The Magpies: A Psychological Thriller

by Mark Edwards

  She touched his hand. ‘I’m so glad you’re so positive about this.’

  ‘Why, did you think I’d be unhappy?’

  ‘No. I knew you’d be pleased. It’s just that with all that’s been going on, I thought you might think the timing was bad.’

  He placed both his hands over hers. ‘Kirsty, we wanted this baby. That was understood from the moment you told me you’d stopped taking the pill. God, we could worry about the timing all our lives, and there’d always be something to make us want to wait. As far as I’m concerned, now is the perfect time. I don’t want to sound like a drippy git, but I want us to be a family.’

  She smiled. ‘You do sound like a drippy git.’

  ‘Ah well, sod it. Sometimes, a man’s got to be drippy.’

  The samosas came, along with a large pile of poppadoms, and they began to eat.

  ‘This is gorgeous, isn’t it Jamie?’ There was no answer. ‘Jamie?’

  He was staring over her shoulder at the door, a samosa held in front of his open mouth.

  ‘Jamie, what is it?’

  He spoke quietly. ‘Don’t look over your shoulder, but guess who’s just walked in.’

  When somebody said, ‘Don’t look, but,’ Kirsty was, without fail, compelled to look.

  She wished she hadn’t. ‘Oh God. I don’t believe it.’

  Lucy and Chris came in through the front door and Chris spoke to the nearest waiter. They were directed to a table over the other side of the restaurant, close to the kitchens. They didn’t look over at Jamie and Kirsty. Jamie thought they looked a little tense and on edge. Maybe they weren’t used to eating out. Something about they way Chris studied the menu; the way that Lucy was ever-so-slightly overdressed for this modest backstreet Indian: it pointed to the fact that they weren’t sure of the etiquette or the rules. They were more used to dining at home.

  ‘Do you think they followed us?’ Kirsty whispered, leaning across the table, not taking her eyes off her neighbours.

  Jamie shook his head. ‘No. It’s got to be a coincidence. I mean, this is the local Indian, after all. Most people who live around here come to this place. Although they don’t look like they’ve ever been here before.’

  Chris was looking around, apparently studying the decor, and he looked straight over and caught Jamie’s eye. Jamie immediately broke contact, fixing his vision on the tablecloth.

  ‘They’ve seen us,’ he said, and Kirsty looked over to find both Chris and Lucy gazing back at her.

  ‘Shit. Did Chris look surprised to see you?’

  ‘No. No, he didn’t. Not at all.’

  They let that fact sink in. Kirsty glanced over and saw that the waiter was standing by the Newtons’ table, taking their order. Then Lucy stood up and followed the waiter out to the kitchens.

  ‘What’s she doing?’

  ‘God knows.’

  ‘Do you think she’s friends with them?’

  ‘Maybe she’s an undercover health inspector.’ He laughed. ‘Actually, I expect she’s asked if she can see the kitchen, so she can make sure everything’s hygienic.’

  ‘Can you do that?’

  ‘Of course. Some people are really paranoid about that sort of thing.’

  Kirsty sighed. ‘We’re supposed to be here to celebrate my pregnancy, and to get away from our neighbours, and here we are, looking at them, talking about them as always. You know how some people only have one topic of conversation – their children or their pets or their job – and everyone finds them really boring? Well, that’s us – except we go on about our neighbours.’

  ‘Do you want to go somewhere else?’

  ‘No. Don’t be silly. We’ve started eating now. And I’m not going to let them drive us away. No way.’

  ‘That’s the spirit.’

  He reached across the table to squeeze her hand. She did have spirit. That was one of the things that had first attracted him to her. He had been out with weak girls before, girls who lacked that spark of defiance, that ironic glint in the eye that marked Kirsty out. He knew that Kirsty would never let anyone walk all over her. She wouldn’t take anything lying down. She was strong – and right now he needed someone like that. Because there were moments when he felt like giving up, and in those moments he looked at his girlfriend and drew strength from her. He honestly didn’t know what he would do without her.

  ‘Kirsty,’ he said, tentatively. ‘Now that we’re having this baby, do you think that, well, that we should get married?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Is that a proposal?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a question.’ He paused, looking into her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. ‘It’s just that, I don’t know, maybe it would be the proper thing to do if we’re going to have a child.’

  ‘Proper?’

  ‘Yes. Or is that horribly uncool of me?’

  She laughed, then stopped and looked at him. He’d been drinking champagne and lager. He’d had an intensely emotional day. But the way he was looking at her…

  ‘Are you serious? Absolutely? One hundred per cent?’

  ‘One hundred per cent.’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s the right reason to do it – because it’s proper.’

  ‘Kirsty, the reason I want to marry you is because I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’ He shrugged. ‘That’s it.’

  She took a bite of poppadum, swallowed it, took a sip of her drink. ‘OK then.’

  He looked into her eyes, trying to work out if she was being serious. ‘Is that a yes?’

  ‘It sure is.’

  He got up, came round the table and hugged her, kissing her, tasting spices on her lips. What a day. He looked over at the Newtons – Lucy had come back from the kitchens, and she and Chris were sitting staring at each other, their lips not moving, no conversation between them – and he thought, Fuck them. Nobody can make me unhappy. Not now. Not tonight. He was drunk and sentimental. He thought: I’m having a child, I’m marrying the woman I want to be with forever. I’ve built my nest and nobody – nobody – is going to spoil it.

  Just let them try.

  ‘There are conditions, though,’ Kirsty said, as he sat back down. ‘I don’t want a big ceremony. We’ll do it at the registry office, just us and a couple of witnesses. I’m not interested in that big so-called fairytale thing and, anyway, everyone would think it was a shotgun wedding. I know our parents will be upset, but, well, to be honest I don’t think they expect us to ever get married anyway. So they won’t really be missing out.’

  ‘Your dad will probably be pleased to save the money.’

  ‘Perhaps. And, anyway, it’s our day. I don’t want every aunt and uncle and second cousin I’ve never met gawping at me as I stumble up the aisle with my bump.’

  Their meal arrived. It smelled delicious. Jamie dipped naan bread into his curry and took a bite. It was so hot it made his nose run. That was a good sign. If an Indian didn’t make his nose run it was too bland. When the waiter had brought the plates over, Jamie had asked for another pint of lager and a jug of water for Kirsty. They arrived now, and Jamie took a big gulp. He was so happy.

  ‘Who will we have as our witnesses?’ he asked through a mouthful of rice.

  ‘Heather for one, I guess. We could have had Heather and Paul.’

  ‘I know.’ He tutted sadly.

  ‘Even if he woke up tomorrow, we don’t know what sort of state he’d be in. It might take him months or years to recover. He might never recover, Jamie. You have to accept that.’

  ‘No. He will. I know he will. God, if he was here now he’d already be arranging a mental stag night for me, with strippers and handcuffs and lamp-posts and lethal quantities of alcohol. Instead, I’ll probably be at home with a nice cup of cocoa.’

  ‘Yes, and you won’t be getting married with a hangover, looking and feeling like shit.’

  They fell silent, each lost in thoughts of Paul, and continued eating.

  ‘So who are we going to ask
to be our witnesses?’

  ‘We could always drag a couple of strangers off the street.’

  Jamie had an idea. ‘Hey, why don’t we go to Gretna Green? That would be really cool. It would be a really funny thing to do, don’t you think?’

  Kirsty looked thoughtful.

  ‘What do you reckon? Will Heather be upset if we don’t ask her to be a witness?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t know if she’d want to do it anyway. It might upset her too much. But yeah, Gretna Green’s an excellent idea. Something to tell our kids about. And I’ve never been to Scotland before.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful place.’

  They beamed at each other over the table.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ said Jamie.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And you’re pregnant.’

  ‘You’re right.’

  ‘And we’re going to get married.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  Jamie paid for the meal, leaving a big tip for the waiter, and they stood up. Jamie wobbled a little, the alcohol sloshing around inside him. He looked over at Lucy and Chris, who had just started their main course. They seemed to be concentrating hard on their food so they wouldn’t have to look over at Jamie and Kirsty.

  ‘Wait here,’ Jamie said.

  ‘What are you . . ?’

  Jamie walked across the restaurant and stopped by Lucy and Chris’s table. ‘Good evening,’ he said, looking from one of them to the other.

  They didn’t respond. They just stared at their plates and carried on eating.

  ‘Enjoying your meal?’ Jamie asked. ‘The food’s very good here, isn’t it?’

  Chris suddenly looked up and, to Jamie’s surprise, he smiled. His mouth was full, making the smile look grotesque, his cheeks bulging. ‘It’s delicious,’ he said, showing Jamie a mouthful of rice.

  Feeling a bit sick, Jamie turned to Lucy. ‘Are you enjoying it too, Lucy?’

  She put her fork down and said, ‘You’re drunk. And you’re embarrassing yourself.’

  ‘Embarrassing myself? I don’t think so. How could I embarrass myself in front of you two? After all, we share our most intimate moments with you. And I have every right to be drunk.’ He held on to the back of Lucy’s chair and leaned forward. ‘We’re having a baby.’

  Lucy and Chris didn’t react. Jamie interpreted this as a stunned silence.

  ‘Yes. We’re pregnant. And who knows – maybe you’ve got the moment of conception on your PC.’

  The waiter appeared by Jamie’s side. ‘Is everything alright here?’ he asked.

  Jamie put his arm around the waiter’s shoulder and breathed beer fumes all over him. ‘Everything’s fine, mate. In fact, everything’s fantastic.’ He released the squirming waiter, said, ‘Bon appetit,’ to Lucy and Chris and staggered across the restaurant to Kirsty, who looked more embarrassed than he’d ever seen her, her cheeks flushed pink.

  ‘Come on,’ she said sharply, pulling him out into the fresh air. She turned to look at him. ‘What did you say to them?’

  ‘I was just telling them that everything’s fantastic.’ He kissed her. ‘Everything’s fucking fantastic.’

  Fourteen

  Kirsty knelt by the toilet and threw up, one painful spasm followed by another. Finally, when she was certain she wasn’t going to be sick any more, she pushed herself upright and pushed the handle to flush the remains of last night’s curry away. She splashed cold water on her face and rinsed her mouth. Morning sickness already?

  While she was cleaning her teeth, Jamie came rushing into the room, wearing nothing but his underwear. He threw himself onto the carpet by the toilet and vomited, making a terrible straining sound. When he had finished, he sat with his back against the bath. He was pale and clammy, strands of hair stuck to his forehead. His stomach hurt. He groaned.

  ‘I feel like death warmed up. I don’t think I can go into work.’ He took several deep breaths. ‘God, I’m hardly ever ill after drinking. I guess it must be because I mixed champagne and beer.’

  Kirsty crouched beside him. ‘I was sick too.’

  ‘Were you? When?’

  ‘Just now, before you came in and made throwing up seem like such a drama. I’m quiet when I throw up.’

  ‘But you weren’t drinking.’

  ‘I know. And it seems a bit unlikely that my morning sickness would start the same morning you’re sick. Unless you’re going to be one of those blokes who has a phantom pregnancy. Please, Jamie, don’t be one of those blokes.’

  Jamie stood up and spat into the sink. He took a swig of mouthwash and swirled a mouthful of neon blue liquid around his tongue and teeth before gargling briefly and spitting the mouthwash out. That was a little better.

  ‘Do you think it was the food?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We both had different main courses, but I suppose they could have shared some of the same ingredients. I wonder if Lucy and Chris are ill as well.’

  ‘Why don’t you go down and ask them?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  ‘After last night, I’m sure they’d be more delighted to see you than ever.’

  Jamie groaned again, this time from the blurred memory of his behaviour. ‘Was I really awful?’

  ‘You were very embarrassing. Especially when you put your arm around the waiter’s shoulder and called him mate.’

  ‘Oh God. We can’t ever go back there again.’

  ‘I don’t know if we’d want to if they’ve given us food poisoning.’

  ‘Surely it’s not really food poisoning.’ He felt a rumble in his bowels and stopped talking. ‘Oh shit, you’d better leave the room. Kirsty, I mean it.’

  She left the room and Jamie pulled his boxer shorts down and sat on the toilet. It hurt. As he wiped himself, he heard the phone ring, then Kirsty’s voice after she picked it up. She sounded shocked, and he heard her come to the bathroom door and open it just as he flushed the toilet.

  ‘Who was that?’ Jamie asked. More than anything else in the world right now, he wanted to go back to bed. Go back to bed and sleep all day.

  Kirsty stared at him. ‘It’s about Paul,’ she said.

  They drove to the hospital as fast as they could, Jamie racking his brain for shortcuts, accelerating towards amber traffic lights, guiltily ignoring zebra crossings. The traffic was dense and the streets were full of pedestrians enjoying the bright autumn sunshine, soaking up a final dose of rays before winter darkened the skies. Jamie turned the radio on then quickly turned it off again. The chatter of the DJ was too much. The cars up ahead were too slow. At times like this, he wished he could fly.

  ‘Take it easy,’ Kirsty warned as he swung a hard left. ‘I still feel like I’m going to be sick at any moment.’

  He had forgotten the sickness himself, had rid his body of whatever it was that had upset it. And since he had heard about Paul he couldn’t think about anything else. His thoughts would return to it later, but for now he only had one thing on his mind: getting to the hospital; getting to Paul.

  ‘That was Paul’s dad,’ Kirsty had said, standing in the doorway of the bathroom. ‘We’ve got to get to the hospital.’

  Jamie’s stomach had filled with ice water. In that instant he thought he had been wrong to believe that Paul would recover. But seeing the look of dismay on Jamie’s face, Kirsty said, ‘No, Jamie, it’s good news. They think he might be coming out of his coma.’

  They turned in towards the hospital car park. Some idiot in a blue BMW was blocking the entrance. Jamie thumped the horn, leant on it, gestured angrily at the other driver. After an agonising wait for the BMW to pull out of the way, with hostile looks exchanged between the two drivers, Jamie shot into the car park, straight into an empty space.

  They ran into the hospital. Through reception – Kirsty waving quickly to the girl on the front desk – dodging a porter with a laden trolley, up the stairs, down another corridor to Paul’s room. Puffing, they entered the room. Jamie had half-expec
ted to see Paul sitting up in bed, drinking a cup of tea, saying, ‘Where am I? What happened?’, but he was still lying in the same position, the same bip-bip-bip providing the rhythm to this drama’s soundtrack.

  Paul’s parents and Heather stood close to the bed, looking down at Paul, who was being examined by Doctor Meer. Heather turned round.

  ‘He said my name,’ she said.

  Her cheeks were shiny and smeared with mascara where she had been crying. She was wearing her nurse’s uniform. ‘I was sitting here, talking to him, just talking away as usual, telling him about my day, when he suddenly spoke. He said my name!’ She grabbed Kirsty’s hands. She was shaking with excitement. ‘He said “Heather”. And at first I thought I’d imagined it, that it was wish-fulfillment, but then he said it again. So I rushed off and grabbed Doctor Meer.’

  ‘And has he said anything else?’ asked Jamie.

  ‘No. But Doctor Meer says he’s coming out of the deep coma. He says that Paul is now merely unconscious and that he could wake up any minute.’

  ‘Or he could slip back,’ said Paul’s dad. Reacting to their shocked looks, he said, ‘Somebody has to be cautious here. It might be a false–’

  ‘I think he’s waking up,’ said Doctor Meer from his position beside Paul’s pillow.

  They stopped and stared. Paul looked like a man who’s been out on the most incredible drinking binge of all time and had passed out… had been passed out for a long time. His skin was colourless, there was a trail of saliva emerging from the side of his mouth. But as they watched, his eyelids flickered and, a second later, opened. His mother gasped and they all inched closer to the bed, like pilgrims moving tentatively towards a miracle. Doctor Meer had to stretch out his arms to prevent them getting too close. Jamie’s mouth went dry. Kirsty gripped his hand hard.

  Paul focused his vision, looked at them, opened his mouth. He croaked and licked his lips.

  ‘I feel…’ he whispered.

  They leaned closer.

  ‘…like shit.’

  Doctor Meer had sent them out of the room while he and another doctor conducted a number of tests on their newly-awakened patient. Jamie, Kirsty, Heather and Paul’s parents walked towards the canteen in a daze. Heather and Paul’s mother were both in tears. Jamie and Kirsty were silent. Paul’s father kept rubbing his beard, dragging the palm of his hand across his face. None of them wanted to cheer or whoop or celebrate. They were all too worried that something might still go wrong – that Paul would not be the same as he was before the accident. Although nobody spoke them aloud, two words featured prominently in all their minds: brain damage.