The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,14

later, they had their answer. There came the sound of rushing water: the hiss and splash of water coming out of a hosepipe.

‘He’s watering the bloody garden!’

They collapsed together on the floor, trying not to laugh aloud. Jamie covered Kirsty’s mouth with his own to stop her laughter ringing out.

A week ago, the local council had announced a strict hosepipe ban because of the hot weather. It hadn’t rained for weeks, and reservoir supplies were running alarmingly low.

‘Should we grass him up?’ whispered Kirsty, after they had clambered back into bed. She was still trying not to laugh, not just because she found the situation funny but also because she was relieved that they weren’t about to be burgled or murdered in their bed. She couldn’t believe how silly she’d been.

‘Kirsty!’

She tutted. ‘I wasn’t being serious. It’s a bit sneaky though, isn’t it? Watering the garden under cover of darkness.’

‘Loads of people do it.’

‘Yeah. I guess you’re right. Anyway,’ she said, inching closer, giving him that look he loved so much. ‘Where were we?’

Jamie pulled her towards him. ‘Right about here.’

They didn’t get another full day together until Sunday. Jamie didn’t work at weekends, and Kirsty – who did – had the day off. It was another glorious, hot day and they had decided to take the train down to the coast for the day. In an hour and a half they could be in Brighton, eating greasy chips and sticky candy floss, or enjoying a drink in a seafront pub. As Kirsty got dressed, Jamie – who had been ready for almost an hour – looked out of the back window. There were Lucy and Chris, up early, working in the garden. Actually, it was just Chris doing the work. While he knelt beside the borders, pulling up weeds, Lucy stood over him, hands on hips, pointing at bits he’d missed or had yet to do. Jamie noticed they were wearing matching T-shirts which bore the logo of a large computer software company, Scion.

As he stood there looking at them, Lucy turned around and spotted him. She waved, the gold of her wedding ring glinting in the sun. She said something but he couldn’t make it out. He cupped his hand to his ear and she pointed at the balcony, gesturing for him to come out.

‘Lucy wants me to go out and see her,’ he said so Kirsty would know what was going on.

He went into the bathroom, opened the back door and stepped out onto the balcony. Sunlight hit him in the face and he shaded his eyes with his hand. Lucy walked up to the edge of the garden and stood at the bottom of the steps that led up to the balcony. Chris carried on working, only stopping briefly to nod hello.

‘Hi. Beautiful day, isn’t it?’ Jamie said. ‘You’re so lucky having a garden. It must be very therapeutic.’ He hoped his insincerity wasn’t evident. He didn’t want a garden. He had the exact opposite of green fingers, although he wasn’t sure what that was. Grey fingers? Concrete fingers? When he saw a garden he only thought what a hassle it must be to have to mow the lawn and pull up the endlessly-proliferating weeds.

Lucy nodded. ‘Yes. It is. We were just saying that, weren’t we, Chris?’

‘That’s right.’

Jamie smiled. He imagined it was therapeutic for Lucy, watching someone else do all the work while she supervised.

‘The reason I beckoned you outside was to ask you and Kirsty if you wanted to come round for dinner.’

‘Oh.’ His mind raced. ‘That’s really nice of you to ask. But why don’t you come round to us?’

Kirsty was, at this point, standing behind Jamie in the bathroom – unseen by the Newtons – with a look of horror on her face, making throat-cutting gestures with her finger.

‘Kirsty’s a great cook. We could come round to you next time.’

Lucy’s face lit up with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. She nodded.

‘That would be lovely. What do you think, Chris?’

He peeled off his gardening gloves and stood up. His T-shirt showed off the bulge of his muscles: his thick arms and broad chest. He nodded up at Jamie, one side of his mouth twitching in what Jamie interpreted as an attempt to show enthusiasm. ‘Sure. Sounds good.’

‘Great. Well, let’s make a date. Say, seven-thirty, this Friday? Fantastic. We’ll see you then.’

He went back inside, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Kirsty punched him lightly on the arm. ‘What the hell