Stuart James - Apartment 6

It was early evening. Oliver left the office at around 5.20pm. He ambled slowly towards Bond Street Station. The rain was heavy. Pedestrians knocked into him and his path was obstructed with umbrellas of various shapes so he found himself repeatedly stepping aside to avoid being hit.

He made his way into the station and stood on the platform as crowds gathered behind, edging forward.

He got a seat towards the front of the carriage, and there she was, standing at the door. Oliver anxiously fixed his tie, moving it one way then the other. His cheeks reddened as Meagan made her way towards him. He wanted to jump off the seat, race towards her, run hand-in-hand with her through the carriage and out onto the street. He needed to keep calm, relax, not look desperate. She was alive; he was thankful for that.

‘Can I sit?’ she asked.

Oliver moved across to the empty seat as Meagan joined him.

‘Wow. It’s good to see you. How have you been? Maybe that’s a stupid question.’ Oliver immediately realised he’d sounded over-enthusiastic. She looked fresher this evening. The bruise around the top of her eye had almost disappeared, and her lip had healed. As the train pulled out of the station, Meagan winced, the pain in her ribs still evident. Oliver started to ask how she was after the bastard had kicked her, but managed to bite his tongue at the last second.

‘I’m surviving, I think.’ She chuckled. Oliver was pleased to see her face light up. She moved her body towards him, staring at him. ‘I don’t know anything about you,’ Meagan stated.

‘Well, why don’t we change that? Have a drink with me.’

Her expression suddenly dropped as if she’d seen a spirit walk through the carriage. The glow from her face evaporated. It was as if her body had closed into a ball.

Oliver looked at her. ‘I’m sorry if I offended you. I didn’t mean anything by it.’

She took a moment to compose herself, gathering her thoughts. ‘It’s not as if I don’t want to; I simply couldn’t.’

Oliver gazed out the window at the black tunnels, light from the small lanterns catching his eye. ‘Are you married? You must be, that was a daft question. A woman like you.’

‘I have a partner, yes, but we don’t get along. I’m going to leave him.’

They noticed an elderly gentleman sitting opposite, looking over the magazine he was reading, watching the two of them, listening intently.

The train was slowing. People were getting off their seats, pushing towards the doors.

‘So why don’t you just leave, if it’s not working out, I mean?’

Meagan dropped her head; she fiddled with her hair, then pressed her fingers together. ‘It’s not that easy. Let’s say that I need to time it correctly.’

The train waited at the platform for a few moments as more commuters got on, struggling to find standing room. People were gripping the bars overhead, determined to hold onto their space as if their lives depended on the one spot they had, like a baby holding a small cuddly toy.

Oliver watched Meagan. The way she moved, the negative energy which seeped from every pore of her body, how she struggled to hold her head up for more than a few seconds. He reached out and pushed her hair out of her face. He watched her flinch like she was preparing for a slap.

‘I’d never lay a finger on you. I want you to know that.’ Oliver spoke as if reading her mind.

She sighed, pushing out a hard breath, struggling to contain her emotions. Then she sat up, pushing her shoulders back as if to rid herself of the pain. ‘I don’t think you would; I’m not suggesting you’re like that.’

They sat in silence while the train passed two more stations. Oliver didn’t want to seem desperate, and Meagan appeared frightened about where their friendship would lead.

As the train pulled into their stop, Meagan jumped up, insisting she needed to walk out alone. Oliver thrust his card into her hand as she made her way to the platform and out onto the street above.

Meagan fished the keys from her handbag, opened the main door of her apartment block and went upstairs to the second floor.

She was nervous; her legs were shaking, eyes wild. She opened her front door, listening for any movement. Rob’s car had gone from the street. It didn’t mean anything, he rarely parked in the same place. He had once told Meagan it was safer that way, whatever that meant. Her husband was rarely at home. Recently he had been spending his time at bars, casinos, his club. He gambled most evenings. ‘It’s the only way to deal with the frustration,’ he had told her. It was either that or take it out on his partner.

Meagan removed Oliver’s card. She looked at his phone number, wanting so badly to call him, to leave the apartment and never return. The hallway was dark, still and void of life. Meagan flicked on the kitchen light switch, taking in the long, wide room. She was slightly more relaxed now. She wished it could be like this every night – without Rob.

Meagan went to the fridge, leaving her heels on, making as much noise as she liked. She opened the fridge door, the light temporarily straining her eyes, then banged the door shut and turned on the radio which was placed by the side unit. She turned the volume to full blast, then sang at the top of her voice. She jumped around the kitchen, banging pans on top of the electric hob, opening and shutting the doors of the units underneath the sink.

After a minute, exhausted, she turned off the radio and sat down on a stool by the breakfast bar.

She sat in silence, thinking she should eat, but the hunger was leaving her body. Meagan wanted to sleep; again, she contemplated calling Oliver. But it wasn’t a good idea.

Suddenly she heard something outside; it sounded like an argument.

There was shouting, a man raising his voice, swearing. Meagan switched off the light in the kitchen and went down the hallway. As she reached the front door, something pounded against it, like a fist or a heavy object. She stopped and backed up.

It was time to call Oliver. Rob had gone out and probably wouldn’t return until the early hours.

She cautiously walked up the stairs to her bedroom, reaching into the back of her underwear drawer for her spare mobile. She dialled the number on Oliver’s card.

He answered on the second ring, confirming his name. ‘Oliver Simmonds.’ His voice was cheerful.

Meagan whispered, trying to force the urgency of her call. ‘It’s me, Meagan.’

‘Hey, Meagan. Wow, you called. I didn’t expect you–’

‘Something is happening in the communal hall outside my apartment. I’m not sure what’s going on, Oliver. A woman is screaming; it sounds like she’s being attacked. I’m frightened. The front door thumped a second ago, and Rob’s out.’

‘Okay. Take it easy. Breathe. Is the front door locked?’ Oliver listened to Meagan as she went slowly to the door.

‘Yes, it’s locked. I’m scared, Oliver.’

He paused, talking calmly into the phone, keeping her relaxed. ‘Meagan, once the front door is locked, you’re safe. You understand that, right? Are you still there?’

‘I’m still here.’

‘Okay. What are you doing, Meagan?’ Oliver could hear her shuffling about, the phone reception cutting in and out.

Again, Meagan whispered, keeping her voice as low as possible. ‘I’m looking out of the spyhole. It seems quiet.’

‘Okay, maybe they’re gone. I’ll stay on the phone if you like.’

‘I’d like that.’

Oliver listened, the fear evident in Meagan’s voice, obvious panic. ‘Are they gone? Meagan, talk to me.’

At the front door Meagan listened for a second, then whispered, ‘I think so. It’s quiet now; they must have gone. Sorry to call you like this. It’s not how I imagined our first phone call, if I’m honest.’