The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,108

Chris made a point of asking Angela and Steve if they wanted to go out. Steve said no, so Chris turned to Angela, really badgering her until she said yes.

I ought to point out that Angela was my best friend, and had been for many years, since we were at school in fact. I knew Angela didn’t feel very confident in the water – she wasn’t a strong swimmer – but I also knew that she fancied Chris a bit (God knows why – he makes my flesh creep – and no, Angela wasn’t going out with Steve, in case you’re wondering). I thought it was peculiar that Lucy didn’t seem to mind the way Chris was flirting with Angela and trying to get her to go out on the dinghy. Lucy had always struck me as the jealous type. She hated Mary – called her a witch – and I thought it was because she thought Mary fancied Chris (again: uugh). But today, she seemed oblivious to Chris and Angela’s behaviour, and when Angela gave in and said she would go out on the dinghy, Lucy didn’t bat an eyelid.

I think you can probably guess what happened next, Jamie. We were lying on the beach, not paying much attention to the dinghy, which was by now a speck in the distance. Chris had gone a long way out. Afterwards, the lifeguards told me that they had been a little worried, and were keeping an eye on the dinghy.

Which was why they reacted so quickly when it capsized. I remember seeing two of the lifeguards run past us and into the water. I looked up and tried to focus on the dinghy. The sun was so high in the sky I couldn’t really see.

The four of us stood up and ran down to the water’s edge, where a small crowd had gathered, watching the lifeguards. I could see the dinghy in the distance, bobbing around. There was no-one in it.

Lucy let out this strange sound, which I thought was a yelp of distress. I think now it was actually excitement. We waited on the edge of the beach, the sea lapping at out feet, helpless, waiting to see what the lifeguards would do.

They eventually towed the dinghy in to shore. An ambulance was on its way. I ran over to the dinghy. Chris was sitting up, rubbing his face with his hands. One of the lifeguards was giving Angela the kiss of life. He kept blowing into her mouth then thumping her chest, then trying again. Eventually, another lifeguard touched him on the arm and told him it was no good. It was too late.

Chris’s story was that Angela had lunged at him, trying to kiss him. Appalled by the idea of being unfaithful, he had backed away quickly, capsizing the dinghy. Angela fell in and when she didn’t emerge, Chris dived in trying to save her. It was deep and the current was strong. It was too late. The lifeguards said that when they got there Chris was diving under and under, trying to find Angela, but without success. The lifeguards dove deep, found her and pulled her out. But she was already dead.

We came home in a state of shock. At the time, I believed Chris’s story. I went into a period of mourning for my best friend. I didn’t see Chris or Lucy for a while. The next time we had contact with them was when the hoaxes and threats started.

You see, that’s what they do. They hurt – or kill – someone you care for in order to make you weak. And then they move in for the kill. Your friend was lucky that he didn’t die. I imagine Chris and Lucy were rather upset by that. But you were still worried about him, and therefore you weren’t at full strength. You were still vulnerable enough for them to attack you.

Over the next year they waged a campaign of hatred against us. The letters and hoaxes I could put up with (in fact, as with yourselves, the hoaxes had begun before that trip to the beach – taxis turning up all hours of the day, which led to us being blacklisted by a lot of firms, and endless parcels). It was the other stuff that eventually drove us out.

They played recordings. Every night, almost all night long, they played these awful recordings of people whispering or screaming, talking or shouting. God, I can hear them now.