Stuart James - Apartment 6

Three more bangs caused him to freeze. He had to answer, had to go and see who it was.

At the front door he stepped up on his tiptoes, his eye to the spyhole. Outside seemed blurred and cloudy, like looking at the world through binoculars that were the wrong way round.

He gently raised his left hand, removing the chain, pulling the door open, edging it towards him, then stepping into the corridor. ‘Hello. Who’s there?’

He listened intently – the couple next door to his right were arguing; an intense debate, raised voices. Something slammed from inside their apartment, a saucepan or kettle. He’d only seen them a few times, a middle-aged couple, usually quiet.

Oliver looked to the left. He could make out a faint shadow; someone was standing on the stairs leading down to the main communal doors.

He wanted to shut the door, fasten the chain, return to the sofa. Why have they knocked on my door? Are they drunk? In need of help?

As he stepped back into his apartment, feeling behind him for the door to move inside, he heard a groan, a gasp for breath. ‘Hello. Who’s there? Can I help you?’

Another groan. Louder this time.

Oliver let go of the front door, edging to the communal stairs, looking behind him, peering along the hall. ‘Who’s there? Hello.’

He froze in shock, his head spinning, feeling like he was about to heave up all the food he’d eaten earlier.

In front of him, attached to the wooden balcony with thick rope around her neck, was Meagan, dangling over the staircase. Her legs were kicking like a fish that had just been taken out of water.

The bus pulled away, out onto the country lane. Tricia and Meagan were standing in the cold alone, waving to Danny and Bev who were leaning over the back seat as the bus pulled out of sight.

‘They were friendly, weren’t they?’ Tricia stated, looking around to get her bearings.

Meagan nodded. ‘Are we here, Mummy?’

‘Yes, Meggy. See the large white house on the corner? That’s Aunty Anne’s place.’

Tricia picked up her bag, holding her daughter’s hand as they made their way together, side by side.

‘It’s very quiet here, Mummy. It’s scary.’

‘Oh, Meggy. There’s nothing to worry about.’

As they reached the house, Tricia opened the black wooden gate, and they walked up the cobbled path. They noticed a light towards the back of the house coming from the kitchen; the curtains were drawn in the front living room to their right side.

It was an old-style farmhouse, Tricia recalled. Although she hadn’t been here for quite a while, she still remembered the layout. She searched for a bell, finding a long pole hanging from the wooden porch at the front.

‘Can I do it, Mummy?’

Tricia lifted her daughter, who reached out and pulled the pole towards her. A loud sound came from inside, the tune of Big Ben’s chimes.

They waited patiently, Tricia cupping her hands and looking through the glass of the front door. No, please be inside. Don’t do this to me now. She has to be inside.

Tricia pulled the pole again and a window opened above. ‘Who’s there?’

Tricia immediately recognised the hoarse, croaky voice. She realised her sister must have been asleep. ‘Anne. It’s me. Open the door.’

‘Tricia. Is that you? Oh, my lord. Is everything okay? Give me a second.’

The window closed, and a light went on in the upstairs hall, a shadow moving down the stairs towards them. Anne unlocked the front door. She was wearing a dark brown dressing gown and had a sleep mask resting over her forehead. ‘Well, look here.’ Anne reached out, pulling her sister close, leaning back, taking her in. ‘And look at you. You’ve grown, young lady,’ directing her comment at Meagan.

‘What do you say, Meggy?’ nudged Tricia.

‘It’s so good to see you.’

Anne leant forward, moving towards Meagan. ‘It’s so good to see you too.’ She beckoned them inside. ‘Where’s Sean. Is he with you?’

‘No. We’re hiding on him,’ Meagan said.

Tricia looked at her sister. ‘It’s a long story.’

Anne crouched down, holding Meagan close. ‘Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you your room? Then your mother and I can have a catch-up.’

Once Meagan was tucked into bed, she went straight to sleep, with Arthur lying beside her.

In the kitchen Anne found Tricia bent forward on a wooden chair, staring at the ground, rocking backwards and forwards. She went over to her sister, crouching by her side. ‘Tricia, love. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.’

Tricia looked up, mascara running down her pale face. Her eyes were bloodshot and she looked beaten, like someone who’d given up and couldn’t carry on. She gripped her sister’s arm, pulling her towards her and embracing hard. ‘You have to help me. I’m begging you.’

Anne placed her arm around her sister’s back, rubbing gently, comforting the broken woman who sat in front of her.

As Anne held her sister, Tricia completely broke down, sobbing uncontrollably and telling her about Sean, the terrible things he did to her, how he treated her, finishing with her being locked in the wooden container and Meagan finding her, the two of them making their escape, running to freedom.

Anne listened in shock, shaking with hatred for the man Tricia had married.

When Tricia had finished, Anne took a bottle of whisky from the kitchen unit and half-filled two glasses. Tricia reluctantly downed the alcohol and watched as Anne tipped the bottle for a refill.

‘You did the right thing coming here. You can’t live like that, Tricia. He’ll kill you, and Meagan. Why didn’t you do it sooner?’

Anne watched her sister, whose face was red from the cold and the sudden hit from the whisky. Her hands were shaking as she struggled to spill the words out. She was trembling, softly humming to herself to blank out the terror of the last few weeks.

Anne stood, wanting, needing to show authority. It was the only way she knew to deal with this situation. ‘I’m going to run you a bath. Take as much time as you need. You’re staying here now; this is your home for as long as you like. Do you hear me, Tricia?’

Tricia nodded, reaching for the bottle and pouring another shot.

Anne went upstairs, turned on the taps and started filling the bath with warm water.

Tricia leant back on the chair, finally pulling herself together. She rarely drank but could now easily finish the bottle. Her tears had stopped, the shaking temporarily ceased, and she was calm.

She thought about Meagan, how all of this was affecting her; the nightmares, the questions she’d asked, how she worried about her mother. Meagan was such an innocent, beautiful girl who didn’t deserve to witness such horrific episodes. How she loved to hide, it was her favourite game. Tricia just hoped they could keep hiding forever and never be found.

An hour later, Tricia returned to the kitchen after her bath, wearing a dressing gown that Anne had found for her. Anne had emptied her holdall and put Tricia and Meagan’s clothes into the washing machine to freshen them up a little.

Tricia was feeling a little lightheaded from the effects of the whisky, and wanted coffee.

Anne boiled a kettle of water on the stove. It started whistling, a high-pitched screech that grated through Tricia’s body.

‘How are you feeling, or is that a stupid question?’ Anne asked.

Tricia looked up, clinging to the dressing gown, wrapping the belt tighter around her waist. ‘What are we going to do, Anne? Meagan and I can’t stay here forever.’ Tricia looked beyond her sister, to a large window behind her, the blackness outside, so cold, so bleak and uninviting.