A shiver raced down her spine and goose pimples rose on her arms.
‘Another coffee?’
She jumped. The waitress was standing in front of her.
Meagan glanced at her watch. It was getting late. Rob would be home, unpacking his clothes; he’d take a shower and then get into bed.
‘Go on then, thanks.’ Meagan smiled as the waitress passed a menu across the table, dropping it in front of her.
‘No, just the coffee, thank you.’
‘Very well.’
The waitress had been working all the time Meagan had been sitting there, approaching her every half hour or so. Meagan made sure she spoke with her, asking her how she was, making it obvious when she’d finished her drink and wanted another.
She debated whether to call Oliver. Her phone was still switched off for fear of Rob and his tracking apps. She couldn’t risk it. She needed to stay off the radar and away from Albuquerque House.
The waitress returned, Meagan gratefully accepted the drink, commenting on the rain, how cold it had got.
She sipped her coffee, looking at the walls, up at the ceiling, distracting herself.
People came inside, brushing water from their coats, smiling at her as they went to look at the menu behind the counter.
She watched couples hand in hand, families settling down after shopping, storing large expensive labelled carrier bags under the table beside them, talking about the theatre, films, news, sport, laughing together.
Meagan found herself becoming envious. She and Rob would never have this type of relationship. Her life was a mess. Meagan thought back to when she first met him, how they laughed, held each other, talked for hours and made crazy, passionate love every moment they could. The continuous text messages whenever they were apart. They ate together at the best restaurants, went to the best bars and walked home arm in arm. Nothing else existed and no one else mattered.
How could it happen? How could Rob change so quickly? Sarah had warned her. ‘He’s not for you, hun. You could do so much better. Give it more time.’
Thinking back, maybe he bullied her into the relationship, and she was too green to see past it and realise what was happening.
Meagan rechecked her watch. It was getting late. Oliver must have visited the apartment by now.
She finished her coffee, paid the bill, then stood. She had a sudden head rush as she reached down to take her handbag and the room spun. She breathed, in and out, steadying herself. Then she waved to the waitress and went out onto the street.
The cold air was too much. Meagan’s cheeks felt flushed after being in the warmth all afternoon. A bus passed, soaking her with rainwater. She moved slowly, not wanting to draw attention, her head down, her frame slouching. Her mind buzzed. Meagan regretted drinking so much coffee, with the caffeine pumping through her veins. This is it, girl. Time to see if Oliver has come good. Be brave now, be very, very brave.
She crossed over the road, looking up at the four-storey building.
12
Twenty years ago - Before the phone call
Meagan awoke and raced into her mother’s room, jumping on her bed.
The covers were pulled up, the bed neatly made.
‘Mummy, where are you?’ She waited for a response, pulling herself across the bed to the other side, leaning towards the ground and hanging forwards, her hands on the floor. Meagan peered under the bed.
‘Mummy?’ She glanced towards the dresser, seeing her mother’s comb, the small mirror, the make-up bag with the zip half open, a lipstick balancing on the closed jewellery box. Everything was as Meagan had remembered yesterday.
‘She must be hiding.’ Meagan shouted out, ‘I’ll find you, Mummy. Don’t worry.’ Meagan climbed off the bed, raced excitedly out to the hall and went down the stairs.
She went into the garden, looking in the usual places; the garden shed towards the back, behind the rack of tools, the tall cabinet, under the wooden workbench. ‘I know you’re here somewhere; I’ve just got to find you.’
Meagan left the shed, looking towards the miniature pond that contained a small collection of goldfish and a ceramic fish spilling water from its mouth. Behind was a small patch of woodland that had large oak trees. Meagan recalled hiding there with Sarah a couple of times.
‘Mummy, I’m coming to find you.’ She crept on tiptoes, moving towards the trees. After a couple of minutes looking, she gave up. ‘Umm, you’re too good at this, Mummy.’
Back in the house, Meagan checked the rooms downstairs, all the places where she and her mother had hidden before.
As she went to go back upstairs, her father came out of his room.
‘Where’s Mummy? I can’t find her anywhere. Have you seen her, Daddy?’
Her father moved to the stairs as Meagan climbed the steps. She had the usual knot in her stomach anytime she was alone with him.
‘Go and wash your face, young lady. You look awful.’
‘I-I’ve been looking for Mummy. Can you help me?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I have adult things to deal with. I don’t have time to mess around.’
Meagan knew better than to answer back. She went into the bathroom to throw cold water on her face, annoyed that her father dismissed her so casually.
At dinner, they sat in silence. Meagan was unable to lift her head and look at her father. She felt scared. Her mother had never left the house without bringing Meagan or at least letting her know where she was going.
Meagan twirled the pasta with her fork, staring at the food. ‘I’ve had enough now. Can I go and play for a little bit?’
‘Eat everything. You know the rules, young lady.’
She looked up briefly, watching her father stare into the distance, his cold impassive glare, his dark eyes. Meagan was certain she saw a smirk appear on his face.
At bedtime, Meagan found her father in his bedroom. She often wondered why he slept in a separate room. Sarah’s parents slept together. She pictured Mr and Mrs Tunney, cuddled together in the bed. Yuk.
As she knocked and entered, her father was talking quietly on his phone.
‘Is Mummy coming back tonight? She reads me a story. We’re at the good part of The Gingerbread Man. I know how the story ends.’
Her father turned off the phone. He crouched, reaching out. Meagan edged towards him and held her father around the waist, her arms only managing to slide a quarter way around his frame.
‘Brush your teeth and then bed. Do you hear me, young lady?’
‘Yes, Daddy.’
As she left the room, her father called out, ‘Love you, Meggy.’
A queasiness formed in Meagan’s stomach and she struggled to control her breathing. Her father never called her Meggy.
Meagan lay in bed, listening to the rain pelting against her window. She eyed the copy of The Gingerbread Man lying on her bedside cabinet. She could hear her mother’s soft voice reading the story. Meagan remembered how she’d glance at her over her reading glasses and push a hand through her daughter’s hair at the scary parts, watching her daughter’s wild expressions. Her mother would finish the story, then lie on the bed with her arm wrapped tightly around her daughter, making Meagan feel safe. Her mother would place the book to the side, instructing Meagan to turn the side lamp off after ten minutes.
Then Meagan would listen as her father entered the room next door, saying bad words while her mother cried. Meagan listened to the pitiful sobs, wishing she could go in and comfort her mother.