The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,56
bet it makes her feel really noble and worthy. It’s a great way to get sympathy.’
‘Paul! I can’t believe you can think that.’
‘Yeah, well. We’ll see if she’s still so keen now I’m back in the land of the living.’
All of a sudden, Jamie wanted to get out. He wanted to talk to Paul again after he’d had more time to adjust to what had happened to him. He knew this wasn’t the real Paul talking. This was someone who’d just woken up after a long time in another place.
‘I’d better go,’ Jamie said. ‘You need to rest.’
Paul nodded and Jamie stood up. He felt like he ought to be blissfully happy. His girlfriend was pregnant, he was getting married and now his best friend had come back from the dead. He ought to be ecstatic, but instead…
He shook away the feeling of foreboding and looked back at Paul, who was studying his hands again, flexing his fingers, casting shadows on the whitewashed walls.
‘Welcome back,’ he said, under his breath.
Fifteen
‘So how was Paul?’ Kirsty asked when Jamie got home. She had taken a couple of days off work; she still felt unwell, as if there was something poisonous still working its way out of her system. She was in bed reading a book about pregnancy, a glass of water beside her.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got a horrible headache.’
‘Why don’t you come to bed?’
‘Good idea.’
He undressed and slid beneath the cool quilt, closing his eyes. It was early evening; the birdsong outside had ceased and shadows were beginning to darken the room.
Kirsty turned over to face the wall. She closed her eyes. She could still feel the rumblings deep down in her stomach. It was nothing to do with being pregnant. It was illness, impure and simple.
‘It’s so good to have Paul back, though, isn’t it?’ she murmured drowsily.
‘Yes it is. But–’ He realised that, within that second, she had fallen asleep.
When Jamie awoke, it was dark. He squinted at the bedside clock. It was nine. They’d been asleep for several hours. His mouth felt like something had died in it or like he’d been eating fur. He sat up and scratched his chest then crossed to the window, pulling back one edge of the curtain and peering out at the quiet night.
He sniffed. There was a strange smell in the air, faint but unpleasant. At first he thought it might be gas, but it was too pungent. In fact, it was making him feel sick so, despite the chill, he opened the window. It didn’t help, so he pushed down the sash window, harder than he intended so it closed with a bang. In the bed, Kirsty groaned. ‘What time is it?’
He crawled onto the bed and kissed her hot forehead. ‘Just gone nine.’
‘Bloody hell. We’ve missed the whole evening. Hey, what are you doing?’
‘Lighting an incense stick. There’s a horrible smell in the air.’
He found a packet of lavender joss sticks and lit one, waving it around like a Bonfire Night sparkler, trails of lavender smoke curling to the ceiling and cleansing the room.
Kirsty said, ‘I couldn’t smell anything.’
She got out of bed and stretched her arms above her head. Jamie moved towards her, putting one hand just above her hip, leaning into her.
‘Ooh, your breath.’ She waved him away.
‘Thanks.’ He put his arms around her and kissed her neck.
‘You’ve got morning mouth, Jamie. Even though it is nine pm.’
‘I’ll clean my teeth.’
‘Yes, do that. But I’m getting up now. I’m not in the mood for sex. My stomach still hurts a bit.’
‘It’s not because you’re worried about making noise?’
She tutted. ‘No. For God’s sake, Jamie, I’ve just got a stomach ache.’
‘Alright, there’s no need to snap.’
He walked into the bathroom and cleaned his teeth. He felt guilty, but also concerned. Their sex life had dwindled since the Newtons had sent them the CD. Obviously, there was a lot more to their relationship than sex, but sex with Kirsty was still pretty much his favourite thing in the world and he hated the fact that it had been marred by the worry that they were being listened to every time they did it. They could pretend defiance, but when it came down to it, that knowledge meant they could no longer relax one hundred percent. Those bastards downstairs were clever – he had to give them that. He bet this was exactly the effect they had intended.