The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,49
any more. Jamie looked at the back door. He had a horrible image of Chris storming up the steps and smashing down the back door, which was only made of thin wood. The scream had made his blood run cold. Suddenly, he wanted to get out of the bath and get dressed.
He stood up and grabbed his towel. He looked at the carpet. There was a big wet patch around the edge of the bath. He imagined he could hear Lucy breathing beneath his feet. He knew she would be standing there, looking up at the ceiling, and, ridiculously, he felt vulnerable in his nudity. He dried himself vigorously and as soon as he was dry enough he pulled on his underwear.
Kirsty stood up. Water rolled down from beneath her breasts over her belly and dripped from her pubic hair. Jamie saw her touching her tummy and smiled. Why was he allowing himself to get so stressed out? He should calm down, chill out, enjoy this momentous day. There were more important things to think about than their neighbours.
‘We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?’ Kirsty said, still standing up in the bath, the water level descending slowly from her calves to her ankles, swirling down the plughole. Jamie imagined the water pouring through the ceiling onto Lucy’s head, soaking her comically, and he smiled.
He bent and pressed his cheek against Kirsty’s warm belly. ‘Of course we are.’
The Cinnamon Tree was their favourite Indian restaurant. It was situated in a quiet backstreet, just a ten minute walk from the flat. It was a small restaurant which hadn’t changed its decor since the early eighties, but the food was fantastic and cheap – or good value, as Kirsty preferred to put it.
It was a Wednesday, and the restaurant was only half full. Jamie and Kirsty took a table in the corner beside an enormous rubber plant. They ordered drinks – lager for Jamie, sparkling mineral water for Kirsty – and samosas for starters.
‘I wonder if you’ll develop any weird cravings later on,’ Jamie said.
‘Maybe. One woman at work had a craving for Cadbury’s Creme Eggs. She ate about six or seven a day. She suffered terribly from morning sickness as well.’
‘Hmm, I wonder if there was a connection.’
‘I’ve read about women who have cravings for coal or wood. I’ll probably just crave pizza and ice cream. And curries, of course.’
‘And what kind of curry are you craving tonight?’
‘Something mild I think. Vegetable korma with pilau rice.’
‘Sounds good. I’ll go for something a bit spicier.’
Their drinks arrived and Jamie drained a third of his pint in one go, gulping it down thirstily.
‘Take it easy, Jamie.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You’ve been drinking an awful lot recently. You won’t be able to carry on like that.’
‘I know. We won’t be able to afford it for one thing.’
‘Are you worried about the cost of having this baby?’
He shrugged. ‘I haven’t had a chance to think about it yet. But no – I’m not too worried.’
‘I’ll have to go part-time, and nurseries around here are so expensive.’
‘We’ll be fine. There are people a lot worse off than us who get by.’
She touched his hand. ‘I’m so glad you’re so positive about this.’
‘Why, did you think I’d be unhappy?’
‘No. I knew you’d be pleased. It’s just that with all that’s been going on, I thought you might think the timing was bad.’
He placed both his hands over hers. ‘Kirsty, we wanted this baby. That was understood from the moment you told me you’d stopped taking the pill. God, we could worry about the timing all our lives, and there’d always be something to make us want to wait. As far as I’m concerned, now is the perfect time. I don’t want to sound like a drippy git, but I want us to be a family.’
She smiled. ‘You do sound like a drippy git.’
‘Ah well, sod it. Sometimes, a man’s got to be drippy.’
The samosas came, along with a large pile of poppadoms, and they began to eat.
‘This is gorgeous, isn’t it Jamie?’ There was no answer. ‘Jamie?’
He was staring over her shoulder at the door, a samosa held in front of his open mouth.
‘Jamie, what is it?’
He spoke quietly. ‘Don’t look over your shoulder, but guess who’s just walked in.’
When somebody said, ‘Don’t look, but,’ Kirsty was, without fail, compelled to look.
She wished she hadn’t. ‘Oh God. I don’t believe it.’
Lucy and Chris came in through the front door and Chris spoke to the nearest waiter. They were directed to a