The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,61
Jamie to change the channel. Quickly. Quickly.
Now she sat beside Jamie and watched him exorcise his anger and frustration. At six thirty, as the sun struggled to lighten the sky, she went off to the bathroom to be sick. Morning sickness had arrived with a vengeance. And then they went to work.
Jamie drove her to the hospital – he drove her everywhere now, since she refused to go on the Tube or catch a bus, and he was glad to – and then he went to his own workplace. God, he was tired. He thought he might fall asleep at the wheel. He turned the radio up and let the DJ’s relentless chatter keep him awake. At work, he took the lift to the floor where his office was located and went straight to the coffee machine. The pale brown drink that emerged from the machine didn’t really taste like coffee, but it contained a trace of caffeine and he added a lot of sugar. As he carried the drink over to his desk a snatch of War of the Worlds entered his head and he shuddered.
‘Are you alright, Jamie?’ asked Mike, who sat at the opposite desk. Mike held the same position as Jamie – software installation engineer – and had joined E.T.N. a few months before. He was the same age as Jamie, with the same educational and occupational background, but he was more of a lad: a dedicated pleasure-seeker, firmly single, hanging out with a group of hard drinkers whose main interests were football and women – in that order. As far as Jamie was concerned, Mike was a good bloke to work with, but he wasn’t a potential ‘outside work’ friend. They talked shop most of the time, but today, when Mike asked him if he was alright Jamie saw the opportunity to talk to somebody, no matter how unlikely his choice of confidante, and he grabbed it.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
That was the question.
‘Why don’t you move out?’
Jamie shook his head. ‘No way. I refuse to let a pair of nutters like that drive me out of my home. I love that flat. I know we haven’t been there very long, but it feels like the place I want to be. The place we want to be. All three of us.’
He and Kirsty had discussed this when the problems with Lucy and Chris started, and then again after the night of the spiders. Should they get away, try to find somewhere new? They both reacted with a firm No. This was their dream flat. Jamie remembered how happy they had been when they moved in just a few months before. It was the most fantastic place – it would be incredibly difficult to find anywhere as good in their price range. There was plenty of space for three, especially after Jamie had turned the spare room into a nursery (he already had grand plans about what he would do). Maybe in a few years, if they had a second child, they would need to find somewhere bigger, but that might also involve a move out of London.
‘We can’t let them win, Kirsty,’ Jamie said. ‘That’s what they want, I bet. They want us to move out. God knows why – maybe they just don’t like having people live above them. Or maybe it’s us. Whatever the reason, I am not going to let a pair of psychos like that force me out of my home.’
‘I’d feel exactly the same if I were you,’ said Mike now. ‘You’ve got to stand your ground. But I don’t know how you’ve managed to keep your temper. If it was me I’d have been down there to sort them, taken some of the boys with me. I’d put a bomb through their letterbox.’
‘I have been down there.’
‘And what happened?’
‘They won’t talk to me. They never answer the door. And the time I went into their garden to talk to them they called the police.’
‘Who were a dead loss, I expect.’
‘Yes. They just told us to keep a record of what was going on.’
‘Big deal.’ Mike looked left and right to see if anyone was listening, then leaned forward. ‘From what you say, these people need dealing with in a more direct manner. You can’t be reasonable with people like them, Jamie. They don’t speak the same language as the rest of us.’