The Magpies A Psychological Thriller

Four


Jamie woke up and looked at the bedside clock, the LED numbers phosphorescent in the dark. It was half-past-midnight – or half-past-nothing, as the digits 00:30 seemed to indicate. He groaned and pushed the covers down to his waist. It was unbearably hot, even with the sash windows open as far as they would go. During the day, the temperature had hit the high Eighties, and it didn’t feel any cooler now, with the heat of their bodies adding to the humidity. The sheets were damp with sweat. His skin was slick and his hair was stuck to his scalp. He had a sudden, wonderful image of a tub of Häagen-Dazs. He would press its frosted exterior against his brow before devouring the cold, delicious ice cream inside. He groaned again.

Kirsty turned over and said, ‘Are you alright?’

‘I can’t sleep. It’s too hot.’

‘I know. And I’ve got to get up in a few hours.’ She reached out and touched Jamie’s side. ‘God, you’re burning up.’

‘I need a cold shower.’

‘Oh yeah?’ She put her hands on his chest and kissed him.

‘I thought you were worried about getting up.’

‘Mmmm.’

They kissed, Jamie running his hands up Kirsty’s back, over her bottom and hips, from the small of her back to her shoulder blades. Her skin was warm but dry, and so soft. He had spent the last two years marvelling over the softness of her skin. If somebody asked him to draw up a list of what he liked best about Kirsty’s body, the softness of her skin would be right up there competing for pole position – although, really, he loved everything about her body: the way she was slim but still endowed with curves that felt so good beneath the palm of his hand; the ever-clean scent of her; the constellations of pale freckles on her shoulders and breasts; the crescent-shaped scar on her hip, obtained during a childhood cycling mishap. He loved it all.

‘What was that?’ Kirsty opened her eyes and broke away from the kiss.

‘What?’

‘I heard a noise outside.’

Jamie sat up, reluctantly breaking contact with her flesh. He hadn’t heard anything. He had been lost in that kiss, the rest of the world fading away in a haze of arousal. He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, trying to remove the blur from his vision. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes!’ she whispered harshly. ‘I heard someone moving around. It sounded like it came from the garden.’

Jamie got up from the bed and crept over to the back window. He peeked out through a gap in the curtains, and a cool breeze caressed his face. He was still half-asleep, and he stood there for a second with his eyes closed, enjoying the sensation but wishing it was Kirsty cooling him with her kisses.

‘Jamie? Can you see anything?’

He remembered where he was and opened his eyes. He peered out at the garden, and straight away saw a shadowy figure move beneath him, a few feet from the Newtons’ back door. He ducked down beneath the windowsill and looked back at Kirsty.

‘There’s somebody down there,’ he whispered.

Kirsty’s mouth formed an O and she climbed out of bed and came over to the window, walking in a curious half-crouch, her arms folded over her breasts. They knelt together on the carpet, both of them naked, as if they were offering up a prayer to some nocturnal god.

Jamie stuck his head under the curtain and looked out again. He could see the person moving around. He didn’t think they would be able to see him, but then the moon came out from behind a cloud and the garden was illuminated. He ducked down again.

‘It’s Chris,’ he said.

‘Chris? What’s he doing?’

A second later, they had their answer. There came the sound of rushing water: the hiss and splash of water coming out of a hosepipe.

‘He’s watering the bloody garden!’

They collapsed together on the floor, trying not to laugh aloud. Jamie covered Kirsty’s mouth with his own to stop her laughter ringing out.

A week ago, the local council had announced a strict hosepipe ban because of the hot weather. It hadn’t rained for weeks, and reservoir supplies were running alarmingly low.

‘Should we grass him up?’ whispered Kirsty, after they had clambered back into bed. She was still trying not to laugh, not just because she found the situation funny but also because she was relieved that they weren’t about to be burgled or murdered in their bed. She couldn’t believe how silly she’d been.

‘Kirsty!’

She tutted. ‘I wasn’t being serious. It’s a bit sneaky though, isn’t it? Watering the garden under cover of darkness.’

‘Loads of people do it.’

‘Yeah. I guess you’re right. Anyway,’ she said, inching closer, giving him that look he loved so much. ‘Where were we?’

Jamie pulled her towards him. ‘Right about here.’

They didn’t get another full day together until Sunday. Jamie didn’t work at weekends, and Kirsty – who did – had the day off. It was another glorious, hot day and they had decided to take the train down to the coast for the day. In an hour and a half they could be in Brighton, eating greasy chips and sticky candy floss, or enjoying a drink in a seafront pub. As Kirsty got dressed, Jamie – who had been ready for almost an hour – looked out of the back window. There were Lucy and Chris, up early, working in the garden. Actually, it was just Chris doing the work. While he knelt beside the borders, pulling up weeds, Lucy stood over him, hands on hips, pointing at bits he’d missed or had yet to do. Jamie noticed they were wearing matching T-shirts which bore the logo of a large computer software company, Scion.

As he stood there looking at them, Lucy turned around and spotted him. She waved, the gold of her wedding ring glinting in the sun. She said something but he couldn’t make it out. He cupped his hand to his ear and she pointed at the balcony, gesturing for him to come out.

‘Lucy wants me to go out and see her,’ he said so Kirsty would know what was going on.

He went into the bathroom, opened the back door and stepped out onto the balcony. Sunlight hit him in the face and he shaded his eyes with his hand. Lucy walked up to the edge of the garden and stood at the bottom of the steps that led up to the balcony. Chris carried on working, only stopping briefly to nod hello.

‘Hi. Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ Jamie said. ‘You’re so lucky having a garden. It must be very therapeutic.’ He hoped his insincerity wasn’t evident. He didn’t want a garden. He had the exact opposite of green fingers, although he wasn’t sure what that was. Grey fingers? Concrete fingers? When he saw a garden he only thought what a hassle it must be to have to mow the lawn and pull up the endlessly-proliferating weeds.

Lucy nodded. ‘Yes. It is. We were just saying that, weren’t we, Chris?’

‘That’s right.’

Jamie smiled. He imagined it was therapeutic for Lucy, watching someone else do all the work while she supervised.

‘The reason I beckoned you outside was to ask you and Kirsty if you wanted to come round for dinner.’

‘Oh.’ His mind raced. ‘That’s really nice of you to ask. But why don’t you come round to us?’

Kirsty was, at this point, standing behind Jamie in the bathroom – unseen by the Newtons – with a look of horror on her face, making throat-cutting gestures with her finger.

‘Kirsty’s a great cook. We could come round to you next time.’

Lucy’s face lit up with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. She nodded.

‘That would be lovely. What do you think, Chris?’

He peeled off his gardening gloves and stood up. His T-shirt showed off the bulge of his muscles: his thick arms and broad chest. He nodded up at Jamie, one side of his mouth twitching in what Jamie interpreted as an attempt to show enthusiasm. ‘Sure. Sounds good.’

‘Great. Well, let’s make a date. Say, seven-thirty, this Friday? Fantastic. We’ll see you then.’

He went back inside, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Kirsty punched him lightly on the arm. ‘What the hell have you done?’

‘I thought you’d prefer to meet them on your own home territory.’

‘Oh God, I don’t believe this. That’s my week ruined.’

‘What? Why?’

‘Because I’m going to be worrying about this bloody dinner party now. What to cook. What to wear. Does the flat look a state? Why couldn’t you have accepted their invitation? Or if you didn’t want to go down there, why didn’t you make up an excuse?’

‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

‘Huh! I should make you cook the meal. That would teach you.’

‘OK, I will.’

‘Don’t be stupid. You’re the worst cook in London.’ She marched back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. ‘I think I’ll invite Heather and Paul too. Paul can entertain them.’

Jamie tutted. ‘Look, Kirsty, it will be fine. I genuinely thought it would be easier to invite them up here. We don’t want a repeat of that time we went to Sally and Jason’s and they served lamb because I’d forgotten to tell them you were a veggie.’

Kirsty shook her head. ‘I know, I know. I realise you were doing what you thought was best. I just wished you’d stalled them and asked me first.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We’d better get going now, before the tide goes out and I miss my chance to drown you.’

Paul turned up first, bearing a bottle of cheap Chardonnay.

‘So what are we having?’ he asked after he had handed Jamie the wine and kissed Kirsty on the cheek.

‘Jamie’s having beans on toast.’

‘Yum. And the rest of us?’

She tapped the side of a saucepan with a wooden spoon. Onions and garlic cloves lay on the worktop, along with a bowl of shelled pecan nuts, a plate of mushrooms and artichokes, bottles of olive oil and vinegar, a can of tomatoes and a tube of tomato puree. Fresh tagliatelle already waited in the saucepan. ‘The rest of us are having pasta.’

‘Veggie stuff.’

‘That’s right, and if you don’t like it’ – she waved the wooden spoon at him – ‘you can have beans on toast too.’

‘But beans on toast are veggie as well! No, actually, it sounds great, Kirsty. And it smells delicious.’

‘My beautiful, talented girlfriend.’ Jamie put his arm around her.

‘Don’t start creeping. Remember, if it all goes wrong tonight, it’s your fault.’

He sighed. ‘Yes, I know. But nothing’s going to go wrong, is it? We’re going to have a pleasant, civilised evening. Which we might even finish with a couple of new friends.’

‘What time are you expecting them?’ asked Paul.

‘In about half-an-hour,’ Kirsty replied. ‘Now, pour me some wine then bugger off while I get this meal cooked.’

Jamie and Paul took their drinks into the living room, where Jamie had set up the dining table. The TV was on, and the newsreader was talking about an eight-year-old girl who had been found strangled and raped and dumped behind some dustbins in Colindale. Jamie turned the TV off.

‘The world is full of sick bastards,’ he said.

Heather turned up five minutes later. She was wearing a tiny dress that ended four inches above the knee and was sleeveless, revealing the small cat tattoo on her shoulder. She went into the kitchen to help Kirsty.

Paul said, ‘My God, what’s happened to Heather?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘She’s suddenly gone all sexy. When did that happen?’

‘She’s always been attractive.’

‘Yeah, I guess so. Shame she hates me.’

‘What the hell makes you think that?’

‘She’s an intelligent, attractive woman. Ergo she hates me.’

Jamie rolled his eyes. He knew Paul was desperate for a girlfriend but couldn’t work out why he found it so difficult to get and hang on to one. He was quite good-looking, witty and clever. To Jamie – and Paul even more so – it didn’t make sense. The only explanation they could come up with was that fate was saving Paul, preserving him in a state of singleness until the right woman came along.

The doorbell rang and Jamie hurried out to open the door.

‘Lucy, Chris, hi, come in.’

They were both dressed up to the nines, Chris in an expensive Italian suit, Lucy in a scoop-neck maroon dress. Jamie was struck again by how tall she was. Chris handed Jamie a bottle of red wine which he took into the kitchen, leaving them with Paul.

‘They’re here,’ he whispered to Kirsty.

She took a big gulp of wine and went out to greet them.

They had already sat down on the sofa, both sitting stiffly upright, looking uncomfortable, like somebody visiting their parents-in-law for the first time. Chris stood up when Kirsty entered the room. She went to kiss him on the cheek but he shuffled away awkwardly and stuck out his hand. Bemused, she shook it.

‘I like what you’ve done to this room,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

‘Still, you couldn’t go far wrong with a place like this. Nice straight walls. Very solid.’

‘…Yes.’

Half-an-hour later the six of them were seated around the table. They made smalltalk and everyone complimented Kirsty on the food; there was a brief discussion about vegetarianism, Kirsty fending off the usual questions about whether she ate fish or chicken; the wine and conversation might not have flowed easily, but it was steady and there were no awkward silences. Kirsty started to relax, and, seeing her do so, Jamie winked at her across the table. He touched her foot gently with his.

Lucy told them about her job – about the old people and their peculiar habits, including the old lady who wrote phrases like ‘Piss off’ on pieces of card and flashed them at the other residents if they annoyed her (a kind of non-verbal Tourette’s Syndrome) – and Paul asked Chris what he did for a living.

‘I work for Scion Systems, the computer company.’

‘Oh right,’ said Jamie. ‘I saw the Scion logo on your T-shirt when you were gardening.’

‘Jamie’s in computing too,’ said Kirsty.

‘I work for ETN,’ he confirmed.

Lucy beamed. ‘That’s amazing. We girls are both in healthcare–’

‘And me,’ said Heather.

‘–and the boys work with computers. We’re such kindred spirits. Amazing.’ She had already drunk a couple of large glasses of red wine and Jamie noticed with amusement that there was a slight slur to her words.

‘I’m the odd one out,’ said Paul, ‘being a mere banker.’ Paul worked for one of the High Street banks, a job he hated.

Heather leaned across the table and lightly pinched his cheek. ‘You’re always the odd one.’

Paul blushed.

‘Even the woman upstairs is in health,’ Jamie said.

‘What, Mary?’ said Lucy, putting down her wine glass. ‘I’d hardly call what she does health.’

‘What does she do?’ asked Heather, who hadn’t come across Mary before.

Jamie said, ‘She’s a herbalist.’

‘Is that what she calls it?’ said Lucy. ‘I’d describe her as a witch.’

Chris nudged her. ‘Lucy…’

But all eyes were fixed on Lucy now. Jamie laughed and said, ‘A witch? But her cat isn’t even black.’

Lucy wasn’t laughing. ‘It’s not funny, Jamie. There’s something about her I don’t like. She gives me the creeps. I’d hate to know what kind of things she gets up to all alone in their flat. She gets some very strange-looking mail, from people like the Pagan Society, and the Society of Wiccans.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve seen it. Our post often gets delivered through the communal front door, even though we have our own letter box, so I have to come up and check. I’ve seen Mary’s letters. And I’ve also seen the way she looks at me. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s up there right now, carrying out some sort of black magic ritual. Pulling the legs off spiders as she chants a spell.’

‘Oh God, don’t,’ said Kirsty. ‘Just the mention of spiders makes me shiver.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Everyone looked at the ceiling, then Paul spluttered with laughter. ‘The Blair Witch comes to Mount Pleasant Street. Maybe this building is haunted by dead children.’

‘Paul!’ Kirsty protested. ‘That’s not in very good taste.’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Both Kirsty and Heather were giving him filthy looks; it wasn’t the best comment to make in front of two nurses who worked in a children’s ward. Lucy, too, was perturbed by his comment. She stared into the remains of her meal, a tense expression on her face.

‘How long has Mary lived here?’ Jamie asked.

Chris answered: ‘She was here before we moved in.’

Jamie thought that Lucy was tense because no-one had taken her comments seriously. Feeling the need to humour her and make her feel better, he said, ‘And have you ever seen any evidence that she’s into witchcraft? Because I went up there and she seemed like a bit of a hippy, but definitely nothing worse.’

Heather said, ‘This is getting surreal. Can we change the subject?’

‘Yes!’ said Kirsty, standing up quickly. ‘Who wants dessert?’

‘Yes please,’ said Paul.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Jamie.

In the kitchen, Jamie whispered, ‘How do you think it’s going?’

‘Quite well, I think. Apart from that stuff about Mary. What was all that about?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘I think Lucy’s a bit drunk. Chris seems like an OK bloke, though. It’s spooky, isn’t it, that we all have such similar jobs.’

‘Hmm. It’s good though – we all have something in common. Just promise me you won’t turn the conversation around to computers. I don’t want to hear about e-commerce and gigabytes and HTMS.’

‘It’s HTML.’

‘I said I don’t want to hear about it.’

As Kirsty picked up the bowls, Jamie grabbed her round the waist and kissed her. ‘You know what HTML really stands for? How to meet ladies.’

She batted him away. ‘Do you think Paul fancies Heather? I’ve seen him looking at her all evening.’

‘In that dress, anyone would look at her. Except me, of course. As I only have eyes for you, my darling.’

She ignored him. ‘He blushed when she pinched his cheek.’

‘But then he blew it with his dead children comment.’

‘Oh, she’ll have forgotten about that by now. I reckon something might happen between them.’ Kirsty loved matchmaking. She was always trying to get mutual friends to get off with each other. She had this image of herself as some kind of urban Cupid, firing arrows of love into the hearts of her friends.

‘Promise me you won’t interfere,’ Jamie said.

‘As if I would.’

They carried the dessert into the living room. Paul, Heather, Lucy and Chris had resumed their conversation. They were talking about their favourite pastimes.

‘Chris is into go-karting,’ Lucy said.

‘Really?’ said Paul. ‘I’ve always thought that looked like great fun. Where do you go?’

‘This place in Kent. They’ve got fantastic karts there, and a really good track. You should come along. And you, Jamie.’

‘Is it just for boys, then?’ said Heather.

‘Oh no. Anyone can do it.’

‘What, even women?’ said Kirsty.

Chris looked at her blankly. ‘You should all come.’

Jamie nodded. ‘Yes, we’ll have to sort something out.’

‘Definitely,’ enthused Paul.

Lucy seemed to have sobered up a bit. As Kirsty set down the large bowl of strawberries, Lucy said, ‘Oh goodness – my favourite. How did you know?’

Kirsty had opted for a very simple dessert of fresh strawberries and cream. She had instructed Jamie to go through all the punnets in the greengrocers to ensure he got the plumpest, reddest fruits.

‘God, I’m stuffed,’ said Paul after they’d all finished and sat back.

‘That was gorgeous,’ said Heather.

Paul produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘Anyone mind if I smoke?’

‘Go ahead,’ said Kirsty.

Lucy coughed and looked at Chris.

‘Lucy’s asthmatic,’ Chris said.

‘Why don’t you go out onto the balcony?’ Kirsty said to Paul.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Heather. ‘I could do with some fresh air.’

Jamie and Kirsty were left alone with their downstairs neighbours. There was an awkward silence between them for a few moments. Jamie thought he might have to start talking about computers. Then Lucy said, ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit weird earlier, with what I said about Mary. I don’t normally go around accusing people of being witches. And I don’t want you to think we have problems with our neighbours. We get on very well with Brian and Linda upstairs.’

‘Although we were glad to see the back of the couple who lived here before you,’ said Chris.

‘Oh God, yes,’ said Lucy. ‘They were awful.’

‘In what way?’ asked Kirsty.

‘Don’t get me started. They were noisy – unbelievably noisy. Sometimes it sounded like they were playing drums in here. And they had visitors at all hours. And they smoked out of the window and threw the butts into our garden. We’re sure they dealing drugs, too. There was definitely something dodgy going on.’

‘They made our lives a misery from the moment we moved in.’

‘You poor things,’ said Kirsty.

Lucy touched Kirsty’s arm. ‘Oh, we’re fine now. And anyway, we can look after ourselves.’

Kirsty wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but before she could say anything, Jamie said, ‘We never met the previous owners. The sale was done through their solicitor and Andersons, the estate agent.’

‘Well, you’re lucky.’ Lucy touched her ears. ‘They were so noisy.’

Kirsty and Jamie looked at each other. ‘So you don’t think we’re too noisy?’ said Kirsty.

‘Oh no. I’d soon tell you if you were.’

Paul and Heather came back into the room, smelling of smoke. Jamie looked at them both and wondered if they’d been up to anything out there. He decided that Paul would have been smiling more broadly if they had. He got up and made coffee.

All in all, he was pleased with the way the evening had gone. He couldn’t imagine that they would ever be best friends with the Newtons, but they seemed like a nice enough couple, and they did share common interests. Plus it was in everyone’s best interests to maintain peace in the building. It was a shame Lucy was so antagonistic about Mary – but he was intrigued by the idea of her being called a witch. It was an attitude that didn’t seem to belong to this century.

After drinking their coffee they said goodnight and Lucy and Chris went down to their flat. Paul and Heather remained behind for a while. Jamie got the PS3 out and he and Paul played FIFA soccer. Kirsty and Heather chatted and finished up the wine. Jamie noticed that Heather kept glancing over at Paul, who was oblivious, too involved in the game. He smiled. It had been a good evening.

But that night, Kirsty woke up with her heart beating fast and a cold sweat on her brow. She grabbed hold of Jamie and shook him awake.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

She pressed her hand to her chest and waited for her breathing to return to normal. ‘I had an awful dream. I was being chased through the woods by a witch, and she was trying to put a spell on me. I came to this house – and it was like the house in Hansel and Gretel, made of delicious-looking gingerbread. I ran inside and I felt safe and happy, and I was thinking about all the gingerbread I could eat. Until I realised it was actually the witch’s house, and I was trapped. She put me in a cage, just like in the story. God, it was horrible.’

She lay back down and Jamie held her. After while her breathing pattern changed so he knew she was asleep. All that talk about witches over dinner. He didn’t realise Kirsty was so sensitive to things like that.

The next morning, when Jamie went out to get the mail, he found a dead rat on the carpet outside their door.