The Magpies: A Psychological Thriller by Mark Edwards
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
‘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.
Eighteen
‘Somebody’s been in here.’
As soon as Kirsty walked into the living room, just behind Jamie, she knew something was wrong. There were no immediate tangible signs, but she could feel it. The atmosphere in the room felt wrong. There had been a shift in the air, a strange shape imprinted on the molecules that hung around them and made up the fabric of the room. She could smell it, this unwelcome odour. She felt like an animal, its hackles rising as it caught the scent of a stranger, an invader, an enemy encroaching on its territory. She put down the fistful of post and walked very slowly into the room, looking around, scanning every surface for evidence that their possessions had been touched, moved or tampered with. She sniffed the air and turned round in a slow circle. She couldn’t see anything obvious; there was nothing she could point to and say, Look, that’s been moved – that wasn’t there before, or Where’s such-and-such – it should be there. But if there was such a thing as a sixth sense it was working now, telling her that someone had been in here. She felt cold. ‘What are you doing?’ Jamie asked nervously.
‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Somebody’s been in here.’
‘What?’ He looked around, apparently checking for the same signs she had looked for. ‘It all looks fine. Nothing’s missing, is it?’ His voice wavered; he didn’t sound very sure of himself.
Kirsty shuddered. The idea of someone coming into the flat when they weren’t there terrified her. Worse than being recorded. More awful than spiders. The only worse thing she could imagine was rape. This was the second worst violation.
Jamie continued to check around the room. He went into the bedrooms and bathroom, Kirsty clinging to his arm now, afraid that someone might leap out from behind a piece of furniture or appear in a doorway. They would be large and would almost certainly be holding a knife. They would tie Jamie up and make him watch as they raped and murdered her, also killing the unborn child in her womb. Then they would kill him. She gripped Jamie’s arm tightly.
There was nobody there. There was no sign, in any of the rooms, that someone had been in there. The windows were shut and locked. The front door had been locked, as had the balcony door, which Jamie checked twice.
‘I can feel it too,’ he said. ‘A lingering presence.’
Kirsty shivered. ‘Jamie, you’re scaring me.’
She was just beginning to recover from her moment of horror in the graveyard, and now this. The fact that that they could feel it but not see it made it even more scary. It was as if there was a ghost in the flat.
She had to sit down.
For the next ten minutes, Jamie combed the flat, opening cupboards, checking drawers, looking inside boxes, under the sofa. He studied the pictures on the wall, wondering aloud if the intruder might have moved one, accidentally brushing against it and tilting it. He took out photographs they had taken in the summer and held them up, comparing the room in the photographs to the room as it was now. Of course, they had moved things since the summer, added ornaments, shifted furniture, accumulated more junk. The photographs were no help.
‘Maybe we’re imagining it,’ he said, finally sitting down beside Kirsty.
‘But we can both feel.’
‘That might be because we’re putting ideas in each other’s heads.’
She knew what he would do now – switch into reassuring mode.
‘Look, we’ve both been pretty spooked since yesterday afternoon, and I know I was nervous about coming back. I’ve always been paranoid about burglary, plus I had this thought at the back of my mind that Lucy and Chris might do something while we were away. I suppose I brought my worries in with me and my imagination ran away with itself. But there’s no evidence that anyone’s been in here. The door was locked. The windows are shut tight.’ He tried to smile. ‘We must be wrong.’
‘I guess so.’
It was growing dark outside, long shadows pointing towards the house as the sun went down. Kirsty yawned. ‘I’m tired. That long journey’s worn me out. I might go to bed for a while.’
‘OK.’
She drew the curtains in the bedroom and slipped beneath the cool duvet. She lay there with her eyes wide open, shivering. She wanted Jamie to come to bed with her, to lay close behind her, kee
Night descended and Jamie went to bed. Kirsty had by now fallen asleep, and he kissed the back of her neck and put his arm around her, feeling the slight curve of her belly with his palm. He went to sleep in that position. Earlier, Kirsty had rung her parents and told them about the wedding. They had been not furious but disappointed, which was worse, and Jamie had listened to the brightness fade from Kirsty’s voice as she’d tried to justify why they’d done it. The conversation had exhausted her.
Jamie was woken up by a creaking sound. He opened his eyes, a shot of adrenaline making him feel fully awake. The noise sounded close, almost as if it was coming from the next room. Jamie had a clear, horrible thought: What if there really had been someone in the flat – and what if they were still here?
No way, he told himself. We searched the whole flat and there was nobody in here.
But what if the intruder had been hiding somewhere they hadn’t looked?
He felt a tremor of fear and sickness run through him. Beside him, Kirsty slept on, oblivious to the drama and tension that held Jamie in its grip. The sounds of footfall continued. Jamie checked the bedside clock. It was three a.m.
He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt which lay on the floor beside the bed. He realised he wouldn’t want to face an intruder barefoot – it would make him too vulnerable – so he groped around in the darkness until he found his trainers. He pulled them on and laced them up.
With his heartbeat booming in his ears, he gently pushed the bedroom door open, wincing and tensing his neck muscles as it squeaked – the squeak sounding as loud as an aeroplane taking off in the night-silence of the flat. He paused in the hallway beside the front door. The door’s squeak had actually helped tear open the wall of silence and now the creaking didn’t sound so loud. But it was still there. He could still hear it.