Last of the Magpies Read online

  Jamie was flabbergasted. ‘I promise I didn’t put her up to it. She asked me about Paul but I didn’t want to talk about him. For fuck’s sake.’ He took out his phone and began to tap it furiously with his thumb.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I’m messaging her, telling her I don’t want anything to do with her stupid podcast.’ He hit Send on the message. ‘I’m really sorry, Kirsty. I didn’t expect her to turn up on your doorstep. In fact, I asked her to leave you alone.’

  ‘Hmm. No one ever seems to be able to leave me alone, do they?’ She rubbed her face and all the energy appeared to drain out of her. ‘I’m so sick of it, Jamie. Aren’t you? I just want to be free of Lucy and everything that happened. I want to forget about it.’

  She had tears in her eyes and, without thinking, he reached across and took her hand in his. She didn’t pull away.

  ‘I want to forget about it too. It’s just so hard, knowing she’s still out there.’

  Her hand remained in his, and she looked into his eyes and all he wanted to do was hold her, to feel her hair against his face. ‘It must be eating you up inside, Jamie. All that hatred and bitterness. I know what it feels like, but you have to let it go.’

  ‘I want to,’ he said.

  ‘Then do it. See a therapist.’

  ‘I have. Two, in fact.’

  ‘Then find another. Talk it out of your system. Find coping mechanisms. But you have to forget about Lucy and everything you lost.’

  Now she squeezed his hand, putting her other hand over it.

  ‘Everything I lost,’ he said, clenching his jaw to fight back tears. This encounter really wasn’t going how he’d expected. ‘It would be . . . It would be easier to forget Lucy, to let go of all this anger, if I could get back the most important of those things.’

  A tear ran down his cheek.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘It would be easier with you.’

  He expected her to pull her hands away, but she didn’t. Instead, she remained still and quiet, the clatter of the café fading out until Jamie found himself frozen in the moment, suspended in time as he waited for Kirsty’s response. She was going to tell him to go home, remind him it was all over between them.

  Instead, she said, ‘Let’s go and get a drink.’

  Two hours later, Jamie went back to the bar for another round, intoxicated not just by the alcohol in his system but by excitement and hope. On the walk to the pub, he and Kirsty had swerved away from talking about the future, pulling back from the heavy emotion of their talk in the café, and instead concentrated on the present and the past.

  In the dim, cosy pub, where they found a nook in the corner, Kirsty told him all about Sasha and stuff that had happened at work recently. She told him about her attempts to get over her arachnophobia. Then they talked about the past, about old friends, the times they’d had before they moved in together, though they talked about that a little too. They didn’t mention Lucy or Chris or Paul or any of the bad stuff. Spending time with Kirsty, watching her get a little drunk as she worked her way through several glasses of wine, was wonderful. It made him feel young again, free of all the shadows that clung to him. Yes, he thought tipsily, Kirsty was the light that chased the shadows away.

  He carried their drinks over and put them down, a little beer sloshing over the top of his glass.

  ‘Whoops,’ he said.

  Kirsty picked up her glass of wine. ‘I never have evenings like this anymore. That’s the price of parenthood, I guess.’

  ‘Especially being a single parent.’

  They were veering dangerously close to talking about their lost child, and Jamie didn’t want to go there. Not right now.

  ‘Remember that pub we used to go to in Camden? The Spread Eagle? There was that barman, the guy who wore a denim jacket with Status Quo patches all over it. He had a thing for you.’

  Kirsty spluttered with laughter. ‘Oh my god, he was such a throwback. But he didn’t have a thing for me.’

  ‘He did! Of course he did. How could he not? You were gorgeous.’

  She waved a hand but he could tell she was pleased. ‘I could have married that guy. We could have done the Quo dance at our wedding.’

  ‘You’re still gorgeous,’ Jamie said.

  ‘And you’re still corny.’

  ‘What? I’m offended!’

  ‘But you’re also still pretty handsome.’ She cringed. ‘Oh god, what am I saying?’

  But he wasn’t laughing anymore. They were sitting close, so close that he could smell the wine on her breath, and he reached out and took her hand again. They intertwined their fingers and Kirsty looked up at him through her lashes. Their faces were inches apart.

  They were going to kiss. This was it. The moment he had longed for. He didn’t know what would happen after this, he didn’t care right now. He just wanted to freeze this moment, to make it last forever.

  Their faces moved closer.

  And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone standing by their table, watching them.

  It was Edmund Tyler.

  The moment was broken. Jamie turned his face towards Edmund. Confused, Kirsty did the same.

  The literary agent held up his palms. ‘Sorry, guys, didn’t mean to interrupt. But I was so surprised to see you together.’

  Jamie blinked at him. ‘What are you doing here? Do you live round here?’

  ‘No, I was just visiting my mum. She’s in hospital, poor thing.’

  Jamie could feel it. Edmund was going to say something that would ruin everything. He stood up, bashing the table as he did so, almost knocking his drink flying. He intended to usher Edmund away, to warn him not to say anything.

  But it was too late.

  ‘So the book discussions are going well, then?’ Edmund said.

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ Kirsty asked.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Edmund. ‘Have I put my foot in it?’

  Kirsty stood up. The bubble they’d been in had burst and Jamie wanted to put his hands around Edmund Tyler’s throat. He still felt quite drunk, but Kirsty appeared to be sobering up quickly.

  ‘Jamie?’ she said.

  ‘Perhaps I should leave you to it,’ Edmund said, heading off to the bar.

  Jamie sat back down. ‘I was going to tell you.’

  He explained who Edmund was and how he had suggested they write a book together about their experiences with Lucy.

  ‘What? And that’s why you came to find me this evening?’

  He nodded miserably. ‘But as soon as I saw you I realised it was a terrible idea. Who am I kidding? I already knew it was a terrible idea.’

  He expected her to be angry, to get up and storm out. But, yet again, she surprised him. ‘You’re such an idiot.’ She said it tenderly, with a smile.

  ‘I know.’

  There was a long silence.

  ‘So what do you want to do now?’ he asked.

  ‘Right now, you mean?’

  He could see her thinking about it. Weighing up the consequences of whatever decision she made.

  Finally, she said it. ‘Come home with me.’

  He swallowed. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Yesterday, when Emma turned up, I thought she was your new girlfriend. And although I hate admitting this – hate it more than anything else in the world – I was jealous.’

  ‘Wow. You’ve got nothing—’

  She stopped him with a kiss. Kirsty put her arms around him and he closed his eyes and, for the few seconds of the kiss, Jamie was happier than at any time during the past six years. It felt good. It felt right. And yet he knew this might be a one-off, that tomorrow Kirsty might wake up and tell him that it had been nice but that it didn’t mean anything, that it was a delayed goodbye, that was all. Their bodies finally saying farewell to each other. He tried not to think about any of that, tried to sink into the moment, to enjoy it.

  He heard Edmund Tyler say, ‘Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds again.’


  Jamie and Kirsty broke apart. All Jamie wanted to do was get out of there, go back to Kirsty’s place – he wanted it more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life – but Edmund was barring his way, standing there in his designer sweater with his shirt collar poking out from underneath.

  ‘Do you mind if I join you, just for a minute?’

  ‘We were about to leave,’ Jamie said.

  ‘It’ll only take a minute.’ He shuffled into the nook and sat beside Jamie with his phone in his hand. Jamie tried to stay calm but he was convinced Kirsty would change her mind now and realise going home with him was a bad idea. He should have told Edmund where to go, then taken Kirsty by the hand and led her out of the pub. But his innate politeness stopped him from doing what he wanted.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of that podcaster you told me about. Emma Fox.’

  ‘What for?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘Well, after you left, I looked her up and listened to some of her podcast, the one where she tracked down that witness. Fascinating stuff, and it got me thinking . . . Let’s just say I wanted to talk to her about a couple of book ideas.’

  ‘I see.’ Edmund was clearly always on the lookout for an opportunity.

  ‘Plus, I thought, well, maybe if she really is that good at finding people, she might actually be able to track Lucy down, especially if I helped her. I mean, I was in regular contact with Lucy before she vanished and I think I might be able to give Emma some insight. I managed to get her phone number, but she’s not answering and she hasn’t replied to any of my texts. I just wondered if you’d heard from her.’

  ‘No, not today,’ Jamie said, not bothering to mask his impatience. ‘In fact, I haven’t heard from her since we got back from Shropshire.’

  ‘I saw her yesterday,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘Really?’ Edmund leaned across the table towards her.

  ‘Yes. She was going to try to track down Paul. Jamie’s old friend.’

  ‘Really?’

  Jamie had to remind himself that Edmund, as Lucy’s agent, would be more familiar with her story – or at least, her version of it – than most people.

  ‘That’s very interesting,’ Edmund said. ‘I wonder if she had any luck. I remember . . .’

  He trailed off. But a light had come into his eyes. A memory.

  ‘What is it?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘It’s just . . . well, Paul contacted Lucy after she got out of prison.’

  Jamie and Kirsty both stared at him.

  ‘Yes, he emailed me shortly after Lucy’s book was published, saying that he knew she was living under a new identity but that he was an old friend. He asked if I could put him in touch with her.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘Yes, I forwarded the email to her and she thanked me later. Told me she’d been in touch with him.’

  Jamie’s entire body had gone cold. Lucy and Paul had been back in touch.

  ‘Oh my god . . .’ he began.

  Kirsty must have been thinking exactly the same thing. ‘You think it could have been Paul who helped her? After she escaped from the police?’

  ‘The person she’d arranged to pick her up that night . . .’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ said Edmund.

  ‘Did you ever tell the police this? That she was in touch with Paul?’ Jamie said.

  ‘They never asked. And I suppose I didn’t think it was important.’ He shook his head. ‘Bloody hell. You really think it could have been him?’

  The more Jamie thought about it, the more convinced he became. If Paul and Lucy had been in touch, if they had become friendly again, he had to be the prime suspect.

  ‘He was like Lucy and Chris,’ Kirsty said. ‘After his accident, I mean. He was cold. Cruel.’

  ‘Like all his ability to feel and empathise had been knocked out of him,’ said Jamie.

  ‘Like a psychopath, you mean?’ said Edmund, appearing slightly aghast.

  ‘Exactly.’

  Edmund stared at his locked phone screen. ‘Oh dear . . . and your friend Emma has gone looking for him.’ He looked at Jamie and Kirsty in turn. ‘I do hope she hasn’t put herself in danger.’

  11

  Extract from An Innocent Woman, unseen first draft, by Lucy Newton

  We had already installed CCTV in the ground-floor flat when the estate agent showed Jamie and Kirsty around. I almost clapped my hands with delight when I saw them. There they were, planning on building their nest and enjoying a happy future together. It was clear they were very much in love, in the sappiest and most sick-inducing sense of the word. He, in particular, gazed at her as if she were an angel descended from heaven. They were so happy and excited and full of optimism. I recall clenching my fists with anticipation, a shudder of ecstasy rippling through me as I pictured the fun that lay ahead. When they made an offer, we accepted after a tiny bit of haggling, and began to make plans for when they moved in.

  By this time, I had already started to enjoy myself at Orchard House. I despised all the decrepit wrinklies who had ended up there and loathed their families even more – the sons and daughters who didn’t want their loose-bladdered parents fouling their expensive sofas or getting in the way. It was funny to think that most of these old biddies had been forced to sell their homes to pay for their ‘care’ in the rest home, or were burning through their savings. By shoving a few of them off the cliff of life, I was doing their offspring a favour. Getting rid of Mum or Dad before all the inheritance went into Orchard House’s coffers.

  I made Chris promise that if we grew old together that he was to put a pillow over my face before I needed care. He agreed, and I said I would do the same for him if he lost his marbles first. The survivor would have to take care of themself.

  Most of the old biddies had one or two pairs of glasses, and after doing my duty I would take one pair as a souvenir. I knew it was risky but I couldn’t help myself. I regret it now, of course. Those bloody things got me sent to jail for a while, although the lawyer who handled my appeal was able to argue I had taken them for sentimental reasons, painting me as a woman who was so upset when one of her beloved patients died that she felt the need to keep something of theirs. Anyway, I would always pick the inmates who were most unwell, the ones who insulted or annoyed me. But I shall return to that in a later chapter.

  Jamie and Kirsty moved in and we began to play with them. They were just as weak and loved-up as I had anticipated, though I was surprised by how much sex they had. They were always at it! Quite often, we would catch them on camera, and I must confess I was impressed by Jamie’s skills in that area. I found myself becoming quite addicted to watching their performances, and – again I confess – it became something of a problem.

  I was frustrated. Here I was with a man who was perfect in every way but one. Our sexual life had dwindled to such an extent that we now had separate bedrooms. I didn’t mind sleeping alone, having the duvet all to myself and not having to put up with Chris’s complaints about my snoring. Sleeping apart made sense; after all, we were not a normal couple. But I had needs, and listening to our victims upstairs shagging each other’s brains out night after night was beginning to drive me crazy.

  That was one of the reasons I decided to target that part of their lives. It would not only be hitting them where it hurt, but it meant I would no longer have to listen to them.

  Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to stop myself from watching the existing recordings, and this led to a great deal of frustration. Chris started to get annoyed at me pestering him and told me I was distracting him from his project. He had come up with the marvellous idea of persuading his boss to stage a buyout of the company Jamie worked at, which was taking up a lot of Chris’s time. So I took a lot of cold showers, and some nights, with Chris’s blessing, I would go out and find men to take me home.

  That wasn’t the best solution though, and I was beginning to despise myself for my weaknesses when something landed in my lap, as it were.

  Jamie’s best frie
nd, Paul.

  Paul was more laddish than Jamie. Rougher round the edges. At first I saw him as nothing more than a pawn we could use to hurt the couple upstairs. I was thrilled when our plan to hurt Paul while go-karting went so well. Even better than we had planned, in fact. Because not only did Paul spend some time in a coma – causing such distress for his friends – but when he emerged he had changed.

  He had become something like us.

  I was initially suspicious that it might be a trick. Had he really emerged from the cocoon of his coma like some kind of black moth? A little research told me that such things were possible, that brain injuries can cause a drastic personality change. And Paul came to us because something told him we would understand. He said he was full of loathing and bitterness. A sneering hatred for weakness. When his girlfriend, Heather, simpered about loving him, he told us he wanted to smash her face in. He was confused and lost, and if he was a moth then we were the flame.

  The three of us spent a lot of time together, and although we didn’t explicitly share our grand plan for Jamie and Kirsty – we didn’t fully trust him – he was able to give us lots of useful information about them that we could use.

  Something else quickly became apparent too. Paul had the sex drive that Chris lacked, and I soon caught him looking at my body when he didn’t think I was watching. I consulted Chris and he was cool with the idea of me taking out some of my frustration on Paul. And that’s what we did. Chris would go and work in the garden or do some paperwork and I would take Paul to my bed.

  Jamie and Kirsty had no idea what was going on under their feet.

  The arrangement came to an end when Paul decided he wanted to go travelling. I was disappointed and we exchanged unpleasant words. He told us he felt he had nothing left to learn from us and I was astounded by his arrogance. I wished we could put him back in a coma, and told him so. He and Chris almost had a fist fight. But there was nothing we could do to keep him around, and in the end we shook hands and wished him well. I told him to get in touch when he returned to England.

  But I never saw nor heard from him again.