Back The Magpies
Chapters (33)
  1. Copyright
  2. Prologue
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Chapter Four
  7. Chapter Five
  8. Chapter Six
  9. Chapter Seven
  10. Chapter Eight
  11. Chapter Nine
  12. Chapter Ten
  13. Chapter Eleven
  14. Chapter Twelve
  15. Chapter Thirteen
  16. Chapter Fourteen
  17. Chapter Fifteen
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-one
  24. Chapter Twenty-two
  25. Chapter Twenty-three
  26. Chapter Twenty-four
  27. Chapter Twenty-five
  28. Chapter Twenty-six
  29. Chapter Twenty-seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-eight
  31. Epilogue
  32. Acknowledgments
  33. About the Author

He didn’t know how long he knelt in that position for. Eventually, he became aware of a pain in his neck – a muscular spasm – and he sat up and rubbed it, tried to ease the ache. Kirsty was still lying on the carpet, her face turned away from him. He stroked her hair, pressed his face against the back of her head, whispered in her ear, ‘It’s alright.’

She didn’t move. He leant over so he could see her face. She was just lying there, staring into space, unblinking. She looked lifeless, like a mannequin. It scared him.

‘Kirsty.’ He touched her cheek. ‘Kirsty, talk to me.’

For a horrible, irrational moment, he thought she was dead – for the second time in twenty-four hours. But then she stirred. She blinked and looked up at him. But she still she didn’t speak.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get you back into bed. Come on, sweetheart.’

She allowed herself to be helped up. He walked her over to the bed and she crawled beneath the covers, burying her head beneath the quilt. He got in behind her and lay with his arm over her, holding her hand. They lay like that all night, neither of them falling fully into sleep. At one point Jamie heard a bird cry outside, and he felt Kirsty flinch. He shushed her and kissed her. The pain and hatred swelled up in him.

They got up as soon as it was light. Kirsty had a bath and Jamie made breakfast. They sat on the sofa and ate, although neither of them had an appetite. Upstairs, Mary had her radio on, and every so often a muffled snatch of recognisable music would break through. The volume must have been up loud.

‘How long do you think it will be before we can move out?’ Kirsty asked. ‘What did the estate agent say?’

‘He said he was sure he could get a quick sale.’ He felt sick. He hated lying to her, even when it was necessary. Actually, he only lied to her when it was necessary.

‘Good. Because I don’t care about the price. I just want to get out.’

‘They’ll have to come round to do a valuation.’

‘When?’

‘I don’t know He said it could take a week – or two.’

‘Jamie, that’s not good enough. I’ll call them today, tell them they’ve got to make it sooner.’

He felt a flutter of panic in his gut. ‘No – I’ll do it. Don’t you worry.’

‘Don’t forget.’

He put down his coffee before she could see his hand was shaking.

‘Are you going in to work today?’ she asked.

‘Yes. I think I’d better. Just to show my face. What about you?’

‘I’m not staying here on my own in the flat. Not with them downstairs.’

‘Well, I could call in sick again and stay at home with you.’