The Magpies (6 page)

‘I work for Scion Systems, the computer company.’

‘Oh right,’ said Jamie. ‘I saw the Scion logo on your T-shirt when you were gardening.’

‘Jamie’s in computing too,’ said Kirsty.

‘I work for ETN,’ he confirmed.

Lucy beamed. ‘That’s amazing. We girls are both in healthcare–’

‘And me,’ said Heather.

‘–and the boys work with computers. We’re such kindred spirits. Amazing.’ She had already drunk a couple of large glasses of red wine and Jamie noticed with amusement that there was a slight slur to her words.

‘I’m the odd one out,’ said Paul, ‘being a mere banker.’ Paul worked for one of the High Street banks, a job he hated.

Heather leaned across the table and lightly pinched his cheek. ‘You’re always the odd one.’

Paul blushed.

‘Even the woman upstairs is in health,’ Jamie said.

‘What, Mary?’ said Lucy, putting down her wine glass. ‘I’d hardly call what she does health.’

‘What does she do?’ asked Heather, who hadn’t come across Mary before.

Jamie said, ‘She’s a herbalist.’

‘Is that what she calls it?’ said Lucy. ‘I’d describe her as a witch.’

Chris nudged her. ‘Lucy…’

But all eyes were fixed on Lucy now. Jamie laughed and said, ‘A witch? But her cat isn’t even black.’

Lucy wasn’t laughing. ‘It’s not funny, Jamie. There’s something about her I don’t like. She gives me the creeps. I’d hate to know what kind of things she gets up to all alone in their flat. She gets some very strange-looking mail, from people like the Pagan Society, and the Society of Wiccans.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve seen it. Our post often gets delivered through the communal front door, even though we have our own letter box, so I have to come up and check. I’ve seen Mary’s letters. And I’ve also seen the way she looks at me. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s up there right now, carrying out some sort of black magic ritual. Pulling the legs off spiders as she chants a spell.’

‘Oh God, don’t,’ said Kirsty. ‘Just the mention of spiders makes me shiver.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Everyone looked at the ceiling, then Paul spluttered with laughter. ‘The Blair Witch comes to Mount Pleasant Street. Maybe this building is haunted by dead children.’

‘Paul!’ Kirsty protested. ‘That’s not in very good taste.’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Both Kirsty and Heather were giving him filthy looks; it wasn’t the best comment to make in front of two nurses who worked in a children’s ward. Lucy, too, was perturbed by his comment. She stared into the remains of her meal, a tense expression on her face.

‘How long has Mary lived here?’ Jamie asked.

Chris answered: ‘She was here before we moved in.’

Jamie thought that Lucy was tense because no-one had taken her comments seriously. Feeling the need to humour her and make her feel better, he said, ‘And have you ever seen any evidence that she’s into witchcraft? Because I went up there and she seemed like a bit of a hippy, but definitely nothing worse.’

Heather said, ‘This is getting surreal. Can we change the subject?’

‘Yes!’ said Kirsty, standing up quickly. ‘Who wants dessert?’

‘Yes please,’ said Paul.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ said Jamie.

In the kitchen, Jamie whispered, ‘How do you think it’s going?’

‘Quite well, I think. Apart from that stuff about Mary. What was all that about?’

Jamie shook his head. ‘I think Lucy’s a bit drunk. Chris seems like an OK bloke, though. It’s spooky, isn’t it, that we all have such similar jobs.’

‘Hmm. It’s good though – we all have something in common. Just promise me you won’t turn the conversation around to computers. I don’t want to hear about e-commerce and gigabytes and HTMS.’

‘It’s HTML.’

‘I said I don’t want to hear about it.’

As Kirsty picked up the bowls, Jamie grabbed her round the waist and kissed her. ‘You know what HTML really stands for? How to meet ladies.’

She batted him away. ‘Do you think Paul fancies Heather? I’ve seen him looking at her all evening.’

‘In that dress, anyone would look at her. Except me, of course. As I only have eyes for you, my darling.’

She ignored him. ‘He blushed when she pinched his cheek.’

‘But then he blew it with his dead children comment.’

‘Oh, she’ll have forgotten about that by now. I reckon something might happen between them.’ Kirsty loved matchmaking. She was always trying to get mutual friends to get off with each other. She had this image of herself as some kind of urban Cupid, firing arrows of love into the hearts of her friends.

‘Promise me you won’t interfere,’ Jamie said.

‘As if I would.’

They carried the dessert into the living room. Paul, Heather, Lucy and Chris had resumed their conversation. They were talking about their favourite pastimes.

‘Chris is into go-karting,’ Lucy said.

‘Really?’ said Paul. ‘I’ve always thought that looked like great fun. Where do you go?’

‘This place in Kent. They’ve got fantastic karts there, and a really good track. You should come along. And you, Jamie.’

‘Is it just for boys, then?’ said Heather.

‘Oh no. Anyone can do it.’

‘What, even women?’ said Kirsty.

Chris looked at her blankly. ‘You should all come.’

Jamie nodded. ‘Yes, we’ll have to sort something out.’

‘Definitely,’ enthused Paul.

Lucy seemed to have sobered up a bit. As Kirsty set down the large bowl of strawberries, Lucy said, ‘Oh goodness – my favourite. How did you know?’

Kirsty had opted for a very simple dessert of fresh strawberries and cream. She had instructed Jamie to go through all the punnets in the greengrocers to ensure he got the plumpest, reddest fruits.

‘God, I’m stuffed,’ said Paul after they’d all finished and sat back.

‘That was gorgeous,’ said Heather.

Paul produced a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. ‘Anyone mind if I smoke?’

‘Go ahead,’ said Kirsty.

Lucy coughed and looked at Chris.

‘Lucy’s asthmatic,’ Chris said.

‘Why don’t you go out onto the balcony?’ Kirsty said to Paul.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Heather. ‘I could do with some fresh air.’

Jamie and Kirsty were left alone with their downstairs neighbours. There was an awkward silence between them for a few moments. Jamie thought he might have to start talking about computers. Then Lucy said, ‘I’m sorry if I was a bit weird earlier, with what I said about Mary. I don’t normally go around accusing people of being witches. And I don’t want you to think we have problems with our neighbours. We get on very well with Brian and Linda upstairs.’

‘Although we were glad to see the back of the couple who lived here before you,’ said Chris.

‘Oh God, yes,’ said Lucy. ‘They were awful.’

‘In what way?’ asked Kirsty.

‘Don’t get me started. They were noisy – unbelievably noisy. Sometimes it sounded like they were playing drums in here. And they had visitors at all hours. And they smoked out of the window and threw the butts into our garden. We’re sure they dealing drugs, too. There was definitely something dodgy going on.’

‘They made our lives a misery from the moment we moved in.’

‘You poor things,’ said Kirsty.

Lucy touched Kirsty’s arm. ‘Oh, we’re fine now. And anyway, we can look after ourselves.’

Kirsty wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but before she could say anything, Jamie said, ‘We never met the previous owners. The sale was done through their solicitor and Andersons, the estate agent.’

‘Well, you’re lucky.’ Lucy touched her ears. ‘They were so noisy.’

Kirsty and Jamie looked at each other. ‘So you don’t think we’re too noisy?’ said Kirsty.

‘Oh no. I’d soon tell you if you were.’

Paul and Heather came back into the room, smelling of smoke. Jamie looked at them both and wondered if they’d been up to anything out there. He decided that Paul would have been smiling more broadly if they had. He got up and made coffee.

All in all, he was pleased with the way the evening had gone. He couldn’t imagine that they would ever be best friends with the Newtons, but they seemed like a nice enough couple, and they did share common interests. Plus it was in everyone’s best interests to maintain peace in the building. It was a shame Lucy was so antagonistic about Mary – but he was intrigued by the idea of her being called a witch. It was an attitude that didn’t seem to belong to this century.

After drinking their coffee they said goodnight and Lucy and Chris went down to their flat. Paul and Heather remained behind for a while. Jamie got the PS3 out and he and Paul played FIFA soccer. Kirsty and Heather chatted and finished up the wine. Jamie noticed that Heather kept glancing over at Paul, who was oblivious, too involved in the game. He smiled. It had been a good evening.

But that night, Kirsty woke up with her heart beating fast and a cold sweat on her brow. She grabbed hold of Jamie and shook him awake.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

She pressed her hand to her chest and waited for her breathing to return to normal. ‘I had an awful dream. I was being chased through the woods by a witch, and she was trying to put a spell on me. I came to this house – and it was like the house in Hansel and Gretel, made of delicious-looking gingerbread. I ran inside and I felt safe and happy, and I was thinking about all the gingerbread I could eat. Until I realised it was actually the witch’s house, and I was trapped. She put me in a cage, just like in the story. God, it was horrible.’

She lay back down and Jamie held her. After while her breathing pattern changed so he knew she was asleep. All that talk about witches over dinner. He didn’t realise Kirsty was so sensitive to things like that.

The next morning, when Jamie went out to get the mail, he found a dead rat on the carpet outside their door.

Five

Jamie hurried back inside.

‘What is it?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

She pushed past him. ‘Oh, it’s horrible! Jamie, get rid of it. Now. Please.’

‘OK, OK. I’m going to.’

The rat was dark brown and eight inches long, with a tail that stretched on for a number of inches more. It was the tail that Kirsty really hated. The thought of a rat’s tail touching her, or even coming anywhere near her, made her flesh go cold. This rat was never going to trouble anyone, though. It was stone dead, its eyes closed and its mouth open, frozen in a final squeal, exposing its long yellow teeth. There was a patch of blood on its chest.

‘Poor thing,’ Jamie said.

‘It’s gross,’ said Kirsty, shuddering. The only creatures she hated more than rats were spiders. ‘You’ve got to get rid of it.’

Jamie went into the kitchen, found a carrier bag and went back out into the hallway. He knelt down beside the dead rodent and put his hand inside the bag, grasping the rat through the plastic and pulling the bag inside out. He tied a knot in the top of the bag and carried it out to the dustbins. He was amazed at how heavy it was; how solid its body felt as he gripped it through the makeshift plastic glove. He wished he could have buried it, but they had no garden to call their own. The whole thing made him feel sad. As a teenager he had kept a pet rat called Roland. When, near the beginning of their relationship, he had told Kirsty this – extolling the virtues of pet rats, hinting that one day he might like to get another one – she told him that if he ever brought a rat near her she would never ever talk to him again.

She sat on the sofa with her hands covering her face. ‘Is it gone?’

‘I put it in the dustbin.’ He tutted. ‘I don’t understand what it was doing outside our door.’

Kirsty grimaced. ‘Ugh. It was probably trying to get in. It probably smelled the meal last night and wanted some.’

‘You’re mad. Rats don’t try and get in through closed doors!

‘Got a better explanation? I just hope it was the only one. What if there’s a nest? We’ll have to call the council, get the pest control sent out.’

‘Come on, Kirsty, let’s not over-react. It probably got into the building, got trapped and either died of fright or hunger. Although it didn’t look very hungry. It was pretty fat.’

‘Don’t. I don’t want to talk about it. After that dream I had last night, I want to think about pleasant things. Like shopping. Are we still going to go into town this afternoon?’

‘If you want to. But I’ve got to nip down the shop first to get some milk. Do you want anything?’

There was a convenience store just down the road. Jamie went out to buy a paper and a pint of milk. As he walked back up the hill he felt out of breath. He was going to have to get that gym equipment he had promised himself. Get fit. He would be thirty soon, after all. He was already starting to develop a small paunch. When he was twenty-one he had promised himself that if his stomach ever started to curve he would go on a starvation diet to make it flat again: he would give up beer, do two hundred sit-ups a day. Anything to avoid the dreaded spread. But now his metabolism was slowing down, and his willpower was weakening. If he didn’t do something soon he would be well on the way towards looking like all the forty- and fifty-year-old men in his office, their belts holding up their guts, their ties not hanging straight down but curving over like inverted question marks. God, it was a horrifying thought. Far scarier than a dead rat.

As he walked back up the front path, Brian opened the front door and came out.

‘Ah, Jamie, good morning.’

‘Morning.’

Brian stopped. ‘Actually, I was hoping to bump into you. I bought that computer I’ve been promising myself and I’m having a few teething problems with it. I can’t seem to get the internet connection to work properly.’

‘Really? I’ll come and have a look at it if you like.’

He nodded enthusiastically. ‘That would be marvellous. I’m just popping out for a minute. Shall I knock on your door on the way back up. Would that be alright?’

‘Of course.’

The postman had called while Jamie was at the shop. He and Kirsty just had a couple of pieces of junk mail, forwarded on from their previous addresses. Kirsty took the Culture section out of the paper and started to leaf through it.