The Magpies A Psychological Thriller

Six


Kirsty’s flu dragged on for the rest of the week. She was too ill to go to work so she carried the duvet into the living room and spent four days in front of the TV. Jamie went to work, phoning her a couple of times every day to check how she was feeling. She told him she felt like death, but, truth be told, she was quite enjoying her spell at home. Apart from the throat-shredding cough and the constant nose-blowing, she rather liked being the patient for once, groaning hoarse requests for cups of tea and medicine. During the days, she gorged herself on daytime TV and staggered around in her dressing gown, feeling wonderfully decadent and sluttish.

On Thursday afternoon, there was a knock at the door.

Kirsty, who had been flicking through the channels, trying to decide between a Jeremy Kyle repeat and an ancient episode of Morse, dragged herself to the door and opened it. The woman standing there had an anxious expression on her face.

‘Hello, I’m Mary.’ She offered her hand. ‘You must be Kirsty.’

Kirsty’s first concern was how awful she must look. She always hoped to look her best when meeting someone for the first time. She was a firm believer in the importance of initial impressions, and here she was with a red-raw nose, flaky skin, greasy hair and most probably the sour smell of someone who hasn’t left the house for days. Her second thought was, It’s the witch. Then she thought, She doesn’t look much like a witch – just a hippy, like Jamie said. All this flashed through her head in the second it took her to shake Mary’s hand.

‘Are you ill?’ Mary asked, looking concerned.

‘Oh, just a touch of flu, that’s all.’

Mary nodded. ‘That awful virus that’s going around. Everybody I know has had it. You should try drinking ginger – it kills flu in its tracks, stops it dead. Ginger with a drop of honey in it.’

‘I’m quite happy with paracetamol and codeine, thank you.’

Mary looked appalled. ‘They won’t help. Trust me, ginger’s what you need. I’ve got some upstairs. I’ll fetch it for you in a minute.’

‘But…’

‘And I won’t take no for an answer.’

Kirsty smiled politely. Now she was thinking, What a pushy cow. She sniffed. Suddenly, she felt cold, and she wanted to get back to her quilt on the sofa.

‘The reason I came down was to ask if you’ve seen Lennon, my cat. I haven’t seen him since Sunday and I’m really worried. He does sometimes wander off for a couple of days, but he’s never been gone this long before.’

Kirsty shook her head. ‘No, I’ve been stuck indoors since Sunday morning. I’ve hardly even had the curtains open.’

Mary sighed. ‘Oh well. Just thought I’d ask. Brian and Linda haven’t seen him either.’

‘I’m sure he’ll turn up.’

Mary looked at the front door, listening to the traffic beyond it. She had a sad, worried look in her eye, and Kirsty felt an twinge of sympathy. She understood the agonies of anxiety: she dealt with the worries of parents every day. This was a cat, not a child, but at its root lay the same emotion. Mary lived alone with the cat; she probably treated it like a child.

Mary forced a smile. ‘I’ll get you that ginger.’

Kirsty waited while Mary went up the stairs, her long skirt rippling around her ankles, forcing her to go slowly. She returned a minute later with a pale-brown lump of vegetation in her hand. She held it out to Kirsty who took it tentatively.

‘This is root ginger. All you need to do is cut off about an inch, grate it into a mug then pour boiling water onto it. Leave it for about ten minutes then strain it. Add a spoonful of honey. It will take away your flu. I guarantee it.’

‘Thanks. I’ll give it a go.’ She felt her nose start to run and sniffed. ‘I hope your cat turns up.’

‘I’ll be heartbroken if he doesn’t.’

Jamie came through the front door struggling under the weight of a large cardboard box and perspiring heavily. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his T-shirt before making his way back out to the car and bringing in another box. Kirsty had fallen asleep on the sofa, and he woke her with a kiss. She sat up, rubbing her sleep-gummed eyes.

‘What have you bought now?’

He tore open the boxes to reveal a barbell and set of weights. Kneeling on the carpet, he screwed a weight to each end of the barbell, then lifted it above his head.

Kirsty applauded. ‘It’s Mr Universe!’

‘That’s right. Bullies will no longer kick sand in my face!’ He paused. ‘Actually this is hurting my arms.’

Kirsty laughed.

He put the weights down and knelt beside her. ‘How are you feeling? Any better?’

‘Not really. I still feel really tired, as if I’ve sprung a leak and all my energy has ebbed away.’

‘Poor Kirsty.’ He stroked her hair, then turned back to his weights. ‘So what do you think? There are a couple of smaller, single-handed ones which I thought you could use. And I’ve ordered a rowing machine as well. I thought I might start swimming again as well. I haven’t been for ages.’

Kirsty coughed. ‘I’m not really in the mood to talk about physical exercise right now.’

‘So you don’t want to go to bed then?’ He winked at her and she groaned and covered her face with a cushion. Whenever she was ill, Jamie became even more libidinous. His theory was that it was because she seemed so vulnerable, lying there sniffling: his primeval instincts came out and he wanted to carry her off to his cave.

‘Lemsip?’ he asked, putting thoughts of passion aside.

‘Yes please.’

He went into the kitchen and saw the chunk of ginger sitting on the worktop, untouched. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, going back out to Kirsty.

‘That’s root ginger. Mary came down earlier and gave it to me. She said it would cure my flu.’

‘And have you taken any?’

‘No, of course not. How’s that going to help me? I’ll stick with my Lemsips, thanks.’

Jamie tutted. ‘You should try it, Kirsty. What do we have to do with it?’ She explained the process. ‘Right, I’ll make you a cup.’

After Jamie had strained the ginger, he carried it out to Kirsty. She sniffed it and pulled a face, but then took a sip. ‘It’s foul.’

‘Come on, drink it.’

He knelt beside her and stroked her hair as she sipped it, screwing up her face in with distaste. ‘So what was Mary doing down here? Did she hear you coughing and blowing your nose and come down to offer you her miracle cure?’

‘No, she came down to ask if I’ve seen her cat. It’s gone missing.’

‘Lennon? Oh no. When did she last see him?’

‘Sunday, I think she said.’

Jamie scratched his head. ‘Oh. Because I saw him on Sunday. Lucy had him. I saw her carry him into her flat.’

‘Lucy?’

He stood up. ‘I’d better go and tell Mary.’

‘What was Lucy doing with him?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ll see you in a minute.’

At the top of the stairs, he knocked on Mary’s door. He felt uncomfortable. He had this strange, irrational fear that Lucy had done something to Lennon. She had made it clear that she didn’t think much of Mary (calling her a witch was hardly a display of neighbourly good feeling), but surely – surely – she wouldn’t do anything to harm her cat.

Mary opened the door. She was smiling, and Jamie noticed that her pupils were dilated. He guessed she had been smoking weed – in fact, there was the distinct smell of cannabis in the air as he stepped into the hallway.

‘Kirsty told me Lennon has gone missing. It’s just that, well, I’m not sure how to say this…’

Mary cut him off, a wide grin on her face. ‘He’s come back. Come and see.’

She led him into the living room and there, sitting on the sofa with his legs tucked under his body, was her cat.

‘I was so relieved,’ Mary said. ‘I thought he’d been run over, or, well, I don’t know what. You hear of awful things happening to people’s cats. In the paper last week there was a report of these children shooting a cat with an air rifle and killing it. Horrible. But Lennon’s safe and sound. As you can see.’

Jamie crossed the room and bent to stroke the cat, who rolled over onto his back, inviting Jamie to scratch his belly.

He remembered what he had meant to ask her. ‘Does Lennon ever bring rats in?’

Mary shook her head. ‘God, no. He never brings anything in apart from the odd earthworm. I remember he caught a butterfly once, and that was a major achievement. He was really proud of himself. But rats – well, he’d run a mile if he saw a rat. Especially the big ones you get round here. Linda upstairs told me she saw a rat that was as big as a puppy – a monstrous thing.’ He wasn’t really convinced by what she said about her cat. It reminded him of the parents of a school bully who think the little brat is in fact an angel. It probably was Lennon who had left the rats on their doorstep.

Mary walked over to the fireplace and took a silver cigarette case off of the mantelpiece. She produced a ready-rolled spliff, confirming Jamie’s suspicions. She held it up. ‘Care to join me?’

Jamie wondered if this was the reason why Lucy disliked Mary so much, accusing her of being a practitioner of the black arts. Maybe Mary had offered her a smoke on a previous occasion. He smiled. He could imagine Lucy being the type who would freak out at the mere mention of illegal substances.

‘I’d better get back to Kirsty,’ he said. ‘She needs nursing.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She lay the unlit joint on the edge of an ashtray. ‘What did you come up here for, by the way?’

‘Pardon?’

She smiled. ‘You haven’t told me the purpose of your visit.’

‘Oh. I just wanted to check if Lennon had come back.’ He felt foolish now for suspecting that Lucy had harmed the cat, so he decided not to mention it.

‘How sweet of you.’

As she saw him out, she said, ‘Did Kirsty drink that ginger I gave her?’

‘She just drank it ten minutes ago.’

‘Good. She’ll feel much better in the morning.’ She spoke with certainty. ‘But if she needs any more, you know where I am.’

Downstairs, Kirsty was sitting on the sofa, staring into the middle distance, not moving or reacting when Jamie came in.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Sorry? Oh, listen, I was just reading that book Brian gave you. The Creature In The Cradle.’ She picked up the book and Jamie took it from her.

‘What’s it like? Isn’t it a bit childish?’

‘Huh. I’ll tell you what – if I’d read that when I was a kid, I would have had to sleep in my mum and dad’s bed for a month. It’s really creepy. But listen to this bit.’ She took the book back and flicked through it. ‘Here. Listen.’ She read aloud: ‘The next morning, Barbara went downstairs to get the milk in. She was tired and crabby where Suzy had cried all night – that’s the baby, the one that’s being terrified by these creatures that run amok in her bedroom every night. Barbara opened the front door and let out a shrill scream. There, lying beside the milk bottles, was a dead rat, one eye open and seemingly staring at her. It was the biggest rat she had ever seen. It was as big as a puppy.’

Jamie and Kirsty stared at each other.

‘That’s bizarre,’ he breathed.

‘Spooky, isn’t it?

‘A spooky coincidence.’

‘Of course.’

‘Do kids really enjoy this stuff?’ Kirsty said. ‘I suppose they must do, or they wouldn’t publish it. Hey, are you OK? You’ve got goosepimples all up your arms.’

He nodded. ‘I’m fine. Maybe I’m catching your cold.’

‘I hope not. For your sake.’

He picked the book up and reread the passage Kirsty had just read aloud. ‘A coincidence,’ he said, ‘but damn spooky.’

The alarm clock beeped and Jamie stuck out an arm and quelled it. It was his least favourite sound in the universe. He imagined his ancestors must have developed a severe loathing for cockerels. The first thing he would do if he won the Lottery would be to throw away his alarm clock. If he was rich he would never get up early again. That was his idea of heaven – waking up and knowing that if you wanted to you could stay in bed all day. Bliss.

He got out of bed and wandered into the kitchen where he made a coffee for himself and an Earl Grey for Kirsty. Standing in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil, he had one of those moments where he realised how much he loved the flat. As he opened the curtains and looked out at the waking street, the photograph of him and Kirsty that sat on the mantelpiece was rendered opaque by the light. He picked the photograph up. They were standing in front of the Colosseum in Rome. It had been their first holiday, and an American tourist had taken the picture for them. Kirsty had a tan and a big smile on her face. He thought she looked like a model.

He was about to carry the drinks into the bedroom when Kirsty came into the room. ‘Oh, the curtains are open.’

She was naked, and she instinctively covered her breasts. Jamie caught his breath. They had been sleeping together for years; he had seen her naked countless times; he had touched and kissed every inch of her – but still, every time he saw her body he wanted to touch and kiss it again. He put down the mugs and went over to her, putting his arms around her and stroking her naked back, then tracing the chain of freckles that ran along her upper thigh with a fingertip.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.

‘Much better. I think I’ll be OK to go into work.’

‘So the ginger worked.’ He kissed her forehead, then her eyelids, then her lips.

‘I think the cold was about to…expire anyway,’ she said between kisses.

‘So you’re feeling a lot better?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh good. Because–’

They sank to the carpet and Jamie kissed her neck, ran his hands over her breasts, her nipples stiffening under his fingers.

‘Do you want me to close the curtains?’ he said.

She shook her head. ‘I don’t want you to move. Except…like this.’

‘Oh.’

They made love on the floor, Jamie on top, burning his knees on the carpet but not caring. Kirsty grabbed his buttocks and pulled him in deeper, pushing her pelvis hard against his. The bookcase rattled and shook in time with Jamie’s thrusts. She bit into the muscle where his neck met his shoulder and he shivered with pleasure.

He pushed himself up on his arms so he could look down at her, at her flushed face, her nipples that stood erect, a bead of sweat running between her breasts. He slowed down, pausing with the head of his cock just inside her, then moved into her slowly, the feeling of intense pleasure spreading from his penis through his entire body.

‘F*ck me from behind,’ Kirsty said, and he withdrew, letting her turn over onto all fours, positioning himself behind her and teasing her for a moment before pushing back inside her and making her gasp.

The full-length mirror was just in front of them and Jamie looked up, watching himself f*ck this woman he loved, the whole world outside this act of desire disappearing. Kirsty looked at him over her shoulder with an expression of pure lust and he held her by her hips as she tilted her body so his cock struck the sweet spot inside her. He pushed harder, deeper, and looked into the mirror at Kirsty with her eyes squeezed tight, hardly aware of how noisy they were being and not caring anyway. Right now, in this moment, life was the best it had ever been, would ever be.

‘Ah, f*cking hell.’ Kirsty shouted as she came, and a moment later, Jamie cried out too. Then they collapsed together in a damp heap, short of breath.

Kirsty ran a finger down Jamie’s chest to his belly button. ‘I love you,’ she said.

‘And I love you.’ He kissed her again. She tasted of ginger. ‘I’ll have to write Mary a thank you note.’

Kirsty tutted. ‘Like I said, I would have felt better anyway.’

Jamie opened the front door cautiously, worried that there might be another rat lying there. Thankfully, the hall was free of dead rodents.

He checked the post (junk mail and bills, as per usual) then went out to his car. Chris was just about to get into his car, and Jamie said, ‘Good morning’ cheerfully. He was aware that he had a big grin on his face. Chris looked him up and down and raised an eyebrow.

‘I was going to come up and see you later,’ he said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Do you remember I told you I was into go-karting? I was going to go down to the track this Sunday and have a go. I wondered if you and Kirsty and your friends fancied coming along.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘It’s a great laugh. You’d really enjoy it. And I think your mate Paul would like it too.’

‘OK. I’ll ask him.’

‘And his girlfriend.’

‘What, Heather? She’s not his girlfriend.’

‘Whatever. Ask them all. The track’s near Orpington. In fact, there are a couple of tracks – one for beginners, one for more experienced karters. I guarantee you’ll have a good time.’

Jamie nodded. ‘OK, it sounds good. I’ll ring Paul and Heather and let you know tonight.’

Chris opened his car door. ‘Nice one.’

Jamie watched him drive off up the road. He was happy – truly happy. And what better way of spending a summer Sunday than going out with a group of friends and doing something you’d never done before? He was sure Paul and Heather would be interested. And Kirsty too.

He got into his car and wound down the window. As he drove to work he forgot all about rats and hoaxes. He turned up the radio and sang along.