The Magpies A Psychological Thriller

One


‘It’s going to be the hottest flatwarming party of all time,’ Jamie enthused. ‘I think we should make it a fancy dress party.’

‘Excellent idea,’ said Kirsty. ‘With a theme?’

‘No. No theme. Freestyle fancy dress – come as whoever or whatever you like.’

He fell with her onto the bed in the soon-to-be-vacated bedroom in the house she shared with three other nurses and buried his face in her soft hair. He kissed her neck and breathed in her scent – a cocktail of skin and apricot shampoo and the perfume she applied every morning. Walking into her bedroom, where her fragrance hung constantly in the air, always made him feel happy and loved and sexy. And soon they would be living together. They would be sharing a bedroom and he would live with her fragrance – as part of the background of his life – every day. Breath and hair and skin and sweat and all the atoms and particles shed by their bodies day after day – these things would merge to create an atmosphere that was not solely of Jamie or Kirsty, but of them.

‘What will you dress up as?’ she asked as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it behind him so it landed among the stacks of cardboard boxes and packing crates that covered the floor: books and clothes and handed-down kitchen utensils crammed together in a haphazard jumble that Kirsty described as her ‘system’. Old CDs and framed prints and her childhood collection of wooden elephants. Her whole life, packed up and ready to go.

Jamie adopted what he thought was a wicked grin, snaking his hand around her back and pulling her against his bare torso. She kissed his chest and looked up at him with her big brown eyes.

‘What will I go as?’ he asked. ‘How about the devil?’

The flat was perfect. From the moment they stepped into the living room and saw the way the light flooded in through the bay windows, they both knew it. Kirsty put her arm around Jamie’s waist and as the estate agent took a call on his mobile, facing into the kitchen behind them, they exchanged a look, excited but fearful. They didn’t even really need to see the main bedroom – although that too was exactly what they’d hoped for – or the spare room or the small, functional kitchen or bathroom. The walls of this place had spoken to them. They both believed they had heard it say their names. Jamie pictured himself collapsed on a comfortable sofa with the TV flickering in the corner, Kirsty in paint-splattered jeans, decorating these walls with a thick brush. Recently, he’d started to picture her with a baby bump. It was like watching an advert of their future life.

The slightly-warped floorboards. The pipes that shuddered when you turned the taps on. The cracks in the window frames. Even the blossom of damp in the bathroom. All of these things contained a kind of charm that was absent in the new-build properties they had seen – places that were sterile and lacking in history. The flat felt warm, a place with a past, with rooms that had housed generations, breathed with life. As they had crossed the threshold, the estate agent had said, ‘Mind the step’, but Jamie had already negotiated it. His feet knew instinctively where to tread.

‘This flat is the best bargain I’ve ever seen,’ the estate agent said, rubbing his bald spot. ‘You’re lucky – you’re the first people to view it. The owner needs a quick sale so they’re asking way under the market value.’ He shook his head.

When they got back to Jamie’s flat, he and Kirsty tried to play it cool. They would wait a while, pretend to be thinking about it. If they didn’t come across too keen they might be able to knock the price down even further. Even at a bargain price, the flat was at the very top of their price range anyway. They would only be able to afford it by sacrificing a few other things. They would have to stick with Jamie’s battered car, for a start.

‘Let’s wait till tomorrow,’ said Jamie.

‘Yes.’

‘But what if somebody else makes an offer in the meantime?’

‘They won’t.’

‘No…’

‘But they might.’

They both looked at the phone. Jamie snatched it up and called the estate agent. They made an offer: £3,000 less than the asking price. They chewed their nails while they waited for the agent to call back.

Later that night they were celebrating. They ended up reducing the price by just £1,000 – and they spent a small chunk of that on a bottle of expensive champagne which they drank together in the bath at Jamie’s. They weren’t even going to be stuck in a chain. They were first-time buyers and the flat was empty. ‘Tomorrow,’ Jamie said, as he popped the cork on the bottle of champagne and Kirsty held her glass out, ‘I’ll phone Richard and give him my notice on this flat.’

They clinked glasses.

‘To our new home.’

The day of the party arrived, and during the afternoon Paul turned up with a white van full of bottled lager and four crates of white wine. ‘I know a bloke who does runs to Calais,’ he said. ‘Fills up a van and sells the contents to his mates. He can get you anything: booze, cigarettes, perfume. A nice wife from Latvia. Whatever you want. Not that you need a mail order bride, you lucky bastard.’

Jamie and Paul sat on the front step in the sunshine and sipped from small green bottles of continental beer while Kirsty and her best friend, Heather, blew up balloons indoors. It was a gorgeous day, gossamer clouds strung out like dinosaur bones across the blue sky. The city was warming up and London was coming back to life after a winter that had felt like a new Ice Age.

Kirsty came outside and crept up behind Jamie. She put a finger to her lips to quieten Paul, held a fully-inflated balloon behind Jamie’s head and jabbed a sharp fingernail into the balloon’s rubbery flesh.

‘Jesus!’

Jamie dropped his drink and clamped his hand to his heart. Kirsty and Paul rocked with laughter.

‘That’s for leaving Heather and me to do all the hard work. Now, give us a beer.’

She stooped and kissed him and he handed her a lukewarm bottle.

Six hours later, Jamie was standing among a crowd of party-goers feeling queasy but still very happy. He’d long since lost count of how many bottles he’d drunk. He’d also lost the plastic trident that went with his devil’s costume, which consisted of a red T-shirt, red velvet trousers and a matching cloak, plus a pair of plastic horns strapped to his head. People kept asking him if he was feeling horny. He roamed the party, chatting and drinking and laughing and feeling…wonderful. He still couldn’t believe the flat was theirs. All evening, people had told him and Kirsty how lucky they were to find it. This guy called Jason, who ‘dabbled’ in property, told Jamie he’d made a very wise investment. He shook Jamie’s hand. ‘If you ever want to sell,’ he said, ‘I might know a few people.’

But Jamie didn’t care about investments, or property booms, or making a quick profit. He simply loved this flat. It had spirit. It had soul.

‘Soul!’ he shouted, holding his bottle aloft and squeezing between a sailor and James Bond. ‘That’s what we need.’ He bent over the iPod in its dock and found the track he wanted.

The first bars of ‘Get Up’ blared out, and Jamie danced off across the floorboards, ignoring the ground-out fag butts and puddles of spilt beer, looking for Kirsty. He banged into the doorframe on his way out of the room and grinned to himself.

Before finding his girlfriend, he came across Heather, standing outside the bathroom, talking to this guy in trendy glasses who Kirsty knew from somewhere or other. What was his name? Matthew? Or Luke? Something New Testament. Heather was dressed as a St Trinian schoolgirl and her friend was a vampire.

‘Have you seen Kirsty?’ Jamie asked.

Heather shook her head. ‘Last time I saw her she was talking to your neighbour, out the front.’

Jamie thanked her and went out through the front door of the flat and down the hall, which was crammed full of people he’d never seen before. He didn’t know if they were friends of Kirsty’s or gatecrashers. He didn’t really care. He caught sight of Kirsty, standing just inside the front door talking to an older man. He stopped for a second and looked at her in her Catwoman outfit. He wanted to drag her to the bedroom and do delicious things to her.

Pushing his way past a girl dressed as Morticia Addams, Jamie crept up behind Kirsty and blew gently on the back of her neck.

‘I know it’s you,’ she said, turning to give him a hug.

‘This is Brian,’ she said, introducing the man she was talking to. He was in his fifties, with a neatly-trimmed beard and black-framed designer glasses. He was one of the only people at the party who wasn’t in fancy dress. ‘He lives in the top flat.’

‘Hi. Pleased to meet you.’ The two men shook hands. ‘Do you live on your own?’

Brian shook his head. ‘Oh no. My wife, Linda, is here somewhere. Probably chatting up some young bloke, knowing her. This is a great party. I was really pleased to see another young couple move in. We need some more young blood round here. The prices put a lot of young people off.’

‘We were lucky,’ said Jamie.

Brian nodded. ‘I think you were. And I hope I’m not being presumptuous when I say I think we’re lucky to have you. It’s so important when you live in a small block of flats like this to get the right type of people, by which I mean people who are easy to get along with, who are easy-going and who believe you should live and let live. You both seem like you fit the bill, and I hope you won’t prove me wrong.’ Brian raised his bottle. ‘Welcome to Mount Pleasant Street.’

They stood in silence for a moment and looked out at the street. This could almost be a suburban town thirty or forty years ago, the roads were so quiet, the gardens so well-kept, the cars so shiny. But central London was only a ten-minute Tube journey away. They were close to the hub of things, which was where Jamie had always wanted to be. When he moved to London after finishing university he had always imagined himself living in a place like this. For five years he had been stuck in a poky little flat in Camden Town, dreaming of a better place. And now he was here. He had found that better place.

He turned back to Brian. One of their big worries about throwing this party was that they might upset the neighbours. To avoid this, they had invited them all. Brian and Linda had accepted, and judging by Brian’s welcome speech, they had won him over with very little effort. Mary – the woman who lived in the first floor flat – had scribbled them a quick note saying she’d love to come but she’d made other plans and would be out all night. The couple downstairs in the garden flat hadn’t replied. Jamie could see the lights on in their front room and the colourful glow of a TV. Maybe they weren’t party people.

‘What are the other neighbours like?’ he asked Brian.

‘Well, Mary’s lovely. She lives on her own with her cat. Doesn’t seem to get many visitors, but I think that’s because she always goes to them. If you ever want to borrow a cup of sugar, and you can catch her at home, she’s the kind of person who’ll always be happy to help you out.’

‘What about the couple in the basement?’ said Kirsty.

Brian laughed. ‘Oh, you mustn’t call it the basement. I did that once and they got very upset. It’s the garden flat. That’s what I was told. But they’re nice people, very quiet, keep themselves to themselves. Linda and I haven’t had very much to do with them at all.’

‘What are their names?’

‘Lucy and Chris. The Newtons.’

Jamie peered down the steps at the illuminated window. ‘We’ll have to introduce ourselves to them. Soon.’

He noticed Brian studying his beer bottle. It was empty. ‘Do you want another?’

‘Hmm. Please. I’ll come in with you, see if I can find Linda.’

‘And I want to see what Heather’s up to,’ said Kirsty.

They went inside. Kirsty found Heather chatting up the vampire. Jamie led Brian over to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of beer. In the living room, people were dancing badly to James Brown.

‘So is this all your furniture?’ Brian asked. ‘A fridge and a stereo?’

‘No. We’re moving the rest of it in tomorrow. I thought it was best to have the party while the flat was empty. Didn’t want anything to get wrecked. Plus there’s more room for everyone.’

‘Very true.’ He paused and sipped his beer. ‘Where did you and Kirsty meet?’

‘In hospital. Kirsty’s a nurse.’

‘And you were her patient?’

‘No. That’s what everyone assumes, and it would be nice to say that our eyes met above a hypodermic needle or that she helped me recover from some terrible illness…’

‘Sitting by the bedside, keeping watch, mopping your brow.’

‘Or she told me to bend over for my injection and fell madly in love. The truth is rather more mundane. I was installing software on the hospital computer system. I saw her and fancied her immediately, so I found out her name and left a message on the terminal for her: NURSE PHILLIPS. I REQUIRE URGENT MEDICAL ATTENTION. PLEASE CALL ME. Tacky, I admit, but it worked. She phoned me the next day.’

‘You’re a very lucky man. She’s very attractive.’

‘I know. Actually, it would have been hard for me to meet her as a patient because she works on the children’s ward.’ He smiled. ‘She told the kids about my message and they teased her about it for months afterwards. Going to give Jamie his medicine, nurse Phillips? Cheeky little sods.’

‘And you’re in computers?’

‘That’s right. I work for a firm that installs and maintains computer systems for organisations like hospitals, schools, local councils, etcetera. It’s not glamorous but it’s alright, you know.’

They spent the next ten minutes talking about computers and the internet. Brian was about to buy a new PC and Jamie said he’d help him set it up if he wanted. He asked Brian what he did for a living.

‘I’m a writer.’

‘Really? Anything I might have come across?’

‘Probably not – unless the kids in Kirsty’s ward are fans. I write young adult horror. The Scarlet Moon series – have you heard of it?’

Jamie was about to respond when they heard the wail of a siren outside, drowning out the music for a moment. The siren ceased and a woman dressed as Cleopatra – who was looking out the front window – turned to her friend, Julius Caesar, and said, ‘It’s the fire brigade.’

Kirsty, Heather and the vampire came into the room, along with Brian’s wife, Linda, and they and everyone else crowded round the front window, looking out as two fire engines pulled up to the kerb. Half-a-dozen fire fighters jumped out and Jamie noticed the looks of puzzlement on their faces. They looked up and down the road. Where was the fire?

Someone said, ‘Maybe there’s a cat stuck up a tree,’ causing a ripple of laughter.

Then Cleopatra said, ‘They’re heading this way.’

Jamie and Kirsty looked at each other, and backed out of the crowd. Paul, who had been out the front, smoking a spliff, hurried into the room and staggered up to Jamie.

‘They want to see you,’ he said.

‘Me?’

Jamie made his way outside, followed by Kirsty, Paul, Heather, Brian, Linda and anyone else who could cram into the hallway. A pair of disgruntled-looking firemen stood on the doorstep. Looking around at the mock policemen and fake doctors, Jamie could have believed the firemen were also party-goers: a couple of unfortunates who had turned up in the same outfit.

‘Are you Jamie Knight?’ said the older fireman, who was clearly in charge.

‘Yes. That’s me.’

‘You phoned to report a fire. Where is it?’

‘What?’

The fireman sighed. ‘We don’t have all day, Mr Knight. Is there a fire? Is it out?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about…’

‘You phoned 999.’

‘I didn’t. I haven’t phoned anyone all evening. I–’

‘It’s an offence to make a hoax phone call to the emergency services, Mr Knight. Maybe you thought it would be funny. You’re certainly wearing the right outfit for it.’

Jamie looked down at his devil’s outfit and felt his mouth go dry. ‘But I didn’t do it.’

The fireman stared at him. It was a long, hard stare that made Jamie feel like a schoolboy who’d been brought up in front of the headmaster. When the scrutiny was over, the fireman said, ‘Maybe it was one of your guests.’

Kirsty stepped forward. ‘Nobody here would have done that. Can’t you trace the call?’

The fireman treated her to the same hard stare. ‘Maybe we will.’ He turned to his colleagues. ‘Come on, we’ve wasted enough time here.’ They marched off down the path.

The party wasn’t quite the same after that, even though it carried on for a couple more hours. Brian and Linda said goodnight and went up to their flat on the top floor. Heather got off with the vampire (and later complained to Kirsty that he had blood-curdling halitosis). Paul got very drunk and threw up in the toilet. Jamie and Kirsty sat and worried about who had called the fire brigade.

‘It’s such a stupid, irresponsible thing to do,’ Kirsty said. ‘Somebody could have died in a real fire while they were here. I can’t believe any of our friends would have done it.’

‘It must have been someone at the party, though. One of the gatecrashers.’

‘But why?’

‘I don’t know. For a laugh?’

‘Some laugh.’

They were quiet for a moment.

‘So who do you think could have done it?’

‘God, Jamie, I really don’t know. I’m too drunk to even think about it.’

Jamie looked at the floor, deep in thought.

‘I’m going to bed,’ said Kirsty, crawling under the quilt. They hadn’t moved their new double bed in yet: just the mattress. She looked up at the high ceiling. Her eyes rolled up into their sockets and she closed them tightly.

‘What about the guests?’

She buried her head under the pillow. ‘I’ll let you chuck them out.’

‘Kirsty…’

But she was already asleep.