Meagan moved to where Oliver was standing. ‘What’s going on? How can it be open?’
Oliver pictured the scene earlier. They had moved gloved-man out to the communal hall and he was certain he closed the door before manoeuvring the body downstairs. He was sure. He pushed the door open with the sleeve of his jacket. The hall was dark; the lights switched off, just how they’d left it earlier.
Oliver stepped inside apartment seven while Meagan waited in the hall. He came out a few minutes later. ‘I don’t get it, Meagan. I must have left it open. That’s all I can think.’
Oliver pulled the door to apartment seven, making sure it was closed.
A deathly silence fell over the two of them as they listened to footsteps charging up the stairs, moving at a great pace, heading towards where they were standing.
‘Quick, Meagan. Go inside, lock the door, I’ll hide in the lift. Go now.’
Oliver raced along the hall, listening to the person making their way to the second floor. The doors to the lift were open, and Oliver stepped inside, jamming them as close together as possible with his foot so he could keep hidden.
The front door to apartment six was shut, and Meagan was dipping her hand furiously into the pocket of the bathrobe, fishing for the keys. The footsteps were at the top of the stairs. Oliver watched between the lift doors.
The guy stood in front of her. She turned slightly, watching from the corner of her eye as he frantically looked up and down the corridor. He was over six foot, well built, with cropped black hair and wore a leather jacket and dark blue jeans. Oliver could see his desperation and sense his overbearing demeanour.
The man pointed along the hall. ‘You know a guy called Tony? He lives here. I think it’s this one.’ He pointed to apartment seven.
Meagan turned, facing him. ‘I don’t know. There’s a guy who lives in seven. I don’t see him much. He keeps himself to himself, you know.’
The guy stood against the door of apartment seven, rapping it with his knuckles. ‘Tony. Open up.’
Oliver listened from the lift, running the scene from earlier in his head, hoping they hadn’t left any evidence inside the apartment.
‘Who would have the key for this place?’
‘Key?’
The man turned, moving closer. ‘That’s what I asked.’
Meagan took a deep breath. ‘There are no skeleton keys. We have our own.’
He moved away from Meagan, heading to the lift.
‘Where are you going?’ she asked. Her legs were shaking, her voice cracking. Oliver was standing inside the lift, hearing the heavy footsteps moving towards him.
‘Is there a back entrance? I’m going to see if a window is open,’ snapped the visitor.
‘You’re going the wrong way. It’s back here.’ Meagan pointed to the other side of the hall as the guy stopped, turned and headed to where Meagan was pointing. Oliver let out a deep breath, edging further against the lift wall.
‘Come with me, show me how to get out there,’ the guy instructed.
Oliver listened to Meagan and the guy as they walked along the hall, pushing open the fire escape which led out to the second-floor roof. He could hear voices; the guy was shouting, Meagan was stuttering, fearful of what this guy was going to do. Oliver edged out of the lift, watching the door as Meagan held it open, stood against it. The guy continued shouting, swinging his arms like a large oaf.
Oliver kept as quiet as possible, his heart racing as the guy moved into the communal hall and charged down the other side past apartment six to the lift.
‘No!’ Meagan shouted.
He stopped suddenly, and Meagan raced towards him. As she reached where the guy stood, she looked into the empty lift.
The guy turned to Meagan, shouting at the top of his voice. ‘If I don’t get answers, I’m coming back tomorrow.’
She watched him move to the stairs and go down onto the street.
18
Twenty years ago - Before the phone call
‘Mummy, I’m tired. When will we be there?’
They were heading to Tricia’s sister, who lived around seventy miles from them in a beautiful cottage on the outskirts of Exeter.
Although Tricia and Anne hadn’t kept in regular contact over the last few years, they were extremely close with one another. Life had gotten in the way, and it was hard to keep in touch. Besides, Sean would never let Anne stay for more than a night if she visited them.
Tricia knew her sister would be there for her and insist they stay for as long as they needed. She didn’t bother calling ahead, as it was difficult to explain on the phone. Although Anne had an idea of what Sean was like, she didn’t know the depth of his cruelty.
‘We need to get to the station, Meggy. It’s not far when we get to the other side. A short bus ride.’
They were walking along a deserted country lane, fields either side of them. The wind had picked up, and a faint howl screeched through the trees.
Tricia glanced at Meagan, thinking she could have waited and asked Mr Tunney for a lift, but she couldn’t trust him not to slip up and tell Sean where they were going. Besides, it wasn’t fair on him to keep a secret like this. She was on edge. Sean had no reason to drive out here, but there was always a slight chance.
‘Are you thirsty, Meggy?’ Tricia dipped into her bag, pulled out a small bottle of water and handed it to Meagan. ‘It shouldn’t be too far now. Are you okay?’
Meagan looked up at her mother; her large brown eyes were wet from the cold, and her top lip was dry from wiping it on her sleeve. Tricia admired the determination in Meagan’s face to keep going, watching her daughter as she swung Arthur the bunny in her right hand.
How Tricia wished life was different, that she could bring up their girl in a stable family environment, a happy home. There was no denying Sean loved Meagan; he was even a good father and occasionally spent time with his daughter. As far as Tricia could tell – and she questioned Meagan several times – he had never hit Meagan, ever.
The abuse was all directed at Tricia; that’s what broke her heart the most. Meagan was seeing the cruelty every day, as if it were the norm. She was learning that it’s the way it is, for husbands to beat their wives if rules were broken. With Sean, there didn’t have to be a reason. His rules, as he called them, were arbitrary. Ordinary families didn’t make laws that had to be followed. They didn’t write long lists and make orders that needed obeying. Meagan had to see how life was without him. Tricia felt guilty, but it was the only way to deal with this.
They reached a corner in the road where it veered to the right. Tricia stopped by a tree, dropping the bag. The tips of her fingers were a red glow, and a numb ache had developed along her hand.
Meagan was sipping from the bottle of water. ‘Is this where we’re hiding, Mummy?’ Meagan was pointing. ‘Behind the tree?’
‘No, Meggy. I told you we’re going to Aunty Anne.’
Meagan placed her bag down, sitting Arthur on top of it, setting his legs out to make him more comfortable. Tricia watched as her daughter placed the bottle of water to Arthur’s lips. Then she went to a large oak tree, putting her hand on the bark. ‘This is how you can tell how old a tree is, Mummy, by counting the marks on the bark. Mrs Lester told us at school.’ Meagan walked over to her mother. ‘You only have one line on your forehead. That means you’re ten.’
‘Oh, Meggy, you are a sweetheart, I only wish it were true.’