The Magpies Read Online Free PDF Page A

the palm of his hand over the soft bristles on his scalp. ‘Well, I hope you both settle in alright. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.’ He turned to go. ‘Oh, by the way, would you mind turning the music down a bit? Only, Lucy’s in bed. It would help if you could move your dock into the living room as well.’
    ‘Oh…sure.’
    At that moment the front doorbell rang. It was the pizza courier, standing there with the visor of his crash helmet pushed up, revealing a look of impatience, and a twelve-inch pizza held out before him.
    ‘Smells good,’ said Chris, winking at Kirsty, then walking off, brushing past the pizza courier.
    Jamie paid for the pizza and carried it inside.
    He knelt by the dock and turned the volume down a notch. He couldn’t believe anyone could be disturbed by the music. It was at a very low volume, and it was hardly heavy metal. ‘What time is it?’
    ‘It’s only eight o’clock. He did say Lucy was in bed, didn’t he, or was I hearing things?’
    Jamie pulled a face. ‘Maybe she’s ill.’
    ‘I thought you said he was the one who was ill.’
    ‘That’s what she said.’
    Kirsty shrugged. ‘Maybe she’s caught it now.’
    They went into the kitchen and Kirsty uncorked the wine.
    ‘She seemed fine this afternoon,’ Jamie said, thinking about Lucy. ‘And the music was so soft. How could it have disturbed her?’
    ‘Like I said, she must have caught whatever Chris had. And I suppose sound must carry down through the floorboards where there’s no carpet. We’ll have to be careful whenever we play music. We don’t want to antagonise anyone.’
    They perched on the edge of a wooden crate and bit into their pizza. By the time they’d finished their food and drunk their wine, their conversation had moved on to other things. But when the playlist ran out, they didn’t put another one on.

Three
    Moving into the flat invigorated and reawakened them. It was like it had been when they’d first started going out, unable to keep their hands off each other. They soon christened each room: making love in the bath, on the sofa, on the worktop in the kitchen, Jamie banging his head on the kitchen cupboard, both of them collapsing with the giggles. They held hands all the time; phoned each other at work twice a day, texted constantly; wrote each other silly notes that would have made other people puke and exchanged cards and gifts. They had never felt so close. Some of their friends had warned them that moving in together would diminish the magic between them, that the close proximity to each other’s dirty underwear and annoying habits would spoil things. In fact, the opposite had happened.
    Sometimes, when he allowed himself to think about his good fortune, Jamie felt sick. This wasn’t because he was a masochist who craved misfortune and pain, but because he was so scared something might go wrong. He had never done anything particularly wonderful – he didn’t think he had too many credits in the karma bank. He had never saved anyone’s life, and he only gave money to charity occasionally: usually when someone rattled a tin in his face. He had never made any great contribution to world peace, unless you counted that time he broke up a fight between Paul and some moron who had given them grief in the pub. Then again, he had never done anything very bad, either. He had never broken the law, other than speeding a few times and smoking the odd spliff. He had never been unfaithful to any of his girlfriends and he had never stabbed anyone in the back, literally or metaphorically. He wasn’t bitchy or two-faced or deceitful.
    Because of this neutral position – a position he was sure most people held – he was convinced that sooner or later his good luck would have to be balanced out by a spate of bad luck. Kirsty told him he was crazy. ‘So if you won a million in the Lottery you’d then be convinced that it would be stolen from you?’
    ‘Either that or something worse would