The New Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist perfect for fans of Friend Request. Ingrid Alexandra

to Sydney, when we had our last session, I told her exactly that. She wouldn’t accept that, of course. She said I was responsible for my own actions, that it was I who had the courage to leave. But I didn’t feel brave. It felt like I’d dodged a bullet, that it came down to luck, more so than any deliberate action on my part.

       It took a lot to get me to her office that day. I was ashamed. Because she’d seen the signs, had tried to warn me, and I’d run into the arms of danger anyway. It makes me determined to show her I can do this, that I won’t repeat the mistakes of the past. I won’t let Mark win this time.

       Determination doesn’t stop the fear. It doesn’t make it easy. But that’s what they say, isn’t it? Courage is being afraid to do something and doing it anyway.

       We hugged at the end of our last session, even though I know she’s not really supposed to do that with clients. That’s how close we’d become. I know she was proud of my progress, and so was I. She told me that she’d just given me the tools, but I’d saved myself. I know she’s right, but it only feels like part of the story.

       Ever since, I’ve had her in my mind. Her voice whispers in my ear when I doubt myself, and I know, I KNOW, what’s true and what’s right. I know to trust my instincts. I know what Mark has done, even if I can’t remember.

       There’s so much crammed into my brain it hurts. I know what needs to be done and I know the steps to take, but it’s like my thoughts are scraps of tissue paper caught in an updraught. Every time I reach out to grasp one, they swirl out of my reach.

       I think of Doctor Sarah’s last words to me as I left her office, her glasses perched on the end of her aquiline nose, her smooth auburn hair brushing the shoulders of her suit jacket as her eyes held mine.

       ‘Take care of yourself, Mary.’

       She didn’t say it like a friend would, a throwaway line when saying goodbye, ‘take care of yourself!’ And of course she’d have meant it quite literally. I was her patient, and my mental health was her concern. But there was something in her tone that alerted my senses. Something that had me replaying the words in my head for weeks afterwards.

       I know she feared for my safety. That’s why there were so many conditions for me moving up here: the alarm, Cat’s protection, seeing the new shrink. Maybe, as an expert, she had a better idea of what Mark was really capable of. Maybe she suspected what he’d done – or at least what he was capable of doing – before I realised it myself. But surely she would have said something if she thought I was in mortal danger … wouldn’t she?

       Doctor Sarah didn’t show any emotion in our sessions. She was a true professional and, even though I sensed that she felt for me, ‘getting emotionally involved’ would have been unprofessional. And, for the most part, she played her role to perfection. I never saw the mask slip. But that last time, I felt like she was transmitting a message, something her eyes were saying that her mouth wouldn’t – or couldn’t.

       And a part of me can’t help but wonder. What was Doctor Sarah holding back?

       Chapter Twelve

      After my visit to the station, I’m down two glasses of wine, drumming my fingers on the kitchen counter while Cat massages my neck. She’s making soothing noises, but I’m sure she’s thinking I told you so. I don’t feel soothed. I’m worked up, irrationally angry at Sergeant Moore. The arrogant dick.

      I’m angry at myself. I should have planned what I was going to say, should have mentioned Mark’s previous offences – the guy has a record! – and what he did to me, what he’s probably done to others. I should have shown them photos – I’m sure I took some at the party. I could prove it, prove I was there and that I’m not some crazy ex-girlfriend out for revenge. The anger feels good for the moment; it’s better than feeling hopeless and scared.

      It’s almost eight thirty when the key turns in the front door and Gia breezes in, bottle of wine in hand. Ben chokes on his beer.

      ‘Well hello to you, too, bello,’ she says, planting a noisy kiss on his cheek.

      Cat turns to me with wide eyes. She bites back a grin.

      ‘Since when do you have keys?’ Ben mutters.

      ‘Oh, I ran into Rachel downstairs and she lent me her set. She said she’d bring back some stuff to make mojitos!’ Gia laughs, corkscrew curls bobbing.

      Cat and I glance at Ben, who shrugs, rolls his eyes and takes a swig of beer.

      This is why you can’t get rid of her, I think. You need to grow a pair.

      We wait a while, but Rachel doesn’t appear, so we open a bottle of wine.

      ‘Cheers to us!’ Gia says, and we clink our glasses.

      Tonight’s sunset paints the sky with brushstrokes of peach and lilac and the four of us are drawn to the balcony, where we lounge on deckchairs and beanbags. Cat puts on some chill-out music and we chat idly as an hour slips by, along with two bottles of wine.

      ‘So what do you think of the new girl?’ Gia’s curly head is lolling over the back of the deckchair she’s lounged on.

      No one speaks for a moment. I clear my throat. ‘She’s sweet.’

      ‘Ben thinks she’s crazy,’ Gia giggles.

      Ben clears his throat. ‘I didn’t say that, exactly.’

      Cat glances at me, then back at the view.

      ‘Oh, not really of course.’ Gia collects herself on her elbows, reaching down to claim her wine glass and throwing back the last mouthful. ‘But he’s dated crazy before. I think he thinks he’s an expert.’

      ‘Ben thinks he’s an expert on a lot of things.’ Cat rolls her eyes. ‘But you don’t have the best track record, do ya buddy?’

      The two girls dissolve into wine-induced giggles as Ben sulks on his beanbag.

      ‘But seriously,’ Gia says in a stage whisper, sculpted eyebrows raised. ‘Have you guys noticed that Rachel’s really thin? And she wears that big, baggy hoodie all the time, which I find weird because girls like that usually like to show off their bodies, you know?’ Gia illustrates her point with a shake of her shoulders, which makes her breasts jiggle.

      Cat nods as she stares into her wine glass and my hand tightens around mine.

      Okay, Rachel wears baggy clothes, I’ve noticed that too. But it feels too early to be making any kind of judgement. I don’t want things to get awkward in the apartment if we start gossiping.

      ‘Maybe she’s just got body issues,’ Cat says.

      ‘Maybe she’s hiding a deformity or something!’ Gia exclaims, like she’s taking pleasure in the idea.

      Ben’s pointedly ignoring the conversation.

      ‘Don’t say that,’ I snap, and Gia’s eyes widen. She turns to Cat, but Cat looks away. Just at that moment, I see movement in my peripheral vision and turn to find Rachel standing in the doorway, holding a bottle of rum and a bag full of limes. Her eyes are dark, like the light behind them has been switched off. Without a word, she turns and goes back inside.