The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,8

she drank it, a habit Jamie couldn’t understand but nevertheless found endearing. He didn’t drink tea himself – he was a coffee man – but he liked the taste of it on Kirsty’s lips. He sat beside her and kissed her now.

She broke away gently. ‘We’ve got to get on with the unpacking, Jamie.’

‘I guess so.’

‘What do you want to do about dinner? We’ve got no food in. Let’s get a pizza delivered.’

‘Good idea. And there’s some wine left from last night.’

Kirsty pulled on the black, sloppy jumper she had been searching for and stood up. She prowled around the flat, just looking at it, marvelling at every empty cupboard, at the Victorian fireplace, the intricate ceiling rose, the taps in the bath, the grain in the floorboards.

‘I still can’t believe that it’s ours,’ she said. ‘I was convinced that something would go wrong before we moved in. I thought we would get gazumped, or the owners would decide they didn’t want to sell after all. Even today, at work, I was stressed out, thinking that the phone was going to ring any minute and it would be you, telling me that the flat had burned down taking all our possessions with it.’

She came to a halt before the bedroom window and Jamie came up behind her and put his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. They looked down at the garden. It was very neatly kept, with a large square of lawn surrounded by flower beds, the flora in full bloom. There was a little shed at the back of the garden. Only the occupants of the basement flat had access to the garden, although as this block of flats had once been a single house (only converted into flats earlier in the century) it was physically possible for the occupants of the ground floor flat to get down there. A set of concrete steps led from the bathroom balcony down into the garden. Kirsty planned to set a washing line up on this balcony. It was tiny and not at all private so it would have little other use.

‘You smell really sweaty,’ she said as Jamie kissed her cheek, wrinkling her nose.

‘That’s because I’ve been labouring hard all day – sweating under the hot sun.’

Their first task was to put up the curtains in the bedroom. That morning, they had been woken up at five a.m. by the blazing sunlight that filled the room. With last night’s alcohol still circulating through their veins, they had both winced and groaned and tried to hide under the quilt. It was no good, though. They couldn’t sleep, and Jamie had pulled on his jockey shorts and padded into the kitchen to make coffee. There was a strange man asleep on the floor, dressed as a cowboy with his stetson over his face. He opened one eye, said, ‘Morning,’ then got up and let himself out. Then, while most of their new neighbours slept, Jamie and Kirsty cleared up the mess from the night before.

‘I’ll put the hooks up and then you can hang them,’ said Kirsty. ‘You order the pizza while I make a start.’

Jamie phoned the pizza place, then fetched the iPod dock, finding an acoustic playlist.

As he was attaching the curtains to the rail, standing on a wobbly chair with Kirsty holding onto his leg, there was a knock on the door.

Kirsty raised her eyebrows. ‘That was quick.’

Jamie clambered down from the chair. ‘That was the inner door, so unless someone left the front door open it can’t be the pizza guy.’

He opened the door to the flat and found himself looking at a large man with a crew cut. As Jamie had expected, the man wasn’t holding a pizza.

‘Hello. Can I help you?’

The man looked him up and down, then said in a quiet voice that clashed with his bulky physique, ‘I’m Chris Newton. I live…’

‘Downstairs! Hi.’ Jamie stuck out his hand. ‘I met your wife earlier. Are you feeling better now?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m fine. I thought it would be a good idea to come up and introduce myself.’

Kirsty came up behind Jamie and looked over his shoulder.

Chris smiled at her. ‘You must be…’

‘Kirsty. Pleased to meet you.’

‘And you.’

There was an awkward silence, during which Jamie quickly appraised Chris in his mind. He was very fit and muscular. He looked a little like a nightclub bouncer or a security guard. But there was a gleam in his eyes that spoke of a sharp intelligence. Jamie