The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,15
have you done?’
‘I thought you’d prefer to meet them on your own home territory.’
‘Oh God, I don’t believe this. That’s my week ruined.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because I’m going to be worrying about this bloody dinner party now. What to cook. What to wear. Does the flat look a state? Why couldn’t you have accepted their invitation? Or if you didn’t want to go down there, why didn’t you make up an excuse?’
‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’
‘Huh! I should make you cook the meal. That would teach you.’
‘OK, I will.’
‘Don’t be stupid. You’re the worst cook in London.’ She marched back into the bedroom and sat down on the bed. ‘I think I’ll invite Heather and Paul too. Paul can entertain them.’
Jamie tutted. ‘Look, Kirsty, it will be fine. I genuinely thought it would be easier to invite them up here. We don’t want a repeat of that time we went to Sally and Jason’s and they served lamb because I’d forgotten to tell them you were a veggie.’
Kirsty shook her head. ‘I know, I know. I realise you were doing what you thought was best. I just wished you’d stalled them and asked me first.’ She looked at her watch. ‘We’d better get going now, before the tide goes out and I miss my chance to drown you.’
Paul turned up first, bearing a bottle of cheap Chardonnay.
‘So what are we having?’ he asked after he had handed Jamie the wine and kissed Kirsty on the cheek.
‘Jamie’s having beans on toast.’
‘Yum. And the rest of us?’
She tapped the side of a saucepan with a wooden spoon. Onions and garlic cloves lay on the worktop, along with a bowl of shelled pecan nuts, a plate of mushrooms and artichokes, bottles of olive oil and vinegar, a can of tomatoes and a tube of tomato puree. Fresh tagliatelle already waited in the saucepan. ‘The rest of us are having pasta.’
‘Veggie stuff.’
‘That’s right, and if you don’t like it’ – she waved the wooden spoon at him – ‘you can have beans on toast too.’
‘But beans on toast are veggie as well! No, actually, it sounds great, Kirsty. And it smells delicious.’
‘My beautiful, talented girlfriend.’ Jamie put his arm around her.
‘Don’t start creeping. Remember, if it all goes wrong tonight, it’s your fault.’
He sighed. ‘Yes, I know. But nothing’s going to go wrong, is it? We’re going to have a pleasant, civilised evening. Which we might even finish with a couple of new friends.’
‘What time are you expecting them?’ asked Paul.
‘In about half-an-hour,’ Kirsty replied. ‘Now, pour me some wine then bugger off while I get this meal cooked.’
Jamie and Paul took their drinks into the living room, where Jamie had set up the dining table. The TV was on, and the newsreader was talking about an eight-year-old girl who had been found strangled and raped and dumped behind some dustbins in Colindale. Jamie turned the TV off.
‘The world is full of sick bastards,’ he said.
Heather turned up five minutes later. She was wearing a tiny dress that ended four inches above the knee and was sleeveless, revealing the small cat tattoo on her shoulder. She went into the kitchen to help Kirsty.
Paul said, ‘My God, what’s happened to Heather?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s suddenly gone all sexy. When did that happen?’
‘She’s always been attractive.’
‘Yeah, I guess so. Shame she hates me.’
‘What the hell makes you think that?’
‘She’s an intelligent, attractive woman. Ergo she hates me.’
Jamie rolled his eyes. He knew Paul was desperate for a girlfriend but couldn’t work out why he found it so difficult to get and hang on to one. He was quite good-looking, witty and clever. To Jamie – and Paul even more so – it didn’t make sense. The only explanation they could come up with was that fate was saving Paul, preserving him in a state of singleness until the right woman came along.
The doorbell rang and Jamie hurried out to open the door.
‘Lucy, Chris, hi, come in.’
They were both dressed up to the nines, Chris in an expensive Italian suit, Lucy in a scoop-neck maroon dress. Jamie was struck again by how tall she was. Chris handed Jamie a bottle of red wine which he took into the kitchen, leaving them with Paul.
‘They’re here,’ he whispered to Kirsty.
She took a big gulp of wine and went out to greet them.
They had already sat down on the sofa, both sitting stiffly upright, looking uncomfortable, like somebody visiting their parents-in-law for the first time. Chris stood up when