Tears filled Meagan’s eyes as she stepped onto the floor of her bedroom.
Looking out of her window, she watched the rain lashing outside, small droplets of water running down the glass as if the window was crying, hoping her mummy was going to be all right.
That night, Meagan had a dream. She was running through a field, her father just in front, pounding the ground in his bare feet, effortlessly sweeping through the long grass in his path.
Meagan looked over her shoulder; her mother was behind and floating through the air. Her mother’s dress was colourful with bright spots, and she wore ballet shoes.
Her father was beckoning them to hurry, Meagan reached out a hand and her mother grabbed hold of it. Suddenly they were side by side.
Her father stopped just in front, turning towards his wife and daughter. He crouched, holding his arms out, pulling them both into his embrace, the three of them were so happy, content. Meagan was laughing, a childish giggle as her mother and father danced to soft, old-style music. Her father led, her mother was spinning, then he tucked her under his arms and flipped her over. They were graceful, like swans gliding across the water.
Meagan sat on a nearby haystack, the sky clear, and the air warm.
Her parents held each other tight; she watched them kiss, then her father extended his arm, with her mother rolling outwards, spinning. She stopped, then carried out the same move in reverse until they held each other again.
Sarah had joined them and was sitting beside Meagan. The girls were laughing and excited at the amazing spectacle.
Her father once again extended his arm, Meagan’s mother was on tiptoes, lifting her leg outwards, then twisting and whirling like a spinning top.
Meagan stood, suddenly her mother was gone and her father’s arms were empty.
Sarah screamed as Meagan leapt off the haystack. Her mother had disappeared.
Meagan opened her eyes. The rain was still pelting against the window, the stream of water dripping down the glass. She cuddled into Arthur and went back to sleep.
13
Present day
Meagan took a deep breath as she removed the front door key from her handbag, placed it in the lock and went inside to the communal hall.
She’d never been more nervous, struggling to contain the anticipation.
But the excitement edged her fear, something a dozen coffees couldn’t simulate. She walked past the table by the front door; today’s post was scattered untidily across the top.
Meagan crossed the communal hall on the ground floor. The lift was still out of service. She listened to her heavy breathing. It was as if she was wearing a mask that emphasised her laboured breaths.
Meagan went up the stairs, watching, listening intently, her mind racing.
She pictured Oliver here earlier. How brave he’d been, doing all this for her. She imagined the emotions racing through his body.
As Meagan reached the second floor, she stood still. Okay, you can do this. Get a grip and face what you have to face. It’s what needed to happen. Remember that. This needed to happen.
Meagan opened the door of apartment six. Her stomach was somersaulting, spinning in all directions. Sharp pains pulsed through her arms. She felt as if her body would give way any second, and she’d drop in a heap to the floor.
She crouched, then sat in the hall, controlling her breathing, drawing a prolonged, deep intake, then out slowly. Once she regained her composure, Meagan stood, and placed her coat and handbag on the rail.
Meagan called out, ‘Rob, are you home?’ She had to be sure.
No answer.
Meagan checked the rooms off the hall. They were all empty.
The kitchen was also vacant. She moved to the bathroom. She needed the toilet; she’d had too much coffee, and her nerves were gradually taking over.
After a minute, she flushed the loo, washed her hands and left the room, checking the floor behind for any drops of water.
She made her way slowly along the hall. Now she was at the foot of the stairs, glancing upwards. She went up, one step at a time.
Her heart was racing. She could feel the early stages of a migraine, with the left side of her head pulsating. Her body throbbed. She was weak. She struggled to fight the fatigue that was slowly creeping over her, emanating from her legs.
Near the top of the stairs from sheer force of habit she extended her leg and stepped across the third step from the top.
She stood on the upstairs landing, then went to the bedroom and placed her hand on the door. It creaked as she pushed slowly, causing her to jolt and grind her teeth.
Meagan stood motionless.
The light to the bedroom was off, the bed was empty.
Meagan had to ring Oliver. She thought about the call log, and how easily it could be traced. At that moment, she didn’t care. She raced down the stairs, got her phone from her handbag and quickly returned to the bedroom.
She dialled Oliver’s number, and he picked up after the third ring.
‘Did you do what we planned?’ she asked.
Oliver paused. She wondered if he was irritated by her call. ‘Meagan. Yes, of course I’ve done it. Do you know how fucking shit I feel at this second?’
‘Look, we’ll deal with that later. Come over, now, quickly.’ She hung up without waiting for his response.
Oliver arrived thirty minutes later. Meagan was waiting for him in the hall. He watched as she stood, gripping her hair, her frustration evident.
‘Where is he, Oliver?’
‘He’s in the bedroom upstairs.’
Meagan looked at him, watching his fearful expression and the agitation in his body. He was unable to keep still and shuffled from one leg to the other.
‘Show me!’ Meagan demanded, her voice louder and more shrill than she’d expected.
Oliver led her upstairs. As he opened the bedroom door and flicked on the light, Meagan stood behind him. They both peered across at an empty bed.
Meagan looked at her phone, suddenly seeing a voicemail alert. She played it on loudspeaker. ‘Meagan. It’s Rob. Look, something’s come up, I won’t be home this afternoon as planned. It’s important I stay for another day. I’ll catch a flight in the morning. See you then.’
Meagan spun round, looking at Oliver. ‘Who the fuck did you kill?’
14
Twenty years ago - Before the phone call
Meagan woke, thinking about the dream she’d had the night before.
The curtains in her bedroom were open, the light shining through the window. The rain had cleared, but the sky was overcast, patches of blue trying to push through.
Meagan lifted herself off the bed and listened at the bedroom door. She could hear her father shifting in his room across the landing. She gauged what kind of a mood he was in this morning. Occasionally he’d whistle to himself; that was good. Other times, he raised his voice, talking on the phone, puffing sharp breaths; that wasn’t so good and it was best to keep out of his way. This morning his bedroom door was open. Meagan watched as he fixed his brown tie, slipping into a dark jacket, combing cream through his hair.
He looked at Meagan. ‘Morning, did you sleep well?’
She wanted to close the door and never open it again. ‘Uh huh.’
He sprayed cologne on his hands and rubbed them on his face, fixing his tie again.
‘Why do people wear ties, Daddy? They’re weird.’
‘You need your breakfast. Hurry up now.’
Meagan opened the door wider, passing her mother’s room. She was thrilled to find her in the bed, sitting up, propped on a couple of pillows.