Magpie: The gripping psychological suspense with a twist

by Sophie Draper

  A snow storm had descended on the valley, a true blast of winter, the road around the reservoir filling up with snow. Duncan had spent hours checking out the sough and the dam and the woods and all the other entrances to the tunnels that he knew of, when the call came through.

  It was Claire.

  ‘Duncan? It’s Arthur! He’s been run over!’

  CHAPTER 67

  CLAIRE – AFTER

  ‘Duncan! Are you there? Did you hear me? Arthur’s been run over!’

  My memory is getting stronger, mimicking the pockets of clear air that drift between the layers of fog. Still it teases me. Frustrates me, and yet I remember making that particular call like it was today.

  It comes flooding back: the crackling on the line, the interference from the weather, the urgency of reaching Duncan as soon as possible if we were to have any chance of saving Arthur. His knowledge and expertise by then was far greater than mine.

  ‘Slow down, Claire. What state is he in?’

  ‘He’s conscious but badly hurt. At least one of his back legs is broken. He’s taken a hit on the chest, I think, and there’s internal bleeding. Please, Duncan, can you come now? Joe’s fine, he’s here with me. As fast as you can!’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  The snow was bad, but with his sleek, shiny new four-by-four, within twenty minutes he was at the Barn.

  He burst through the front door. Joe and I were crouched on the floor in the hallway, soothing Arthur’s head. I was holding back the tears, and Joe was pale and silent. There was blood and shit and a strong smell of urine. Our eyes met – Duncan and I both knew enough about animal road traffic victims to know exactly what to expect.

  He fell to his knees, examining the dog. Arthur’s ears were flat against his skull and his eyes were rolled back. His breath came in short, sharp, staggered rasps.

  ‘I need to get him to the surgery,’ Duncan said. ‘There’s not much I can do here without the right equipment.’

  He turned to Joe.

  ‘Can you fetch the old blanket? It’s in the garage by the camping gear. Lay it flat in the boot of your mum’s car. We’ll carry him between us.’

  My car, not his. Because it was an estate. Because it was older and didn’t matter. Typical Duncan.

  ‘Is he going to be alright?’ I looked at Duncan with eyes that were too bright.

  I was itching to do something, but I knew I had to let Duncan do his job.

  ‘I don’t know, Claire. In all honesty, I don’t know. It depends how much internal damage he has.’ Duncan kept his voice unemotional.

  How else could he be, if he was to be of any use to Arthur? It was what Duncan was, always in an emergency, the consummate cool-headed professional. You have to be.

  He eyed the pile of expensive white cotton bath towels. Was that a fleeting curl of disapproval? But I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d used several to prop up the dog’s body to stop his chest from being compressed. Arthur was panting now, not in a good way. A strange gurgling came from deep within his lungs. Duncan’s and my concern increased, but neither one of us was going to voice it, not in front of Joe. We had that much sense, at least.

  ‘How did it happen?’ he asked.

  ‘Joe had just come back,’ I said. ‘Arthur was so excited, he ran out onto the lane. There was a delivery lorry going too fast. My online food shop. It didn’t stop …’ My voice petered away. If only I’d never ordered that food to be delivered when I had.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ said Joe. He was already back.

  He shook the thick snowflakes from his arms and held out the blanket.

  ‘He was thrown to the side of the road,’ said Joe. ‘The driver drove right off, the fucking wanker! He didn’t even do his delivery.’

  He sounded so much like his father then.

  ‘I meant put the blanket in the car, Joe, not here,’ Duncan snapped.

  Joe didn’t move. He stared at his father for a moment, eyes shuttered. I felt for him, but now was not the time. Without a word, Joe swung round, grabbed the car keys from the rack and dashed outside.

  ‘Right, Claire, help me get Arthur onto this towel.’

  Duncan adjusted his position, unfolding a towel and gesturing me to position myself at the dog’s head. He slipped his hands under Arthur’s body and counted.

  ‘One, two, three … lift.’

  Arthur gave a strangled howl of pain, then lay back against the towel. His legs were stiff and oddly angled. More blood seeped from beneath his body and stained the towel bright red. I closed my eyes, willing myself not to react.

  Joe had returned from the car. His legs leaned inwards like a young deer and his face was furrowed with anxiety.

  ‘Right, Joe, grab that end. Claire, you take the other. We’re going to carry him outside and lay him on the blanket.’

  Duncan snapped on the outside lights and we shuffled awkwardly. Through the door and across the snowy drive. We set the dog down in the boot of the car. The snow had whitened everything and the trees were muted and still. The outside world was quite impervious to our drama. I pulled the blanket around Arthur, covering him with more towels, fussing in spite of myself.

  ‘That’ll do,’ said Duncan. ‘We don’t have long.’

  ‘I’ll drive.’ I took the keys from Joe.

  ‘No! I’ll drive,’ said Duncan. ‘I know what I’m doing in these conditions and I need you to ring Sally. Tell her to prep for surgery.’

  I felt an irresistible burst of pure hatred.

  ‘You can’t expect me to speak to her!’

  ‘Not now, Claire.’

  Duncan was cool and measured. He glanced quickly towards Joe.

  ‘You have to sack her!’

  Duncan ignored me, reaching out to snatch the keys. He folded himself into the car.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Duncan, did you hear me?’

  ‘Do you want an argument about this now, Claire? Or are we going to get Arthur to the surgery?’

  He turned the key in the ignition and the engine jumped into life. Joe had climbed into the rear, apparently oblivious. He was leaning over the seat to check Arthur in the boot. I didn’t know what to do, all my hatred and resentment of Duncan, of her, was flooding back. I clenched my hands and reluctantly slid onto the front seat. Duncan swivelled round to address Joe.

  ‘You don’t need to come.’

  Joe didn’t reply.

  ‘Joe! I’d rather you stayed at home.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m leaving him,’ said Joe.

  Duncan grunted. Joe’s face was closed and mutinous. Duncan turned back to the wheel, glancing at the rear mirror.

  ‘Okay. Then sit down, Joe. And put your seat belt on.’

  ‘I’m not speaking to her,’ I said, my voice tight with anger.

  I was filled with so many emotions, but that he should expect me to address even one word to her after what I’d seen the night before …

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Claire. Now is not the time to have a paddy about Sally.’

  The car moved forwards, crunching over fresh snow. I was only vaguely aware of how Joe’s eyes slid between Duncan and me before lowering his head.

  ‘A paddy? Seriously, you call my objection to Sally a paddy?’ I twisted round to glare directly at Duncan, but he refused to look at me.

  ‘I don’t care what you call it, you need to ring the surgery. I can’t do it if I’m driving, can I? She’ll be the only one there. I called in to tell everyone else to go home early with the snow. You need to tell her to prep the operating room and phone Frances.’

  ‘You promised me only this morning!’

  ‘No, I did not! I distinctly remember not responding to your ridiculous demands. Sally’s perfectly good at her job, completely professional. I have no intention of sacking her.’

  ‘But you’re quite happy to screw her! That’s not exactly professional, is it?’

  By now the car was speeding down the hill and I’d long forgotten about Joe
sitting in the back. Snowflakes trapped in the two beams of the headlamps hung like listless snow-white fairies.

  ‘She likes it, which is more than I can say for you!’

  I gasped. The gloves were off. I wanted to hit him then, truly I did. It was all that I could do not to lash out. The wheels screeched as Duncan braked at the junction. They skidded as he swung the car left onto the road beside the reservoir. I had to clutch the armrest on the passenger door, my heart in my mouth. My head swung to look outside.

  On the one side, snowflakes had filled the crevices of the hedgerow. On the other, they were melting into the surface of the lake. Daylight had almost gone, but the valley was eerily bright, transformed by its white covering.

  ‘I wouldn’t touch you with a barge pole after what you’ve done!’ I spat the words. ‘You sit there driving my car and expect me to speak to her like nothing’s happened?’

  ‘This is about Arthur, not you or me or Sally.’

  ‘This is about us. Don’t you care at all?’

  To my shame and humiliation, my voice had broken. No, he didn’t care, didn’t I know that already? I pushed my back against the seat, arms rigid, fingers bent against the dashboard as a rush of energy filled my head.

  ‘Shut up!’ he said. ‘It’s hard enough driving in this. You’re distracting me!’

  ‘Fuck you, Duncan! I’m leaving you. I’ve already found a place and I’m going. Joe, too. I want a divorce!’

  The words came out without me thinking about it. My eyes flashed towards Duncan, inadvertently catching the rear-view mirror. I saw Joe, his expression startled like a wild animal. I felt my instant regret. The car swerved again until Duncan brought it back under control. He accelerated along the straight section of the road.

  The wipers batted back and forth, snowflakes slapping against the windscreen too fast to be swept away.

  ‘Fuck you, Claire!’ said Duncan through gritted teeth.

  His eyes were shuttered. He didn’t want to hear it – even now, given what I’d just said, he was refusing to listen to me.

  ‘Don’t you speak to me like that! Don’t you …’

  ‘Stop it, both of you!’

  Joe leaned forwards between the two front seats.

  ‘Arthur’s dying and all the two of you can do is fight! You always fight. You should get divorced! Why don’t you both go to hell …’

  He shoved his father’s shoulder in anger.

  Duncan’s hands slid off the steering wheel. The car veered to the right. The front wheels must have hit a patch of unseen ice. One minute we were driving along the road at full speed and the next we were hurtling into the air.

  The car flew out across the water.

  CHAPTER 68

  DUNCAN – AFTER

  The second the car impacted on the surface of the reservoir, pillars of water exploded into the air. They smashed down again all around them. The car bounced and bobbed on the surface. Then water began to shoot through the joints.

  The pressure of the liquid outside meant the doors wouldn’t budge. Duncan’s window had been partially open, like it always was, enough to demist the windscreen. As the car careered towards the reservoir, he’d at least had the good sense to hit the down button before the electrics cut out.

  But now the distribution of weight and air tipped the car at the front. All sight and sound faded to the periphery of Duncan’s senses. Water filled the space around his knees, his thighs, his waist. His hearing reduced to a buzz. He was only vaguely aware of voices. Claire, Joe, and the dog. Water fogged his eyes. His limbs felt like dead weights as he tried to haul himself through the opening, then turn and reach for the others.

  One vital minute to save all their lives.

  It wasn’t enough.

  He plunged into the icy water, the roar of the current erupting onto his ears, his lungs seizing from the extreme cold. He blinked furiously as he clung to the car. It was drifting down the shore. Hail – was that hail? – pounded down all around him. On the car roof. On the water. Snowflakes smothered his face, his eyes, stones of ice pummelling his skin. He screamed for Claire to follow, but she wouldn’t leave Joe.

  Joe first! Joe first! she cried.

  But Joe was trapped in the back, the driver’s headrest in the way. He couldn’t get through the gap. Time was running out, water sweeping into the car, the level rising rapidly.

  The trapped air had reduced to a narrow bubble right beneath the roof. Duncan saw their heads being forced back. Water poured down his throat. Coughing and spluttering, he fought to open the rear door. He swung his elbow into the glass, trying to smash the rear window. Pain ricocheted through his shoulder. Every blow was useless. He could see Claire gasping for air then diving underwater, struggling to pull Joe between the seats.

  Then the car tipped the other way.

  It was over in seconds. Water had filled the car completely, dragging it under. A few gulps of air ballooned up to the surface and then there was nothing. The groaning car, the surging waves, their voices … gone.

  Only the continuous sound of hailstones hitting the water.

  He dived again. But the water was so churned up he could see nothing. He dived again and again. Until his limbs were frozen numb and his lungs almost burst for lack of air. Until a gut instinct for self-preservation kicked in.

  With barely enough energy to breathe, he clawed and dragged his way up the reservoir bank and collapsed, his body shuddering violently. Defeated.

  Snow and hail at the same time. It was surely a meteorological impossibility. It was as if nature had rallied to celebrate an obscenity.

  His entire family wiped out in a few moments.

  CHAPTER 69

  CLAIRE – AFTER

  The snow is sliding down the windows. The water roars at my side. I feel the sickening pitch and roll of the car floating on the surface, white sheaths shooting through the cracks in the door, soaking my frozen flesh. My fingers wrap around the door handle, pulling and tugging and pushing, but it won’t move. I see yellow eyes peering through the density of water on the other side of the glass. I hear the creak of the roof of the car bending from the weight of all that water – buckling, cracking, pouring over my head …

  I can’t bear to think of it. My nightmares coming to life. It wasn’t real, was it? None of it was real. It can’t have been real, that’s what I tell myself as I stand there on the dam. I survived. I’m here. I still don’t remember what happened next. It’s too painful and it drives me to distraction. Joe’s face, Joe’s voice. Duncan – he left us to die, didn’t he?

  No, I know he tried to get us out. Joe, me. But it had to be Joe first.

  Joe’s still missing, isn’t he?

  Horror fills my gut, a wrenching pain that twists my body in half. No, not Joe. He’s alive. I know he is. He’s missing. Like he often is. I just have to find him.

  But the truth hits me then. The police tape flapping in the wind, the flowers on the tree, there where the car entered the water. They have found his body.

  All this time I’ve been in denial. Joe is dead.

  CHAPTER 70

  CLAIRE – AFTER

  Evangeline is buried here, underneath the dam. The original tunnels to the old waterworks beneath the reservoir lead right here, under my feet.

  Duncan took her corpse and buried it where no one would ever find her. We did it together in the end. I couldn’t make him do it on his own.

  Evangeline.

  Our daughter.

  She was so small. A baby. No bigger than the size of Duncan’s hand. I remember her body curled within his fingers like a flower fairy sleeping in a leaf. Except she had no hair, no clothes, and her body was naked, her skin golden and translucent like butter melting in the sun.

  I can’t move. My legs are anchored to the ground by an emotion I cannot name. My eyes burn, my ears roar. Joe. Evangeline. The memories swamp me.

  My little girl.

  I never held her. They wouldn’t let me. The moment she was
born they took her away. They’d scooped her up into one of those kidney-shaped stainless-steel bowls, as if she were so much detritus to be disposed of. Not a person, not a living, breathing human person, just an unwanted medical problem.

  Except she was never unwanted.

  I couldn’t look, not then. I’d been told what to expect. Well, some of it. Not the too many fingers and toes. That was a shock. But they had told me about the brain, how it hadn’t divided. She had a hole in her stomach too, which meant she could never eat or process her food, even with all the technical knowledge that they had. And her heart was a mess. It had been one of those things that nature had got wrong, the genetics all jumbled up.

  My body had gone into overdrive trying to keep her alive. I was so ill, throwing up every hour, every moment of the day. I’d been exhausted, far worse than was normal in the first trimester. And it was all for nothing, for a child who could never survive outside my body.

  There was a choice.

  Not much of a choice, the consultant made that clear.

  Let her go now, or later.

  Abortion – it was a word I’d never thought to bring into my life.

  I feel my fingers clench around Joe’s coin, her coin, the puppetrider, fingernails digging into my skin. I force myself to open my hand and look at it. One small coin, one tiny coin. A treasure so small, yet worth so much.

  She’d been our first child, Duncan’s and mine. An accident in our last year at uni. Accident – I hate that word too. No child is an accident. But her condition was. An unbelievably cruel quirk of fate, a biological anomaly that meant she would never live, in any state, no matter what we did, no matter how much I … we willed it.

  It was still a full labour, I was distraught. After she was born, I called them back, the staff who tried to take her away. I’d clambered from the bed, but the drip connected to my arm kept me tethered. They were already almost out of earshot, or not listening, believing, perhaps, that what they did was for the best. Don’t let the moment linger, I’d heard one of them whisper as they left the room.