Stuart James - Apartment 6

As he turned left, heading towards the centre of London, Oliver noticed a car on his tail, hanging back slightly. The road was clear ahead, and the vehicle made no attempt to overtake. He jabbed his foot on the brake slightly, making it awkward for whoever was driving to stay behind. As Oliver slowed, so did the car behind. Go on then, go around me. What’s your problem?

The vehicle was difficult to make out in the darkness, but Oliver could see the guy’s face in the rear-view mirror. He looked young, twenty-something and was wearing headgear of some kind.

Suddenly, Oliver hit the accelerator, pushing his speed to over fifty. The car behind also increased its speed, tailgating, almost touching Oliver’s bumper. This is ridiculous. What’s with this prick? Again, Oliver hit the brakes, causing the car behind to slow. He spotted a parking bay to his left and decided to pull over. As he did, the vehicle behind moved in; flashing blue lights appearing and a siren blasting noise.

Shit. I don’t believe this.

Oliver watched the uniformed officer move along the road towards him. His first thought was to pull out, drive like the clappers and get away from here. Oliver felt nauseous, panic racing through his body. He was unable to see clearly and realised he was fighting an anxiety attack.

A tap on the window swiftly brought him back from his thoughts of the guy in the boot, the dead body.

‘Hi officer, how can I help?’

‘Do you know why I pulled you over?’

Oh yes, you saw me down at the reservoir earlier, trampling through the grass, pulling the dead body from the reservoir. It’s amazing what you find while fishing. He’s a big one, officer. Check him out; he’s in the back as we speak.

‘No, officer. I don’t think I was speeding.’

‘Can I see your driving licence, sir?’

Oliver rooted in the glove compartment, found the small folder and handed it to the officer through the passenger window. He watched as the guy looked over the document, called in the registration plate and waited for the response.

Oliver could feel his heart racing, a thumping through his eardrums. Any second now he’d pass out. Then what? Surely the body would be found. The end of the road. He would be locked up with no chance of release.

Oliver listened to the voice on the radio. The officer repeated his name and gave a brief description.

Sad little bastard who follows instructions and becomes obsessed with beautiful women, gets talked into murdering their partners and is then lumbered with the bodies.

Oliver watched the officer moving around the car, kicking tyres and looking into the back seats. Please, just go, I can’t deal with this. I can’t take it.

The officer moved to the passenger window, shining his torch into Oliver’s face. ‘Okay, looks good. You have a cracked tail light. Get it fixed. You won’t be so lucky next time.’

Oliver let out a huge sigh as the officer walked back to his car. He waited for a few seconds before pulling back onto the dual carriageway; the officer remained behind but had dropped back a hundred feet or so. After a minute, he watched the car take a left and vanish out of sight.

Twenty minutes later, Oliver opened the glove compartment, fishing for the fob to the car park barrier around the back of his apartment block. He watched the white pole rise slowly, then moved forward into his parking space. The car park was quiet, a couple of work vans, a dark-coloured jeep, a moped to his left. No one in sight.

He decided to leave the body in the boot of his car for the night. It was too risky dragging it upstairs; there was always a danger he’d be seen. He glanced over at the security camera fitted to the wall by the side entrance which pointed away and towards the far side of the grounds.

He sat in the driver’s seat, his mind racing, again thinking how he got in this shit. He’d done stupid things in his life, things he wasn’t proud of. He found himself in chaotic situations due to his lack of social skills and his unwillingness to say no.

He pictured dumping gloved-man down a toilet pan, flushing and ramming the guy’s legs harder into the bowl, pushing his shoes until he disappeared around the U-bend.

Oliver glanced across the car park, thinking maybe he could dump the body next to the wall, then run, leaving it behind and hope it didn’t come back to bite him on the arse. There’d be fingerprints, DNA; I wouldn’t have a hope of getting away.

As he slowly opened the driver’s door, he was aware of someone approaching from the right side of the car park. He could hear footsteps, high heels clicking on the concrete floor. He watched as the figure approached.

Oliver contemplated getting back inside his vehicle, locking the doors and driving out of the car park. There wasn’t enough time. He stood completely still. His legs were frozen to the ground. He was unable to command his body to move.

The woman was right beside him; he could make out her features, her long hair, tall, slim figure, oozing confidence. ‘Hello, Oliver. Fancy seeing you out here.’

‘Claire. Wow, this is a surprise.’ The blood returned to his body. He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘What are you doing here?’

Claire stood for a moment, struggling to explain why she’d turned up out of the blue, here, now. As Oliver watched her face, he suddenly remembered what he was hiding. He wondered if the body was giving off an odour which would prompt her to ask unwanted questions.

He walked away from the parked car, standing in the glow of a lamppost. The security camera was still facing towards the back.

Claire said, ‘I-I wanted to see you. Can I come up?’

Oliver glanced towards the front window of his apartment on the fourth floor, then back to the parked car. He didn’t need this. Talk about timing. ‘Yes, of course. It’s good to see you, Claire.’

They walked up the stairs to the apartment. There was little communication between them and long gaps of awkward silence.

Once inside, Oliver made coffee. He’d offered Claire something stronger, but she declined. He watched her remove her coat and hang it on the back of a chair, which she pulled closer to the breakfast bar.

Oliver struggled to control his shaking hands as he placed the two cups in front of his ex. He lifted his cup, blowing on the contents, waiting for an explanation.

Claire took a deep breath, straightening her back. ‘I’m sorry, okay. God, do you know how difficult this is? I’m an idiot. I miss you. I miss us. I had shit going on myself, and I needed space.’

Oliver watched her talking, the awkwardness in her body as she spoke, her voice breaking and weak. ‘I want what I’ve lost, what we had. Tell me you feel the same.’

‘I miss you too, Claire. Believe me, I’ve tried to understand why you just got up and walked out. I thought we were good together.’

She reached forward, holding his hand, rubbing the top of his fingers. ‘We were. We can be again. I’m sorry, Oliver.’

‘So, how have you been? What’s going on in your life?’ Oliver was making small talk, directing questions at his ex-girlfriend to steer the spotlight from himself. Too much had happened to him over the last few weeks, Claire wouldn’t understand. There wasn’t time to get into it all now.

‘Oh, you know, work, home, work, like a never-ending, depressing conveyor belt of boringness. I’ve lost my spirit; I thought I wanted something else, if I’m honest. I needed to find myself, understand my thoughts, how I felt about life. About us,’ Claire said.

Oliver watched her, the way she moved her hands, the flush of embarrassment when she spoke, the struggle to hold her head up and look him in the eyes. He’d never seen this side of Claire before. Oliver was confused by his feelings. They’d had great times together, shared intimate secrets, laughed, cried together. The memories came rushing back, like a dam split open, and the two of them drowned in emotion. He wanted to stand, pull her close, hold her and never let go.