Stuart James - Apartment 6

He shuffled towards the door, stepping out onto the platform, spotting the woman making her way towards him. ‘Well, we survived another morning,’ Oliver proclaimed.

She looked at him, amusement in her face. Oliver extended an arm, again introducing himself. ‘I’m Oliver; my journey isn’t always that adventurous.’

She brought her hand forward, hesitated slightly, then limply placed her hand in his. ‘Meagan, good to meet you, but I’m running late.’

‘Oh, here, let me get your bag, I’ll walk with you, that is if you don’t mind? Where do you work? I’m a personal assistant for a poxy law firm.’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ A wry smile appeared across her face, and her eyes lit up, only for a second.

Oliver couldn’t take his eyes off her. ‘Yeah, I do babble when I’m nervous, not that I– Here, let me get your bag.’

‘There’s no need, really.’

They walked along the platform, side by side. The crowds had dissolved, and Meagan seemed to appreciate the company, someone to talk to. Oliver was pleased she seemed responsive and not the type who’d look down her nose at his friendly approach.

As they made their way out onto the bustling street, Meagan offered her hand. ‘It was good to meet you.’

As she walked away, Oliver stood, oblivious to the crowds, watching her disappear along the street.

It was two days before Oliver saw her again on the way home from work. His boss had asked him to stay late and sort out paperwork that had been overlooked. Oliver was the last to leave the office, punching the alarm code in and switching the lights off.

Walking along Oxford Street towards the station, he saw her. She had her head down.

‘Meagan, hey, you okay?’ he asked, excitedly.

As she looked up, he saw the purple bruise across the top of her eye. Her body language was closed, uninterested as she attempted to move out of his path.

Oliver ignored the swelling on her face, not wanting to seem like a pest. ‘Are you getting the train?’ he asked, aware he sounded a little too enthusiastic.

‘Look, leave me alone. You don’t know me, you know nothing about me. Don’t talk to me again. I’m not your friend. Understand?’

She raced into the station as he stood, shocked, unsure what he’d said to piss her off so much.

But that night he struggled to get Meagan out of his head. He couldn’t stop questioning why she’d been so cold. He was sure he hadn’t been rude. He ran the conversation over in his mind, dissecting every moment. Something was wrong; that much was obvious. He thought about the first time he’d seen her, the badly cut lip. Okay, that happens, no alarm bells there. But the bruise was ugly, like she’d been punched intentionally.

He slumped on the sofa, thinking about her, wanting to know what was going on in her life. It was ridiculous, adolescent; Oliver had only just met this woman. It was none of his business, but he had to find out about Meagan. If she needed help, Oliver would offer it.

She was like a child he’d found sobbing, and he was unable to turn away.

The following evening Oliver left work at just gone 5pm. The afternoon had dragged slightly; he’d had a couple of invoices to print and new clients to add to the company’s database. Most of his spare time was spent thinking about Meagan. He was becoming obsessed, struggling to push her image from his mind.

He stood on the street outside his office, glancing at the brass plate above the doorway. People were rushing past and traffic was at a standstill on the road heading towards Marble Arch.

Oliver checked the time. He’d seen Meagan the night before around quarter to six. He had time to kill. Stepping inside a coffee shop, he ordered a latte with a cheese and ham sandwich and sat at a side table.

At 5.30pm, he went out to the street. It had got dark; the sky was a blanket of thick dark clouds. He hoped it wasn’t obvious to Meagan that he was looking out for her.

Oliver walked towards the station, then stood in an alley to the left of Bond Street Station to shelter from the rain.

Crowds of people headed towards him. He waited for twenty minutes; there was no sign of her.

Come on, where are you? Maybe I’ve missed her. She could have come out early and rushed home.

Oliver waited until 6pm, then called it a night.

He sat on the train, feeling a little disheartened and foolish. As the doors began to shut, Oliver saw her running frantically, pushing her hands out to stop them.

She got in the carriage. Oliver watched her looking for a seat and she made her way towards him. He contemplated turning away, hiding, struggling to stem the excitement, anticipation rushing through his body.

‘Hey, Oliver, right? Can I sit?’

Oliver moved his rucksack, making way for her to settle beside him.

She looked at him as she wiped her soaked jacket. ‘I’m glad I bumped into you. I wanted to apologise.’

‘There’s no need, really.’ He noticed the bruise, more apparent now, a deep purple which had worked further down her face, the swelling almost closing her right eye.

Meagan turned towards Oliver. ‘I was rude to you; you were only being friendly.’ She looked away. ‘I’m not used to it, to be honest.’

Oliver struggled to understand her sudden interest. ‘You want to talk about it?’

Meagan paused, contemplating. ‘Not really.’

As he sat beside her, taking in the sweet aroma of her perfume, he watched her hand shaking as she wiped a small trace of blood from the cut. Her lip was slowly healing. He wanted so badly to help make everything right. She seemed so vulnerable. Like a child lost in a busy playground, unsure where to turn, calling for their parents.

She bent forward, pushing her head into her hands. ‘Oh God.’

Oliver felt the nervous energy; her legs trembled, she tapped her shoes on the floor, her tension surreal. She wore a wedding ring, and gold hooped earrings. A silver bracelet dangled from her left wrist, catching the light. Oliver loved the fact she had expensive taste.

They walked out of the station together, side by side. Meagan thanked Oliver for looking out for her and being so concerned. She leant forward, and kissed his cheek. He flushed as he watched her turn and walk off along Kensington High Street.

She’d been gone a couple of minutes when Oliver suddenly decided he had to follow her; this was his chance, he needed to find out her story.

He walked in the opposite direction, then stopped, quickly glancing behind. Meagan was out of sight. His heart pounded, and with an overwhelming rush he realised what he was about to do. Oliver couldn’t help himself.

He turned, walking back to where Meagan had been a minute earlier. He was jogging now, the rucksack bouncing on his shoulder. Reaching a street corner, he gazed along the row of houses and small tower blocks. The streets were empty. Ahead of him were a couple of houses to the left side, he guessed she could have gone into one of them, but they were further down. She’d had to have moved fast, and her apparent state of mind would most certainly prevent this.

He peered along the side street to his left, a hundred yards further along, seeing a turning to the right. Oliver moved quickly, past the expensive semi-detached pads with their fancy front gardens and lavish cars parked out the front. He could smell an open fire, smoke billowing from the rooftop across the street. It had turned cold. He saw his breath forming in the air like a cloud of smoke as he panted, wanting to be at home now, stretched out on the sofa, warm and secure in his temporary apartment.

There was no sign of Meagan. He stopped, quickly glancing behind, crossing over the side road. A middle-aged lady dressed in a nightgown came out from a house, dumping a rubbish bag in a bin out the front. She watched Oliver as he gazed behind him, stopping and then walking along the pavement. He crossed back over the road, and she quickly went inside, shutting the front door. He realised how suspicious his behaviour must seem.