The Magpies A Psychological Thriller - By Mark Edwards Page 0,98

in the suitcase, very calm and methodical. Jamie sat on the bed beside the suitcase. A husk.

‘It makes me feel so sad doing this,’ she said, speaking evenly but wiping away a tear that had fallen onto her cheek. ‘We were going to be so happy here, weren’t we? It was our little paradise. We were going to be a family here.’ She smiled. ‘Whatever’s happened since, we’ll always have those early weeks. It was really good then.’

‘Don’t go,’ Jamie croaked. ‘It can be good again.’

She lay her palm against his cheek. Her hand was warm. She looked down at him and her face was so full of sadness he wanted to die.

‘It can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Not here.’ She held her hand against his cheek for a few more moments, then resumed her packing.

‘Are you going to come with me?’

He didn’t answer.

‘I’m going to go to my parents’. I’ve already ordered a taxi to take me to the station. I want you to come too.’

He put his face in his hands. He so wanted to go with her. He knew what she said was right, that it was the most sensible thing to do. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t give in and let Lucy and Chris get away with it. He had to stay – at least until after they had been dealt with. And then Kirsty would come back. Yes, that’s what would happen. He would punish Lucy and Chris – drive them away! – and then Kirsty would come back to him and they would reclaim their paradise. Yes.

‘I can’t.’

She looked away, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back the tears, and carried on with her packing.

A car horn sounded in the street outside. It was Kirsty’s taxi. Jamie felt a shiver of panic. He could still change his mind.

‘Will you carry my case out for me?’

‘Of course.’

He carried the case outside. The taxi driver tried to take it from him but he kept hold of it, putting it into the back of the cab himself. Kirsty opened the door of the taxi and got in.

‘Come with me, Jamie,’ she pleaded.

He couldn’t look at her. ‘I can’t. I have to stay and fight.’

‘You’re being an idiot.’

‘I’ll call you,’ Jamie said. ‘I love you.’

She didn’t reply.

The taxi driver looked back at Kirsty. ‘Where to, my love?’

‘Charing Cross.’

She closed the door of the taxi and looked away. Jamie watched the cab disappear into the night, its engine still audible after it had vanished from sight. He stood on that spot for a long time before turning round and going back into the flat.

Alone.

Twenty-five

Jamie picked up the piece of paper, studied the phone number, lifted his phone. His finger hovered over the first digit: 0.

He dialled the number.

He spent the morning working out. The weights and rowing machine that he had bought during the summer had sat in the corner for a while now, untouched, gathering a gossamer skin of dust. He ran his index finger along the barbell, licked the dust from his finger. He lay on his back and lifted the weights above his chest. Up, then down. Up, then down. It hurt but he kept going until his muscles felt like they would combust.

He stood up and lifted the weights above his head. He gripped a smaller dumbbell in each hand and pulled them in towards his body – in, out, in, out. He sat on the rowing machine and rowed, back and forth, back and forth. This was how he filled the days, with monotonous exercises that didn’t require thought and at the same time obliterated thought. All he could think about was the pain in his arms and legs and chest; the ache in his back and shoulders. When he was straining to lift a barbell above his head for the fortieth time he didn’t think about Kirsty. He thought about the strain on his body; the bead of sweat that trickled down his forehead and hung above his eye, threatening to fall.

He wasn’t trying to make himself strong. He wasn’t preparing himself for a fight. He was just trying to stop himself thinking. Because thinking hurt too much.

Up, down. In, out. Back, forth. Push-ups, sit-ups, squat thrusts. Crunching his stomach muscles. Forth, back. Out, in. Down, up.

And repeat.

Sometimes he would drop a weight by accident, or fall onto the floor himself, and as the bang reverberated through the flat he would tense, hurting himself as he pulled his muscles inwards, trying to shrink, an animal