Stuart James - Apartment 6

Aren’t they?

‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’ Anne was placing three plates with poached eggs on the kitchen table.

‘Oh wow. You’re amazing.’ Tricia glanced at the wall clock above the fridge. ‘You should have woken us. I can’t believe the time. It’s nearly midday.’

‘You obviously needed the rest.’ Anne pulled out a chair from under the table and motioned for her sister to take her place and eat.

Meagan came down the stairs, slightly disorientated, happy to see both her aunty and mother together.

‘Good morning, young lady. How are you today?’ Anne asked.

Meagan looked at the food, scrunching her face. ‘I’m good, Aunty Anne.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

Meagan sat at the table; her chair was unstable as it balanced on a cracked floor tile. Tricia and Anne laughed together as Meagan grew more frustrated, trying to steady herself.

They ate, Tricia watching a ray of light shining through the window where the clawed hand had been the night before. The tree was now still.

Anne refilled the kettle with hot water from the urn.

The women kept quiet regarding any future plans. Tricia wanted to let Meagan know what was happening, but it was too early, she needed to pick the right moment.

After they’d eaten, Anne announced she’d go to town and thought it would be good for both Tricia and Meagan to join her.

Tricia was adamant she’d stay and tidy the place a little, stating it would make her feel better, but Anne persuaded her to go. ‘The fresh air will clear your head, Tricia.’

The three of them spent the day at the market which seemed to sell everything from old books, to antiques to food. To Meagan’s delight there was a pick-and-mix stall. She asked her mother if she could have something. Tricia quickly declined, but was then overruled by her sister.

‘Go on, Tricia. Let her have some fun. We scoffed our faces with sweets most days as kids. What harm did it do to us?’

Tricia gave in, and Meagan quickly filled a brown paper bag with everything from white mice to cola cubes. The guy behind the stall seemed to take a shine to the young girl and also filled both her coat pockets to the brim, adding a peanut brittle bar as an extra treat. He winked. ‘Don’t tell your mother, sweetheart.’

Meagan smiled. ‘I have a carrier bag as well.’

The guy laughed. ‘You’ll get me shot.’

After they’d looked at more stalls, Anne brought them to a small bakery for coffee. She knew the old lady behind the counter who allowed Meagan to join her and make sugar doughnuts, much to Tricia’s dismay.

‘She’s a kid. Leave her be for heaven’s sake, Tricia.’

‘Oh, Anne. It’s not that I’m worried about. Today has been wonderful, more joyous than I can ever say. I’ve never felt so happy, nor has Meagan. That poor girl has witnessed so much shit. I feel guilty.’

Anne stretched across the table and placed her hand on Tricia’s shoulder. ‘Guilty for what, exactly? You’re an amazing mother. Anyone can see that.’

Tricia sipped her coffee, looking out at the market through the bakery window. People were dismantling frames, folding them up for the day, placing items into the back of vans, shouting over to each other. A young lad fired a potato across the road, narrowly missing his mate from another stall.

‘It can’t be like this though, can it?’

Anne stared at her sister, taking in her glum face and disorientated features. She noticed the heavy bags under her eyes, her brow furrowed with deep marks from years of frowning.

‘Who says? You? Is that how life should be, Tricia? Living in fear? Worried that the next time you’re together will be your last? Sean is a complete bastard. Do you hear me? You deserve happiness. You are going to be happy. I’ll make sure.’

Tricia broke down and sobbed into her sister’s chest.

Meagan was distracted, pouring sugar into a bowl to make the doughnuts, impatiently waiting for the fix and unaware of how pitiful her mother was feeling.

She joined Tricia and her aunt a few minutes later, wiping the sugar from her mouth onto her coat sleeve. She eyed the doughnuts, offering them out, both women declining.

‘Ohh, Meggy, they look delicious but I can’t have them because the lady makes cakes with nuts in her kitchen, and remember even a tiny piece of nut can make Mummy very ill. You’ll get sick if you eat all those. Just a couple, okay.’

Her daughter looked up. ‘This is the best day of my life.’

They stood outside the farmhouse, Anne fiddling with the key to open the front door. Tricia stood just behind, clutching Meagan who had fallen asleep on the way back from the market.

‘Okay, I’ll get dinner prepared. Bring her upstairs. Poor love has had an exhausting day,’ Anne said.

‘Yeah, too much excitement.’ Tricia climbed the stairs, balancing her daughter around her hip with her left hand, holding onto the rail with the other. She placed Meagan down on the bed, pulling the blanket over her and tucking Arthur the bunny under her arm. Tricia whispered, ‘Hey, baby. You had a good day. Life is going to get better, I promise, this is only the beginning: you, me, Aunty Anne. You wait and see. I love you so much. Get some sleep.’

She leant down and kissed her daughter’s forehead, and found the sweet taste of sugar on her own lips.

Downstairs, Anne poured pasta into a pan of boiling water. She added tomatoes to another pot for the sauce, sprinkling the contents with salt. She heard Tricia returning. ‘She’s out, I’m guessing?’

‘Like a light, as they say.’ Tricia moved towards her sister. ‘I can’t thank you enough. Really, Anne. How can I repay your kindness?’

Anne turned, facing her sister. ‘Tricia, you deserve better, don’t play the victim, please. We’re going to toughen you up. You’ll see, life is going to get so much b––’

The lights went out; the kitchen was in complete darkness.

Tricia pushed her hands forward, reaching for her sister. ‘Anne. What’s happening?’ She listened for her voice, pawing, jabbing the space where Anne had stood. ‘Anne? Is it a power cut? You said this happens frequently. Anne?’

Tricia listened to her own heavy breaths, trying to gain control, struggling to stem the anxiety that had shot through her body.

Her first thought was Meagan. She had to get to her, make sure she was okay.

Tricia moved forward, arms in front, swiping left and right. The water was spilling over the pan and the lid rattled sharply. ‘Anne. Turn the stove off, you’re scaring me. This isn’t funny, do you hear?’ Tricia reached forward, moving her fingers along the knobs of the cooker, turning everything anticlockwise and making sure the gas was turned off. The water stopped bubbling.

What the hell is going on? If this is a joke, it’s cruel. Suddenly the power returned and the kitchen was drenched in light. Tricia was standing next to the cooker alone. She could feel her heart beating hard. She felt faint, worried she’d collapse. Tricia was too frightened to move, but she had to get to Meagan. As she forced her legs forward, she screamed out, ‘Anne! What’s going on? Where are you? Please, Anne. Why are you d–?’

Again, the lights went out. Tricia was standing alone in the kitchen of a strange house with her daughter upstairs.

Tricia spun round, looking out the side window. The branch had started tapping, lightly knocking against the glass, its fingers beckoning her outside. She listened intently. The clock was ticking behind her as the second hand pounded around the large face, getting louder, sounding like a hammer crashing against the wall. She jumped as a shadow passed the window. Tricia couldn’t be clear, but from the corner of her eye she saw someone or something move. She stepped back, tripping over an object on the floor. She broke her fall by placing her hand down, dropping to the side and rolling onto her stomach.