The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,5
ceased and a woman dressed as Cleopatra – who was looking out the front window – turned to her friend, Julius Caesar, and said, ‘It’s the fire brigade.’
Kirsty, Heather and the vampire came into the room, along with Brian’s wife, Linda, and they and everyone else crowded round the front window, looking out as two fire engines pulled up to the kerb. Half-a-dozen fire fighters jumped out and Jamie noticed the looks of puzzlement on their faces. They looked up and down the road. Where was the fire?
Someone said, ‘Maybe there’s a cat stuck up a tree,’ causing a ripple of laughter.
Then Cleopatra said, ‘They’re heading this way.’
Jamie and Kirsty looked at each other, and backed out of the crowd. Paul, who had been out the front, smoking a spliff, hurried into the room and staggered up to Jamie.
‘They want to see you,’ he said.
‘Me?’
Jamie made his way outside, followed by Kirsty, Paul, Heather, Brian, Linda and anyone else who could cram into the hallway. A pair of disgruntled-looking firemen stood on the doorstep. Looking around at the mock policemen and fake doctors, Jamie could have believed the firemen were also party-goers: a couple of unfortunates who had turned up in the same outfit.
‘Are you Jamie Knight?’ said the older fireman, who was clearly in charge.
‘Yes. That’s me.’
‘You phoned to report a fire. Where is it?’
‘What?’
The fireman sighed. ‘We don’t have all day, Mr Knight. Is there a fire? Is it out?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about…’
‘You phoned 999.’
‘I didn’t. I haven’t phoned anyone all evening. I–’
‘It’s an offence to make a hoax phone call to the emergency services, Mr Knight. Maybe you thought it would be funny. You’re certainly wearing the right outfit for it.’
Jamie looked down at his devil’s outfit and felt his mouth go dry. ‘But I didn’t do it.’
The fireman stared at him. It was a long, hard stare that made Jamie feel like a schoolboy who’d been brought up in front of the headmaster. When the scrutiny was over, the fireman said, ‘Maybe it was one of your guests.’
Kirsty stepped forward. ‘Nobody here would have done that. Can’t you trace the call?’
The fireman treated her to the same hard stare. ‘Maybe we will.’ He turned to his colleagues. ‘Come on, we’ve wasted enough time here.’ They marched off down the path.
The party wasn’t quite the same after that, even though it carried on for a couple more hours. Brian and Linda said goodnight and went up to their flat on the top floor. Heather got off with the vampire (and later complained to Kirsty that he had blood-curdling halitosis). Paul got very drunk and threw up in the toilet. Jamie and Kirsty sat and worried about who had called the fire brigade.
‘It’s such a stupid, irresponsible thing to do,’ Kirsty said. ‘Somebody could have died in a real fire while they were here. I can’t believe any of our friends would have done it.’
‘It must have been someone at the party, though. One of the gatecrashers.’
‘But why?’
‘I don’t know. For a laugh?’
‘Some laugh.’
They were quiet for a moment.
‘So who do you think could have done it?’
‘God, Jamie, I really don’t know. I’m too drunk to even think about it.’
Jamie looked at the floor, deep in thought.
‘I’m going to bed,’ said Kirsty, crawling under the quilt. They hadn’t moved their new double bed in yet: just the mattress. She looked up at the high ceiling. Her eyes rolled up into their sockets and she closed them tightly.
‘What about the guests?’
She buried her head under the pillow. ‘I’ll let you chuck them out.’
‘Kirsty…’
But she was already asleep.
Two
The city opened up before them. From the top of the hill Jamie could see for miles: clusters of tower blocks standing up like chipped stalagmites; patches of parkland and the curve of the Thames; flyovers and bridges and dirt-streaked trains.
A song came on the radio that reminded Jamie of his first summer in London, after leaving uni. During those heady days – days when the sun’s heat seemed to last all night – Jamie had thought the possibilities that lay before him were infinite. It was almost too overwhelming. He could do anything, be anyone. He was going to make loads of money and become famous, just as soon as he put that brilliant idea for a website into action. In the meantime, life was good. Too good to worry about actually going out and trying to achieve his admittedly-vague ambitions.