A second text came through with the address of a pub. He knew it well; Oliver had been there a couple of times with his ex. He recalled the great food and a large beer garden.
He opened his phone, marking the date and time, simply writing: drink date.
Oliver had struggled to contain his excitement; he’d kept busy, throwing himself into work, keeping his head down. However hard he tried, he thought of her, the woman from the train. Meagan. Her image splashed across his mind like a newspaper scattered over the floor.
He arrived at around quarter to seven. The pub was busy even though it was early evening.
As he scanned the bar, he saw a handful of couples sat at round wooden tables. The place was lit by candles on white shelves along the wall and the sound of pool balls were clacking in the distance. A guy was leaning over the counter chatting to a woman while she served the drinks and a group of lads were at the bar, plonked on high stools, guzzling shots of whisky. Oliver imagined they wouldn’t last the night.
He went to the bar, contemplating where to sit. He was nervous, unsure of himself, thinking he shouldn’t get involved. It’s too late for that now.
The tall young woman behind the bar informed him she’d be with him in a minute.
Oliver removed his phone, checking for messages, silently hoping Meagan had cancelled.
‘What can I get you?’
As Oliver went to order, the door opened and Meagan walked in confidently. She was wearing a bright red dress under a long brown coat. She had her hair up, held in a bun and tightly pulled back. Her face was beaming and she looked breathtaking.
‘Hello, glad you could make it.’ Oliver leant forward, kissing her cheek. He helped her out of her coat, inhaling the strong perfume.
‘I’m glad I came.’ They laughed nervously. Oliver realised the barmaid was getting flustered waiting for his drinks order.
‘What can I get you?’ Oliver asked, taking the drinks menu from the bar.
Without taking a look, Meagan suggested a large gin and tonic. He ordered a pint of lager, and they made their way to a table in the far corner.
‘So.’ Oliver took a swig of his drink. ‘Sorry, I’m nervous, I’ll admit. Shit, why am I feeling like this?’
Meagan sipped her gin and tonic. ‘So am I. I don’t do this as a habit, meeting strange guys behind my husband’s back, but I wanted to talk to you. In private.’
Oliver was concerned. ‘I’m all ears.’
As they sat in the warmth, ensconced by the open fire, listening to the crackle of the burning wood, Meagan poured her heart out. She didn’t hold back. She told Oliver everything; her sham of a marriage, how Rob treated her, his nights out, the club he owned, his drug usage, the mood swings, the menacing behaviour and extreme abuse. How she couldn’t leave her apartment. Rob only allowed her to work as a nanny to bring her own money to the table. He permitted it when he found the woman she worked for was divorced and lived on her own with a small child.
She explained his jealousy, constant suspicion and overbearing possessiveness.
Oliver sat listening, never taking his eyes off Meagan, watching how she moved, the way she grew in confidence as the night progressed. Her eyes occasionally scanned the room and she would bite her bottom lip as if realising where she was; out of the apartment, her safe place. Like a prisoner released to the outside world, struggling to find her comfort zone, pining for the world they once knew.
She spoke for nearly an hour, barely taking a breath, flushed with the heat and a little dizzy with the alcohol.
As Oliver returned from the bar with more drinks, Meagan looked at him, her expression firm, serious. ‘I want to ask you something.’
Oliver placed the drinks on the table in front of them, spilling some and mopping it with a paper mat. ‘Go ahead.’
‘What I’m about to say may strike you as a joke. You may take it as a laugh and think I’m having you on, messing around even, but I’ve never been more serious in my life.’
Oliver stared straight through her, suddenly giddy, a surge of adrenaline racing through his body. ‘What is it, Meagan? You can ask me anything.’
‘I want you to kill my husband.’
4
Twenty years ago - before the phone call
‘Meagan, I’m not going to keep asking you. Put your shoes on. We’re going to be late for church.’
‘Which ones?’
Her mother looked down, beginning to lose patience. ‘You know, Meggy; you’re just being awkward. Honestly, you get more difficult by the day, young lady.’
‘But I don’t know which ones you mean.’
‘You do, now quickly go and find them.’
‘I don’t. That’s why I’m asking. Is it my school shoes? The black ones? Daddy said they were dirty.’
‘The white ones, Meggy. Did you look under the stairs?’
Meagan traipsed across the hall, holding her favourite toy, a small grey rabbit she named Arthur. She opened the cupboard, finding her shoes on the back shelf beside the pots of spices her mother had stored.
‘Got them.’ She held the shoes up for her mother to see.
‘Great. Thank you, right, let’s go. We can’t be late.’
Her father was sitting in the car, pressing the horn furiously. Meagan and her mother opened the door and sat in the back of the vehicle. ‘What was the holdup, Tricia? You’re lucky I didn’t go.’
Meagan looked across at her mum, making a sneaky face behind her father’s back. Tricia decided to keep quiet; the only way to avoid an argument. It was Sunday morning, the family were going to church, and the last thing Tricia wanted was confrontation. They’d done nothing but shout at each other the last few months.
Meagan struggled at school. She had nightmares, cried frequently and fought to cope. She hated her parents fighting; it made her feel sick.
They pulled out of the drive and headed along the quiet road. Her husband looked behind, eyeing Meagan and his wife. ‘I asked you a question.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sean, leave it.’
He slammed the brakes, undid his seatbelt and got out. He wrenched Tricia’s door open. ‘I didn’t get that. Do you want to repeat yourself?’
Meagan held onto her mother’s arm, trying to make it better.
‘I’m sorry, I’m just a little stressed.’ Tricia attempted to ease the tension.
‘Get out of the car,’ her husband demanded.
Tricia looked at her husband, unable to believe he’d do this. ‘Please, Sean.’
‘I said, get the fuck out.’
Tricia kissed her daughter on the head, slid out of the car and stood by the ditch on the quiet lane. Sean shut the door and forced his wife behind the vehicle as Meagan tried to listen to what her father was saying; he was shouting, spit coming from his mouth. Meagan knelt up, pushing her head towards the glass at the back, watching her father shout, her mother nodding. Suddenly, her dad pulled his hand back, striking her mum across the face. Meagan gasped, placing her hand over her mouth.
A few seconds later, her father came back, got in the car and drove off.
‘Daddy, why did you do that to Mummy, making her walk?’
Her father’s eyes never left the road ahead. ‘Because Meagan, my sweet child, she doesn’t follow the rules, she chooses to disobey me, and that’s what happens.’
Meagan thought for a second. ‘Daddy, I didn’t think adults have rules.’
‘We still need to follow instructions, Meagan, do the right thing. It’s just that Mummy didn’t. She broke my rules, and these are the consequences.’