The New Girl: A gripping psychological thriller with a shocking twist perfect for fans of Friend Request
so I’m still finding my feet.’
‘Oh! I’m from Melbourne, too.’
Rachel’s eyes pop. ‘Seriously? Wow!’ She beams, hazel eyes twinkling. Again, I have that feeling of exposure, of being really looked at. Being seen. I haven’t felt that in a long time. ‘You know – and please don’t think I’m crazy here – but I get this weird feeling like I already know you. You know how sometimes you meet someone and you just click?’
A smile touches my lips. ‘Yeah. Actually, I do.’
Rachel puts a hand over her mouth. When she pulls it away, she’s grinning. ‘I was thinking, oh my God, Mary’s going to think I’m a complete freak saying that. But you didn’t. Thank fuck!’
A laugh escapes and I can’t believe it, I actually laughed.
‘And now I’ve gone and said fuck! See how comfortable I am with you already?’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I swear all the time,’ I tell her. ‘Fuck is probably the most frequently used word in my vocabulary.’
Rachel giggles, an airy, girlish sound, and I find myself joining in. I feel lighter all of a sudden. Taller.
A sharp trilling intrudes and it’s a moment before I realise what it is. I snatch my phone from my pocket.
Aunty Anne calling.
‘Sorry,’ I say to Rachel. ‘I have to take this.’
‘No probs.’ Rachel waves a hand in the air. ‘Take your time.’
I slip out on the balcony, sliding the door shut behind me. ‘Hi, Aunty Anne.’
‘Mary, darling.’ The familiar voice is muffled by the teeming rain. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, thanks. What’s new?’
There’s a pause. The storm’s moving in, the mountain across the water barely visible through the mist. ‘He’s been here again.’ There’s a note of apology in her tone. ‘Asking after you. Mentioning something about police this time.’
A cold shiver moves through me. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask. ‘Did he …’
‘I’m okay, darling. He tried his best to rattle me, but you know your old aunt, I stood my ground. I told him you were still on holiday. He called me a liar and … a fucking bitch I think it was?’
‘God.’ I wince. Aunty Anne’s not one to mince words. ‘That’s horrible. I’m so …’
‘Don’t be sorry, darling, I just thought you should know.’
‘What else did he say?’
‘He said …’ A meaty cough comes through the phone; she’s been recovering from bronchitis. ‘Well, just what I told you. He called me a few things and …’
I press a finger to my throat, feel my pulse quicken. ‘And … and what else?’
A heavy sigh. ‘I suppose you could say there were threats.’
‘Like what? Against who?’
Pause. ‘Well, me. He was quite worked up. But that’s hardly new! I’m sure he didn’t really mean it.’
My throat tightens. I’m sick of it, this feeling. ‘I’m calling the police,’ I say. ‘Doctor Sarah said if he makes any threats …’
‘Oh, darling, hush. I’m not telling you so you worry about me.’ Aunty Anne’s voice sounds tinny, distant. ‘I’ve got your uncle and you know damn well no one gets past him. Next time, that bastard is going to leave with more than just a warning.’
My shoulders relax. My uncle, Lieutenant General John, is the main reason I felt okay to leave my aunty in Melbourne.
‘I just want to remind you to be careful, Mary.’
‘I am,’ I assure her. ‘He can’t find me here and if he did, he’d never get into the building.’
Aunty Anne is saying something, but the rain is coming down in sheets and a clap of thunder drowns out her voice. I run a hand over my mouth, turn to go inside.
Rachel is standing in the doorway. With a gasp, I drop the phone.
‘Sorry,’ Rachel says, looking sheepish. She bends to pick up my phone and hands it to me. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. You just looked so upset …’
‘Aunty Anne? I’ll call you back,’ I say into the receiver before ending the call.
‘Are you okay?’ Rachel asks. She has a glob of mascara in the corner of her eye; it’s all I can focus on. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Maybe you should sit down.’
I don’t want to sit down. I want a glass of wine, and I want to call Cat and tell her what’s happened. I want to smash something, but I do not want to sit down. ‘No, I’m okay, really. Just some … news from back home. Nothing serious.’
‘You’re sure?’ Rachel’s standing close, I can see flecks of gold and brown in her irises.
I take a breath, try to smile. ‘Everything’s fine. I’ve just got something I need to deal with. Sorry to cut this short, but …’
Rachel’s face clouds. ‘Oh. Okay.’
‘I’m definitely interested!’ I blurt. ‘I mean, this isn’t because of you … just bad timing. I’ll give you a call later, once I’ve talked things over with the others.’
Rachel’s face relaxes and she gives a small smile; for the first time, she seems uncertain. She steps inside, collects her handbag on her way to the door. ‘Okay, thanks. That’d be great. I look forward to speaking to you again. I, uh …’ She ducks her head, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘It was really nice meeting you today.’
‘Same here. Thanks, Rachel, I’ll be in touch very soon.’
Rachel kneels to put her trainers back on, opens the door and walks out. I’m about to close the door behind her when she looks over her shoulder.
‘Mary?’
‘Yes?’
A pair of sympathetic hazel eyes stare into mine. ‘I think you should go and have a lie-down or something. You really don’t look too well.’
As I approach the entry doors to the apartment block, a pungent, spicy scent invades my nostrils. It’s probably coming from the sixth-floor apartment with the balcony directly above ours. The couple who live there are always cooking something exotic, in between screaming at each other and having noisy sex. But there’s something not quite right about this smell. It’s as though something has started to rot.
Holding a hand to my nose, I reach for the letter box to find it unlocked, the flap hanging from its hinges. Letters are scattered on the slate tiles below, one with a filmy, brown stain on the corner. Slick-skinned and weary from my walk, I’m thinking only of a cold shower, and it isn’t until I’ve gathered the mail, shut and locked the flap and taken the lift to the fifth floor that I stop to think. Why was the letter box unlocked? Cat and I never unlock it; it seems strange anyone bothered to open it in the first place seeing as the envelopes usually protrude from the slot.
A scruffy beige suitcase with a hole in the seam greets me as I enter the apartment. It sags sadly against the white hallway wall like a stain. Rachel arrived at seven-thirty this morning, deposited her belongings, and immediately rushed off to work. She didn’t bring much, as the room came furnished. So, all day today, the few items comprising Rachel Cummings’ worldly possessions have lain where they fell, awaiting her return.