The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,12
down the last sheet of newspaper. ‘So what was in your parcel?’
‘Oh, some books. Did you order them?’
‘No, I would have told you. What are the books?’
‘Let’s see.’
He opened the box and lifted out half-a-dozen books, reading out the titles: ‘Making Love Last – how to keep the sexual magic in your marriage. Burning Fat – a 20- minute workout. A History of Satanism. Australia – a guide to emigration. The British Beef Cookbook.’ Kirsty was vegetarian. ‘The Book of Embarrassing Illnesses.’
‘Oh my God.’
They both laughed. Jamie held up A History of Satanism, which featured a goat’s head and a pentagram on the cover.
‘Paul. It must be.’
He took out his phone and sent Paul a text: Thanks for the reading material. Haha!
A minute later Paul texted back. Eh??
Jamie smiled. ‘I’ll get him back.’ He flicked through the sex manual. ‘Now, actually, this has got some good tips in it.’
Heather came round at eight-thirty. She worked with Kirsty at St Thomas’s, and as they wielded their brushes – inch-by-inch turning the walls of the flat a pale, even blue – they chatted about people from work. Dr Singh was having an affair with an anaesthetist called Claire. Pat and Michael had had a blazing row about the allocation of beds in Ward F. Jamie enjoyed listening to their conversation. He had met most of the characters discussed, and listening to Kirsty and Heather gossip about their colleagues was like tuning in to a particularly interesting soap opera.
‘How’s Dracula?’ he asked Heather teasingly.
‘What? Oh God, him. He keeps hounding me, ringing me up, telling me he thinks he’s fallen in love with me.’
‘How sweet.’
‘He makes me feel sick. He really smells.’ She grimaced.
‘How’s Paul’s wild love affair with Wonderwoman coming along?’ Kirsty asked.
‘She dumped him,’ Jamie said.
‘Oh, poor Paul,’ said Heather.
‘I know. I think he really liked her. But he got an email from her saying they should call it a day. That she didn’t want to get serious.’
‘She dumped him by email? Nice.’
‘So now he’s young, free and single again,’ said Heather.
Kirsty glanced up at her. ‘Why, are you interested?’
‘No, of course not.’
Jamie and Kirsty exchanged a knowing look.
‘I’m not interested in Paul, OK?’
Jamie laughed. ‘So why are you blushing?’
‘I’m not!’
Before Heather could get any more embarrassed, the doorbell rang. Jamie looked at his watch. It was ten o’clock. ‘Are we expecting anyone? Hey, maybe it’s Paul. Maybe he telepathically tuned in to your lustful thoughts about him, Heather, and came running.’
Heather flicked paint in Jamie’s direction. ‘You’re such a wanker.’
Chuckling to himself, Jamie went out to the front door.
It was a pizza courier, holding out two boxes and a litre bottle of Coke. ‘That’ll be £21.’
‘But I haven’t ordered a pizza.’
The courier checked the name and address on the order slip. ‘Jamie Knight. Ground floor flat, 143 Mount Pleasant Street.’
‘Yes, that’s me, but I haven’t ordered…’ He sighed. ‘Hold on a minute.’
He went into the flat. ‘You didn’t order a pizza, did you Kirsty?’
‘No, you know I haven’t.’
‘Oh God.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘It’s looks like we’ve has another hoax. Still, at least this one’s not as bad as the fire brigade turning up.’
Heather said, ‘This is really creepy. Have you made an enemy recently?’
Kirsty’s face creased with anxiety. ‘I don’t believe this. Who can be doing it?’
Jamie said, ‘I’d better go and tell the pizza guy to take it away.’
He went back into the hall, leaving Kirsty cursing behind him. He felt sick.
‘Sorry mate, but I think you’ve been hoaxed. You’d better take it back.’ He pulled an apologetic face.
The pizza courier turned round and stomped back to his moped. As he rode off down the road, Jamie stepped onto the front path and looked left and right, up and down the street. For a city street, there were hardly any signs of life. It was almost unnaturally quiet and still. He turned to go in and the oddest feeling came over him – the feeling that he was being watched. Despite the balmy summer air, he suddenly felt cold. Goosepimples ran up his arm and he shivered a little. He looked around again. No, there was no-one about, although there were lights on in most of the flats in the street; windows thrown open to let in whatever breeze there was.
He looked down at the Newtons’ flat. The lights were out. There were no signs of life. But their car was there, parked in the spot Jamie and Kirsty had had to vacate earlier. He