Stuart James - Apartment 6

‘Push him back. He’s stuck. Take the angle wider.’ Meagan went back inside the hall, forcing the edge of the trunk away from the skirting board.

Oliver looked up; his face was bright red, sweat dripping down his forehead. He wiped it away with his sleeve. ‘What’s the plan?’

Meagan was outside, again checking the communal hall. ‘I know a reservoir in north west London. I remember passing it a few times. It’s quiet. No one goes there much. It’s at the back of the main road, the A406 if I remember correctly. It’s perfect as it’s deep and we can drop him off from the edge.’

Oliver looked down at the trunk, wondering how he had got in this mess, how he had let Meagan talk him into it. ‘Fine. Let’s do it then.’

They reached the ground floor, Oliver struggling to pull the trunk, Meagan keeping watch. The trunk bashed along every step, the noise echoing through the hallway. He thought that any minute someone would come out from one of the doorways. How would they explain what was going on?

Hey, what are you doing? It looks like you’re dragging a dead body?

Oh, he’s had too much to drink. Yeah, he’s dead. But I’d rather he was dead outside your property. I can’t deal with the flies, my friend. I’m joking of course, it’s a blow-up doll – my partner’s kinky like that.

Oliver’s thoughts were interrupted; Meagan was calling out. ‘Oliver, quick, someone’s coming.’

He stood still, feeling his heart racing, panic flooding his body.

Meagan watched the front door of the building as they stood in the communal hall. Someone was moving a key, flicking it left and right, grunting, puffing out deep breaths. The door opened. Meagan turned to Oliver, who was standing behind her. ‘Quick, the lift. Go.’

Oliver glanced behind him then pulled the trunk backwards, sliding it along the wooden floor, racing to the lift doors. He placed it inside and joined Meagan.

‘Mrs Sheehan! You’re out late,’ Meagan commented.

Meagan had startled her. The old lady from the fourth floor gazed at the couple, watching them. ‘I could say the same for you. Hello, Rob.’

Oliver thought it better to play along; it was too confusing to introduce himself.

‘We’re popping out. Speak soon, okay?’ Meagan stood, waiting for the lady to pass and go on her way up the stairs.

‘I’m going to see if the lift is working,’ Mrs Sheehan announced.

‘No. I mean, it’s still down. I think they’re coming next week. Didn’t you get the letter?’ Meagan asked.

Mrs Sheehan paused. ‘Letter? I didn’t get a letter. I’d like to check anyway. You never know, do you?’

‘I can assure you the lift is still broken. We were upstairs a minute ago. I had a look. Definitely out, isn’t it, Rob?’ Meagan turned to Oliver.

‘Huh. Yeah, it’s still broken all right. Damn lift. You can never rely on them.’

Meagan was looking past Oliver at the trunk sticking out of the lift door.

The old lady advanced, staring. ‘You look different, young man. Have you lost weight?’

Oliver froze, struggling to hide his shocked expression, thinking what to say to the curious neighbour. ‘Well, that would be the lift, you know. All that walking up and down the stairs. Bound to be good for you. At least there’s a plus side.’

Meagan was still staring at the part of the trunk that was poking out of the lift. Any second now, Mrs Sheehan would see it and ask what was inside. How would they explain away this one? Thankfully, the hall was dark.

‘Look, why don’t I walk you up? I’ll take your trolley. You must be tired.’ Meagan linked Mrs Sheehan’s arm, leading her to the stairs. ‘Did you hear about the burglaries? Shocking isn’t it?’ Meagan’s voice became distant.

Oliver listened to Mrs Sheehan’s concerned voice as it drifted from where he stood.

‘No. When was this? It’s getting worse, isn’t it? What’s wrong with some people? You just don’t know with young folk these days, do you?’

Oliver listened to the conversation as the ladies disappeared up the stairs.

Oliver was wondering what to do now he had the body in the lift, when he heard a phone ringing. Gloved-man’s mobile had been inside the front pocket of his jeans. He debated whether to answer. If he didn’t, whoever was calling would likely get suspicious. But what would he say if he answered? It stopped, and Oliver let out a sigh of relief. Moving over to the stairs, he listened for Meagan. The phone rang again. Oliver decided he had to answer as it would draw unnecessary attention if the phone continued ringing. He reached into his pocket, wishing he had dumped the phone earlier. Pulling the mobile out, he slid his finger across the screen. Oliver listened to the voice on the other end. He kept quiet, as still as possible, listening.

‘Tony, where are you? I’ve been calling all evening. We have another job. This one owes money big time. She needs threatening. Don’t go heavy yet. Hello. Hello?’

Oliver ended the call. ‘Shit.’

It rang a second later.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Do I need to call over? You fucking know how much it aggravates me when you hang up.’

Oliver dropped the phone. They had to get out of here, fast.

Meagan lay in bed, listening to the loud voices coming from downstairs. Her father shouting, her mother crying, asking him questions. She could hear them clearly; her mother was pleading with him.

‘Why did you do it? How could you? What were you thinking? She’s just a little girl! You know how much Meagan and Sarah loved the pet.’

Meagan worked out it had something to do with the guinea pig and its missing head. She thought maybe her father had tried to fix it but just made things worse. She clutched her grey toy bunny, worrying that his head would also fall off.

Loud crashes were coming from the kitchen. Her mother walked to the living room, her father shouting after her, ordering her not to walk away while he spoke.

Meagan pulled the covers over her face, trying to drown out the noise from downstairs. She placed the cloth bunny on the pillow, kissing it goodnight. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to you, don’t worry. I’ll look after you, I promise.’

She knelt on the floor beside the bed, saying her prayers. ‘Please, God, protect Mummy. Look after her and don’t let anything happen. I love her very much. Also, please help my daddy to not be so angry. Mummy says that when you’re loved by your family, nothing else matters. We love Daddy, so he doesn’t need to worry about anything else. Please, God, make him also stop shouting at Mummy and making her cry. Amen.’

She climbed back into bed, tucking her cloth bunny in, placing the blanket around its chest to keep it warm.

An hour later, Meagan woke. The room was dark. A noise had startled her; the front door banging shut. She looked over at her toy, still in the same place, and suddenly felt calmer. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar. The light from the outside hall provided enough glow to see out.

Meagan stepped out of bed, placing her feet on the cold wooden floorboards. As she went out to the hallway, the cold air hit her: a window was open further down the landing.

Meagan listened from the top of the stairs. Total silence. She crept over to her father’s room, tapping the door with her knuckles and waiting for him to tell her to enter. Nothing came.

She edged backwards to her mother’s room. The door was open, the bed empty. Meagan wanted to go downstairs, making up an excuse that she couldn’t sleep, she could hear noises, her tummy hurt. But her father had heard it all, and he’d only send her back to her room.