused, standing in the downstairs hallway in disbelief, shocked his wife would do this to him. ‘You really aren’t going to eat after the time it’s taken?’

‘I told you, Sean, I don’t feel well.’

She listened to him move towards the kitchen, slamming the oven door and hammering the food on the table.

She undressed and lay on the bed, frightened of what he’d do and frightened of upsetting their daughter.

As Tricia drifted off to sleep, she heard footsteps coming towards her. She jolted, briefly wondering where she was. Meagan was at the door, shouting, ‘No, Daddy, don’t.’

As Tricia sat up, Sean lifted the jug of steaming gravy and proceeded to pour it over Tricia’s head.

She winced in pain, the liquid burning her skin. He then scrunched the potatoes in his hands and crammed them into her mouth, until she vomited.

Meagan was distraught. She screamed out. ‘Stop it, Daddy. Stop it, you’re hurting Mummy’.

She heard her mother scream as she rushed to get water and help cool her face. Meagan was crying, struggling to understand why her father would treat her mother so cruelly, why he’d hurt her every day, making her cry, smiling when she got upset, laughing when her mother begged him to stop and leave her alone.

Sean left the room as Meagan stood at her mother’s bedside, dipping a flannel into the water and dabbing it on the deep burn marks.

Oliver sat in front of Meagan, unsure if he’d heard correctly. His legs were trembling and his arms were numb so he was unable to reach forward and sip his drink. Maybe I misheard her. A sudden lapse of concentration on my part, like when you’re talking in a crowd, and you’re sure you hear someone behind you say something shocking. You zone out temporarily, debating whether to go to the person you’ve never met and tackle them, question their last remark.

‘What was that, pal? What did I hear you just say? My wife’s a minger? I’m a dickhead? I don’t belong in a pub like this with normal, decent people, is that it?’

Even though you’re sure someone made a remark, you carry on, ignore it, put it to the back of your mind.

The problem was, Oliver had heard what Meagan had just said. He had heard every terrifying word. So what now? Do I brush over it, tell her how attractive she is? Ask her how her day went? What has she planned for the coming week? Tell her what I’d love to do to her? What I’ve been fantasising about?

Meagan searched Oliver’s face. ‘Did you hear me?’

Shit, it’s real. Oliver sat forward, finally pushing the sense of paralysis from his body. He took a deep breath, sipped his beer, then placed the glass in front of him on the soggy beer mat. ‘I’m getting my head around what you’ve asked me. You want me to kill your husband? That’s what you said, right?’

Meagan leaned back, crossing her legs, her shoe dangling from her foot, her leg bouncing. ‘You heard correctly.’

Oliver paused, debating his answer. ‘And how do you think I’m going to do that? Follow him home, jump out from a cupboard and place a carrier bag over his head until he’s limp? You’re not thinking straight, Meagan. I can’t just go around murdering people. It’s against the law for a start. Have you thought about that?’

‘I’ve thought of nothing else. I’ve been with my husband for almost three years; I can’t explain what it’s like to live with such a vindictive bastard, worried every day I’m with him will be my last. You’ve seen the cuts and bruises, you know what I’m going through. I can’t leave the apartment; he watches my every move. Do you think I’d be here tonight if he wasn’t in Spain? I tiptoe through life, terrified of what he’ll do. His temper is getting worse, Oliver.’ She looked up, tears in her eyes, so pitiful. ‘He’s going to kill me unless we do something. You’re my only hope. I have no one else to turn to. He’s told me on more than one occasion if I ever leave, he’ll hunt me down. He said there’s no escape. He won’t let me leave. Not ever. You have to help me, Oliver. I’m begging you.’

Oliver stared, his head fuzzy, his mind racing, confused, contemplating his dilemma. He’d fallen for Meagan big time, was unable to think of anything else. She sat in front of him, asking for help, pleading with him. Scenarios played out in his mind, a mass of outcomes. Meagan was desperate; she wanted out of her marriage and this seemed to be the only way.

Oliver took a deep breath, steadying himself before speaking. ‘I want to help, honest, but there must be another way? What if I break into your apartment, kill this evil bastard, then what?’

Meagan answered like she already had it all worked out. ‘I’ll leave for the evening. The communal hall will be easy enough to get into; I’ll give you a key, then you can make your way up the two flights of stairs to apartment six.

‘Then what?’ Oliver watched Meagan’s face as she thought of an answer.

‘It’s up to you what you do, how you do it.’

‘Up to me? Funnily enough, Meagan, I don’t make a habit of this. Okay, I’ve watched films about murders and read novels about murders, but it doesn’t make it easier for me. I haven’t a clue where to start. I can’t just google “how to murder the husband of a woman from the train I’ve fallen for”.’

Meagan laughed. Oliver thought how rare that was: he’d known her a few weeks and could recall just a handful of times that he’d seen her face light up.