The Magpies A Psychological Thriller

Seventeen


They had to rush for the train in the end, despite their best efforts to get there in plenty of time. Kirsty had a last-minute packing crisis, ushering Jamie out of the bedroom while she packed her underwear.

‘It’s bad luck to see what knickers your wife will be wearing on your wedding day before the event.’

Jamie laughed. ‘I thought it was bad luck to see the dress.’

‘Yes, well, you’ve already seen that. But I have to keep some semblance of mystique.’

Jamie paced around while Kirsty rifled through her underwear drawer. Finally, she was ready; but the taxi turned up late; and then it got stuck in heavy traffic. It pulled up in front of Euston station with a mere five minutes to spare before the train was due to depart. They ran into the station, Jamie weighed down by the suitcase, lagging behind as Kirsty scanned the departures board.

‘Platform three,’ she shouted, sprinting off ahead, clutching the tickets which she showed to the ticket inspector at the head of the platform.

‘My boyfriend’s right behind me,’ she said.

‘He’d better get a move on.’

As she waited for Jamie to catch up, Kirsty realised that her conversation with the ticket inspector might be the last time she ever referred to Jamie as her boyfriend. By the end of tomorrow he would be her husband. It was a weird feeling, but also exciting. My husband. She smiled to herself at the thought of introducing him as such. Running off to Gretna Green to get married. What a cliché. But there was also something very cool about it. It was a funny thing to do. She knew the memory of it would always make her smile.

Of course, memory of your wedding, wherever it was, was meant to make you smile. But Kirsty had never been one of those girls who pined for a big white wedding. The idea of it – the fuss, the expense, all those eyes focused on you – was anathema to her. She told herself she would never get married. It was an outdated tradition, based on a sexist ritual of a father handing his daughter over to another man. When Jamie had suggested that they get married, her first reaction had been to baulk, but in the same split-second she had felt a rush of excitement at the idea, as long as Jamie agreed to certain conditions. And now here they were, on their way to Scotland to do what almost everybody does eventually. Kirsty was fully aware of the pattern she was conforming to: boyfriend, moving in together, marriage, baby, all in the right order, with a good career to boot. But at least they were doing it on their own terms, and at least she had got pregnant before they got married. She still had a streak of rebellion in her, even if it was only a small one.

They made it to their seats seconds before the train pulled away. Jamie hefted the suitcase onto the rack above and they sat back with a sigh.

‘Made it.’

She kissed him and smiled. ‘Husband.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Ah, but just twenty-four hours till the ball and chain goes round your ankle.’

‘Can’t wait.’

The train heaved its way out of the station, and they fell quiet for a while, watching some of the grimmer parts of north London roll by. Before long they had left the city altogether and were heading for Milton Keynes. Kirsty took a book out of her bag and Jamie went off up the aisle to buy coffee.

Kirsty settled back into her seat and smiled to herself. She opened her book and began to read.

Jamie queued at the buffet counter, swaying to keep his balance as the train rattled and vibrated. The man in front of him seemed to be on a mission to sample everything on the menu and was taking an age. Still, Jamie didn’t mind. They had plenty of time to kill.

He had been looking forward to this trip. Not just because of what would happen at the end of it, but because for the first time in months he would have some ‘dead’ time. To him, that was one of the best things about going on a journey somewhere, being stuck on a plane or a train: you had five or six hours to spend in this unreal zone between points A and B; time in which to think or read or just stare at the scenery. The train would reach Carlisle in five hours time, which meant – with nothing to distract him – he had five hours to think, to mull over recent events, to try to get things straight in his mind.

Over the last few days, Kirsty’s mood had improved amazingly, her cool serenity, which had taken the place of her edginess, had in turn been replaced by a perceptible happiness. Jamie was pleased but confused. She had Heather on the phone every evening, crying and cursing men, Paul in particular, wondering out loud what she had done wrong. Then there was Paul himself, who had announced that he didn’t want any visitors apart from his parents, not until he was fully recovered, anyway. Kirsty had gone to see him at the end of a long shift, persuading her way past the nurse who acted as a kind of bouncer for Paul, but he had refused to speak to her, closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep. Jamie was furious when Kirsty told him, but she had simply shrugged and said, ‘If it’s what he wants.’

Then, of course, there was the continuing harassment from the Newtons. Lucy had written them another letter, saying that the sound of Kirsty thrashing the toilet brush round the pan on a Sunday afternoon, when they had been doing their weekly housework, had been intolerable. It was one of those letters that, at first, made Jamie laugh. But after reading it a couple of times it struck him how insane the writer must be, and he felt scared. Kirsty, however, had simply shrugged and said, ‘I’ll just have to thrash a bit more quietly, won’t I?’

On Saturday, they took a trip to Covent Garden and bought their wedding outfits. Jamie bought a fabulous velvet suit and Kirsty spent a fortune they didn’t really have on a beautiful dress from Whistles. Jamie put it on his credit card. He refused to worry about the expense – this was their wedding day, after all. When Kirsty came out of the changing room in the dress, Jamie felt like applauding. She was stunning. Kirsty looked at herself in the mirror and burst into tears.

Surely, Jamie thought, it couldn’t be the wedding alone that was making Kirsty seem so happy, apparently oblivious to all the crap that was going on around them. Even the appearance of a spider in the bathroom the other day had not fazed her: she had calmly called for Jamie to get rid of it, whereas a few weeks ago she would have had a screaming fit. She was so calm that Jamie wondered briefly if she was on drugs. She was a nurse so it wouldn’t be very hard for her to get hold of a bottle of tranquillizers. He quickly dismissed the idea, admonished himself for being stupid. Kirsty would never fill her body with drugs – she wouldn’t risk harming the baby in any way.

‘You seem to be handling all this much better than I am,’ he said to her one night, sitting in front of the TV. ‘A couple of weeks ago you were really stressed, but now you seem as if you’re not worried about Lucy and Chris any more.’

She turned to him. ‘It’s not that I’m not worried, Jamie, but I’m trying to put things into perspective. I hate them. I’d be delighted if they moved out. I’d be pleased if they just stopped writing us such stupid letters. But it’s not as if they’ve actually threatened us physically. In fact, I think they’re staring to get bored. The hoaxes have dried up. We haven’t seen them for weeks.’

‘But their presence is always there.’

‘I don’t know. I’ve almost managed to put them from my mind.’ She put her hands on his shoulders. ‘Jamie, we’ve got so much to look forward to. We’re going to be parents. That’s a lot scarier than our neighbours, surely.’

He laughed.

She took his hand and rested it on her stomach. ‘I simply want to think about the future, Jamie. And I don’t have enough mental energy to waste my thoughts on Lucy and Chris.’

He nodded, but he couldn’t quite tune in to her wavelength. He couldn’t cast Lucy and Chris from his mind, no matter how hard he tried. And also, he wasn’t sure how sincere Kirsty was being. It might just be that she was putting on a brave face, persuading herself that she needed to be happy. He was worried that her mood was a veneer, and that it could be torn away at any time.

He prayed that this wouldn’t happen, because he needed her strength and optimism. He was doing enough worrying for both of them. Every night before he went to sleep he fell into a state of semi-conscious worry, his mind focusing on one problem after another. He would worry about Paul, wondering why he was being such an arsehole, wondering if the doctors were wrong when they said he had suffered no mental damage. Then he would start worrying about something else. Work, money, how they would manage with one-and-a-half salaries when Kirsty had the baby and went part-time. He worried about how the baby would affect their relationship. He worried about how his parents would react when they discovered he and Kirsty had got married without telling or inviting them.

And most of all, he worried about Lucy and Chris. What would they do next? Would they play that awful music again? He felt as if there were two invisible trolls living underneath him – these malicious entities that he never saw, only heard or heard from. He wondered if they should move out, then reaffirmed his determination that they had to stay. At the end of his cycle of worries, he always fell asleep with two people on his mind: not Kirsty and their unborn child, as it should be, but Lucy and Chris.

What are you going to do about it?

The day after his big scene with Paul, he had been standing in the gents toilet at work, drying his hands. The door opened and Mike came in. He nodded hello to Jamie then stood at the urinal and unzipped. There was no-one else around.

Jamie finished blow-drying his hands and paused. He didn’t want to go back to his desk. He had so much work to be getting on with. He had fallen seriously behind recently, putting all his hardest tasks to the bottom of the pile, even though he knew that was the last thing he should do. A software system he had installed at a school in Colindale was playing up and the headmaster had been on the phone urging him to sort it out. Jamie went down to the school and found that the printers only worked erratically, the internet connection was stupidly slow and the system kept crashing. He couldn’t work out what was wrong with it but didn’t want to admit as much, so he tinkered with it and went home. Now, the headmaster was on the phone every day, growing ever more irate. Jamie left his voicemail on and didn’t return his calls. He knew it was only a matter of time before his manager got involved, but the whole thing made him feel sick with weariness. There were more important things going on than the headmaster’s stupid computer system.

He leaned into the mirror and studied the bags beneath his eyes. God, he looked rough – rougher than a cat’s tongue. He stuck out his own tongue. It was white and furry. Gross.

‘You look terrible,’ said Mike, turning around and zipping up his fly.

‘Thanks.’

‘What is it? More problems with your neighbours?’

‘How did you guess.’

Mike shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know how you put up with it, Jamie, I really don’t.’

Jamie sighed and pushed himself up from the sink. ‘Well what do you suggest I do?’

Mike put his hands up. ‘Hey, don’t get angry with me.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m just so tired and it makes me irritable.’

‘I understand.’

They were silent for a moment. Mike turned on the tap and rinsed his hands. He turned to look at Jamie and dropped his voice. ‘Look, if you want to sort these two out, get them out of your hair, I might know a couple of people who could help you.’

Jamie stared at him, then laughed.

‘No, don’t laugh. I’m serious.’

‘What do you mean by sorting them out?’

Mike shrugged. ‘What do you think? Scare them a bit. Tell them to leave you alone.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘These blokes I know would be happy to help. And it wouldn’t cost you much. Actually, they owe me a favour so they might even do it for the price of a pint.’

Jamie shook his head. ‘This is like some gangland film. I mean, are these people gangsters?’

Mike snorted. ‘No. They’d love to be described as gangsters, but they’re just a couple of hardmen.’

‘It’s crazy.’

‘No, the people who live downstairs from you are crazy. And surely the most important thing is to protect yourself and your loved ones from crazy people like them.’

Jamie was silent for a moment. ‘Why are you so keen to help? What’s in it for you?’

Mike shrugged. ‘You helped me out a lot when I first started here. You showed me the ropes. In fact, when I started I thought everyone here was a wanker. Except you. So this is my chance to return the favour.’

Jamie furrowed his brow. He remembered how when Mike had started it had been his job to desk-train him and show him around. He didn’t remember being particularly kind to him – nothing out of the ordinary anyway. Still, that first impression must have stuck in Mike’s head.

‘So what do you think? Shall I give them a call?’

‘I… No. No, it’s not right. I’m not into violence. I find it abhorrent. The whole idea. Jesus.’

The door opened and a middle-aged man called Frank, who sat a few desks down from them, walked in. They said hello to him then Jamie went to leave. Before he did, Mike put his hand on his arm, the tips of his fingers digging like claws into the muscle.

‘I think you’re making a mistake,’ he said.

Jamie shook his hand away. ‘No. It’s not right.’

‘Well, if you change your mind.’

‘I won’t.’

Now, carrying his coffee through the train, back to where Kirsty sat with her book, he thought of the offer Mike had made and how tempted he had felt. He had been that close to saying yes. But he had done the right thing. At least he still had that: a sense of right and wrong. He still had some sense of morality.

The train rattled along, heading north, and as they moved further from London – away from the source of their troubles – Jamie relaxed. He felt the tension in his muscles ease; the pressure inside his skull subsided.

At Warrington Bank Quay a woman got on with a baby and took a seat adjacent to them. Halfway through the Lake District the baby started to cry, sonorous screams that seemed to make the train’s windows vibrate. Up and down the carriage, people tutted, disturbed from their doze or just pleased to have something to tut about. To Jamie, the crying baby was far less irritating than the consistent stream of calls the man behind them had made on his mobile phone, all of which began with the words, ‘I’m on the train.’ Jamie glanced at Kirsty and saw that she was looking at the baby, a smile on her lips. Her hands went to her stomach – a now-habitual gesture – and the woman with the baby looked up and caught Kirsty’s eye.

‘You’ve got all this to come,’ the woman said, above the baby’s din.

Kirsty stroked the curve of her belly.

‘Usually she’s a little angel, but today I wish I’d left her at home with her father.’

The baby quietened suddenly, leaving a silence which Jamie felt the urge to fill.

‘But you’re happy?’

The woman looked surprised by the question. ‘Happy? Oh of course, yes. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. However much they scream and misbehave, that fact never changes. This is what it’s all about.’

When the woman got off at the next stop she wished Kirsty and Jamie luck.

‘Not that you’ll need it,’ she said. ‘You look like a lucky couple to me. Blessed.’

They changed at Carlisle then took another train to Gretna Green, where the station was merely a single platform situated between two fields.

The Bed and Breakfast where they were staying was five minutes walk away. They stepped down from the train and Jamie looked around. There was nobody around: nothing but fields and trees and open space. The air smelled so clean. Coming here had definitely been the right thing to do.

They were shown to their room by a white-haired man and as soon as the door was closed behind them they drew the curtains and took off their clothes. They were both aware that, for tonight, there was nobody around to listen to them; nobody to complain or bang on the ceiling. They lay down on the bed and looked into each other’s eyes, and Jamie rolled onto his back so Kirsty could straddle him. She was already wet and it felt so good that he had to concentrate hard to stop himself from coming straight away. He propped himself up on his elbows and Kirsty leaned forward to kiss him, eyes closed, and rocked her pelvis back and forth, slowly, digging sharp fingernails into his back, drawing the focal point of sensation away from his cock. Her breathing quickened and he rocked with her, moving towards orgasm.

Losing himself in Kirsty now, Jamie was able to forget all about Lucy and Chris and all the other things that kept him awake at night. Here, in her arms, familiar flesh in a strange room, as light ebbed from the sky beyond the room, he felt free.

The wedding passed so quickly Jamie was surprised the photographs weren’t blurred. They found a pair of old ladies in the newsagents across the road from the registry office who agreed to act as witnesses. Jamie guessed they were used to such requests. One of the ladies took a few photographs of them. One showed them outside the registry office, Jamie in his new suit, Kirsty in her lovely dress, his arm around her shoulders, the Gretna Green Fish and Chicken Bar behind them. They giggled all the way through the ceremony. It felt so absurd – but in a good way.

After the wedding, they went for a meal at a nearby pub. Everybody gave them knowing looks. They had decided to spend another night in Gretna before returning home, so they had the rest of the afternoon to fill. The sky was overcast and it wasn’t very warm, but it was such a novelty to be out of the city, they wanted to make the most of it.

‘Let’s go for a walk,’ Kirsty said. ‘Enjoy the fresh air.’

They walked arm-in-arm through the village, cutting across an empty field and through a graffiti-strewn tunnel. They found a gift shop and Jamie bought Kirsty a small teddy bear. They stopped for tea, and whiled away the afternoon watching the tourists who, despite being just a few miles over the Scottish border, felt compelled to stock up on tartan and shortbread.

They took a few photographs as they wandered back to the B&B: Jamie in front of a ‘Welcome to Scotland’ sign; Kirsty beside a statue depicting an abstract couple making love.

‘I can’t believe I’m tramping around this village in the most expensive dress I’ve ever bought,’ she said. ‘I must look ridiculous.’

‘You look fantastic.’

She really did.

‘Let’s get some pictures in here,’ Kirsty said, as they passed a graveyard.

‘Isn’t it a bit gothic?’

‘No. It’ll look dramatic.’

They entered the little graveyard and looked at the stones, many of which were smothered in moss and unreadable. There were lots of graves gathered together in family groups.

‘Do you think we’ll be buried together?’ Kirsty said.

‘I want to be cremated.’

‘And I’ll scatter your ashes.’

‘Hey, how do you know it won’t be me scattering your ashes?’

She shrugged. ‘Women always live longer.’

Jamie looked up at the church and saw a large crow land on the roof. It ruffled its feathers then settled, looking down at them. He pointed it out to Kirsty.

‘Ugh.’ She shivered. ‘It reminds me of something Paul told me about. About the dreams he had when he was in his coma.’

‘He told you about them?’

‘I went to see Paul a couple of days before you and he had your big bust-up. Heather had told me she thought he was acting strangely and I wanted to check it out. He seemed fine to me that day – a little tired and subdued, but I thought, Well, he’s just woken up from a coma. What can you expect? I thought Heather was over-reacting.’

The crow shifted and spread out its wings, but didn’t take off.

‘I asked him about the dreams. I wanted to know what they involved. He asked me if I was asking in a medical capacity. I told him I was asking as a friend.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said he could remember these horrible dreams. He dreamt that he was running down a hill, down towards a large town, and there were creatures flying above him: masses of them. A swarm, flying low, dive-bombing him as he ran, scraping the top of his head, getting caught up in his hair. He said they were large and black, like solid shadows, but he didn’t know if they were birds or bats. He’d get to the bottom of the hill, the creatures swooping at him from all directions, and fall over onto his face. But at the point when he’d usually wake up, the dream would start again. Looping over and over.’

‘Jesus. How awful.’

‘I know.’

They were silent for a moment, looking up at the crow, which suddenly took off, its huge wings fanning the moisture-thick air, propelling it away over the graveyard.

‘Are you still having those dreams about the gingerbread house?’ Jamie asked.

‘No. Not for a while. I haven’t had any dreams for a while.’

They took their photographs, but the mention of Paul and his coma-dreams had spoiled the mood. Later, Jamie would study the pictures and see, behind Kirsty’s smile, a hint of something else. It looked very much like fear.

‘Shall we go back to the B&B?’ Jamie asked, taking Kirsty’s hand.

As they were leaving the graveyard, Kirsty paused to look at a final gravestone. There were two names on the stone. One was of a woman – Elizabeth Anne Robertson, born 1901, died 1924. So young, Kirsty thought. But beneath her name was another name – Jane Elizabeth Robertson. Born 1924. Died 1924. It took a moment for it to sink in. She was looking at the grave of a woman and her dead baby.

Beloved wife and daughter. The Lord took you together. May you both Rest in Peace.

Jamie pulled her away just as the sun retreated behind a cloud, casting a shadow over him and Kirsty and the grave; merging their shadows together while above them the crow circled before returning to the church roof. They could hear it caw as they pushed open the door of the B&B and retreated inside. In a single dark moment, their bubble of happiness had been burst.