The New Girl

by Ingrid Alexandra

  I look away, feeling the familiar twinge of guilt. ‘Uh, near Briscott House. You know that old manor place they turned into a function centre?’

  ‘Whoa,’ Rachel’s eyes widen. She sighs, looks wistful. ‘You must be rich.’

  I smile tightly. ‘My family was.’

  Rachel gives me a funny look. ‘Right, yeah. God, these have gone straight to my head.’ She gestures to the empty bottles.

  ‘Well, you’ve barely eaten anything.’

  Rachel has been pushing a limp piece of cucumber around on her plate for twenty minutes. There were only a few measly slices to begin with and the salad is all she ordered.

  ‘Don’t you want to eat more than that?’ I ask. Rachel’s wearing an oversized T-shirt and leggings but it’s obvious how thin she is underneath.

  She looks at my plate, devouring the food with her eyes.

  ‘Go on, have some. I know you said you weren’t hungry, but I feel like a pig here. Pizza’s for sharing, anyway.’

  Rachel looks at me uncertainly. ‘If you’re sure …’

  ‘Of course. These pizzas are amazing, even though they’re cheap. That’s why Cat and I come here all the time.’

  ‘Right. You go out together quite a lot, don’t you?’ Rachel smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I don’t know how to interpret her tone.

  ‘Go on, eat!’ I say to break the awkward silence that follows, gesturing to my plate.

  Rachel snatches up a slice and takes a bite so fast I’d have missed it if I blinked. She closes her eyes and gets this blissful look on her face as she chews and swallows, before repeating the process.

  ‘It’s kind of embarrassing, what I’m about to tell you,’ she says when she’s done. She takes a long gulp of wine and smiles, seeming more relaxed. ‘I actually don’t have a lot of money at the moment. Since leaving my ex, I haven’t really had any support.’

  An image comes to me – Rachel’s pale body covered in bruises – and I feel that hot, ugly thing throb inside me. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

  Rachel smiles, but it’s more of a wince. ‘It’s cool. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me or anything. I mean, I’m living with you guys in that amazing place, so things are way better than they were. I needed to get as far away from my ex as possible, as fast as possible. So I hitch-hiked up here and, well … Here I am!’

  ‘I don’t feel sorry for you,’ I say gently. ‘I think it’s incredible you had the courage to leave, after everything you’ve been through.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Rachel’s eyes glisten and her lips turn upwards in a tiny smile. ‘It’s so nice to talk to someone who understands. I think I’ve done okay, considering.’

  ‘You got out. That’s the most important thing.’

  Rachel’s eyes catch mine. ‘Absolutely.’

  I’m feeling buzzed from the wine, the warmth of Rachel’s gaze, and I open my mouth before I can think. ‘If you need anything, I can help. I have money from …’ I stop. This is exactly the thing I don’t ever say to people. It changes things, when they know. But Rachel’s been through so much and she’s still suffering. It doesn’t seem fair to keep quiet, when there’s something I can do to help.

  Rachel looks at me expectantly. And I say it, because her honesty gave me permission. That’s what normal people do, isn’t it? They talk, they share. It’s been so long since I’ve met anyone I wanted to share with.

  ‘My parents disappeared.’ My voice comes out surprisingly calm, like it’s a regular thing that happens to everyone. ‘When I was fifteen. They’re presumed dead. That’s … that’s why I have money. Inheritance.’

  Rachel’s mouth opens in a tiny ‘o’. ‘Mary …’ she whispers.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say, avoiding her eyes. ‘So anyway. I’m happy to help, if you need it.’

  ‘Wow. Thank you, Mary. You’re so kind. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t dream of taking your money.’

  ‘I know you wouldn’t. But if you ever need to borrow …’

  Rachel throws back the last of her wine then smiles, her eyes moist. ‘You’re so generous. It must have been hard for you to tell me that. I get the feeling you don’t tell many people. I’m grateful. Grateful that you trust me enough.’

  I stare at the pearls of condensation on my wine glass, catching one with my finger.

  ‘What happened to them?’ Rachel’s voice is almost a whisper.

  The sounds in the crowded pub grow distant and all I can hear is the echo of ‘White Christmas’ ringing in my ears. I don’t know if I’m imagining it.

  ‘Mary?’

  ‘I don’t actually know. One minute, we were getting ready for Christmas. The next …’ I shrug. ‘They just … disappeared.’

  ‘That’s so strange. And they never found them? They just … vanished into thin air?’

  I catch Rachel’s eye and she holds my gaze. Again, I feel like I’m being examined. I can’t bring myself to answer and Rachel’s focus shifts to something in the middle distance.

  ‘It must be nice not to have to worry about money, though, right?’ Rachel says, playing with a strand of her hair. ‘I mean, I’ve never had any. And it just makes things a lot harder, you know? You can’t just pay for your problems to disappear.’ Suddenly she gasps, claps a hand over her mouth. ‘God, that was such a dumb thing to say. I’m sure you’d much rather have your parents back.’

  I try to ignore the stab of pain in my chest.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mary. That was so heartless of me. You must think I’m such a bitch, and after you’ve been so nice to me. I’m so sorry.’

  A horrible feeling comes over me, one I shouldn’t be having, but I can’t help it. It feels like she wanted to hurt me.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I say.

  ‘No, I mean it, Mary. I would never want to upset you. Ever.’ Rachel’s eyes are wide with worry. She reaches across the table and clasps both my hands. ‘It’s just … I just feel comfortable with you. I forget myself, sometimes. Since we met, it’s like I already know you, we have so much in common … Our birthdays, the Melbourne thing, our parents … I knew we’d be friends. I said that when we met, didn’t I?’

  I shake off the bad feeling. Rachel’s been through a lot and she’s had a bit to drink. She said something thoughtless; it didn’t mean anything. ‘It’s fine, Rachel. I understand. Don’t worry about it, honestly.’

  ‘Really?’ She squeezes my hands. Her fingers are cold but the look she is giving me is warm.

  ‘Really,’ I tell her, squeezing back.

  She looks so relieved that I smile.

  ‘I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m no stranger to drama.’ She gives a husky chuckle. ‘You’ve done so much for me already and … well. You’d say if you were in any kind of trouble. Wouldn’t you …?’

  Despite my previous misgivings, I’m struck by the sudden urge to tell her everything. I can taste the words, feel the salve of sympathy. It would be such a relief to share the load …

  Without warning, Mark’s face flashes in my mind.

  ‘Mary?’ Rachel’s voice suddenly sounds like she’s speaking underwater.

  You can’t hide from me forever.

  The fear creeps in and I shut my eyes, seal my lips.

  Watch your back.

  Chapter Nineteen

  5th December 2016

  I dreamed that I was standing on the edge of a cliff at dawn, the grey sea rolling below, the cool morning breeze swirling around my bare ankles. There was someone standing close behind me and I had nowhere to run. They were going to push me. I don’t know who they were or how I knew, but death was imminent. They’d push me unless I could tell them what really happened That Night. If I didn’t remember, I’d die.

  I woke in a cold sweat to find my bedroom door open and the air in my room as cold as a refrigerator. It took a while before I could adjust to reality, to accept that I was safe in bed and not about to jump to my death.

  But the fear stayed. Because the fear is f
ounded.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve struggled with my memory. I tell myself it’s the booze, and it is – I’m not trying to kid myself it has nothing to do with my little habit. But I’m sure there are things I used to know – not just recent events, but memories from a long time ago – that are missing. Things I know are in there but I can’t quite reach them anymore.

  Today, I saw a family playing by the water. A blonde mother in a sixties-style polka-dot one-piece with a red ribbon in her hair. The father was hoisting his daughter up in the air as she squealed with delight, then throwing her into the water. He did this over and over until somewhere along the line she wasn’t squealing with delight anymore. She was screaming in fear.

  Her screams and the sound of the crashing waves triggered a sudden reaction inside me – the feeling of nostalgia, of this having happened before, was so strong it hit me like a wave, so hard I stopped in my tracks. I watched them with my heart pumping, as if anticipating something. But the girl calmed down and they played on happily and I was left wondering why I felt like something was missing.

  Even as a child I was known for being forgetful. I was intimately familiar with the unsettling feeling of déjà vu: that tingle of awareness, the feeling of having been somewhere, done something before, as if there’s another version of you walking around and you’ve somehow crossed paths. The sense of things happening just outside of your reach, beyond your control.

  When I remember my parents, it’s in brief flashes, often in vivid colour, always accompanied by a kick in the guts. There’s this one memory I keep having of Mum where our eyes meet and we say a word – ‘nonsense’ – at the same time, then exclaim ‘Jinx!’ and fall about laughing. I remember this with perfect clarity. Or what passes for clarity as far as memories go. God only knows why this particular moment remains a fixture in the grey matter taking up space in my skull. Why do certain moments stick with us while others fade? Is it just nerves, neurons and synapses doing their thing, or is there more to it than that?

  Humans are so unreliable, so flawed. Even our memories can’t be trusted. Because everything we see is through a lens of our own bias. Two people could look at the same thing and see it in two completely different ways. Like the way Mark saw himself as the victim, me as the abuser. The way we remember things is already twisted by our biased brains. No wonder Sergeant Moore thinks I’m full of it. He’s probably an expert on dodgy testimony.

  I used to believe that there’s more to us than just a mash-up of flesh, organs and chemicals, that we’re more than just bio-robots programmed by our genes and experiences. But I just don’t buy it anymore. And if our brains are just computers storing and sorting input, making and severing connections, there must be a way to recover lost files.

  I wake from dreams sometimes and I know something terrible happened, but I can’t remember a thing. Only the last image lingers in my mind: my father’s face, with his mouth open and eyes wide. I can’t tell if he’s frightened or angry.

  There are gaps in my memories of the weeks surrounding my parents’ disappearance. I don’t remember finding out about it, or how I reacted. Apparently, I just didn’t speak for weeks. Doctor Sarah thinks that’s significant. That maybe there’s something from that time I’d rather forget and have blocked out. Well, of course I’d rather forget such a traumatic event in my life. Who wouldn’t?

  But there are places in my mind I don’t dare to tread for fear of what I might find there. Sometimes I think of my mind as a forest. It is full of dark places. Memories like fireflies dancing, teasing. If I’m feeling reckless, I chase them. Once or twice I’ve been close to catching them and I almost, almost remember. But they disappear, back to a place I know, but has faded. It’s like I’ve forgotten the path there. Like I’ve trained myself not to remember, have crept into my mind with a pair of scissors and snipped the connections. And all I’m left with is blank spaces and a deep fear in my bones.

  But seeing that family today … it makes me wonder. Makes me feel like I’m supposed to remember something.

  I just don’t know what.

  Chapter Twenty

  I wake in fright. My mind grasps at fragments of a nightmare, but they slip from memory, irretrievable. There’s a square patch of sunlight on the duvet cover next to where I’m lying, still fully clothed. The quality of light tells me it’s afternoon and the quilted material is warm when I run my hand over it.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but the crick in my neck and the phone clutched tight in my hand tell me I haven’t moved all night. There’s an unread text from Rachel.

  Thanks for last night. It meant a lot to me. :) R x

  Layers of sound filter into my awareness; the gentle roar of the sea, the murmur of voices. The voices are coming from behind my bedroom door.

  I sit up with a groan, lifting a hand to my throbbing head. I feel dehydrated. Raw. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and head out to the living room. As I lift my hand to the door, I hear Cat’s voice.

  ‘Seriously. I’m warning you.’

  Silence follows. Who’s she talking to? I know that tone. She doesn’t sound angry, not exactly. It’s as she phrased it; a warning.

  I push the door open to see Cat and Rachel standing by the couch, facing each other. The television is on mute in the background, an overly enthusiastic woman with coiffed hair and bright lipstick talks animatedly as she cradles a hot-pink bottle of laundry detergent. Cat’s back is to me, but Rachel looks visibly upset. Her eyes meet mine and widen a fraction.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I say.

  Cat’s head whips around. She does an odd little sidestep when she sees me.

  ‘I thought you were out.’ She looks at her watch and frowns. ‘It’s nearly three. Were you sleeping?’

  ‘Yeah, I just … had a nap. Are you guys okay?’

  Rachel holds my gaze, as though she’s trying to communicate something.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,’ Cat says. She smiles. ‘We were just talking about what we should order for dinner. Tonight’s takeaway night, right Rach?’

  ‘I have errands to run. I’ll be back soon,’ Rachel mutters, her eyes downcast as she crosses the living room. She looks at me as she passes but I can’t read her expression.

  ‘Seriously, what’s going on?’ I say once Rachel’s gone.

  Cat releases a puff of air. ‘Oh God, it’s nothing. Just rent stuff. Not something for you to worry about.’ She goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of wine, pours two glasses and gulps from one.

  I pick up a glass. ‘Hey, I live here too. If it’s about rent …’

  Cat swallows and blinks a few times as if trying to clear her mind. I notice she has dark rings under her eyes. The roots of her hair have grown out longer than usual.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I use a softer tone. ‘Is Alex giving you shit?’ Alex is the latest contestant in the disastrous dating show that is Cat’s life.

  Cat leans against the counter. ‘No, but I think I’m pretty much through with him this time.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Cat rolls her eyes. ‘Don’t be. It was a long time coming and we all know it.’

  I don’t know what to say. I didn’t really ‘know it’, as she says, and it makes me realise how long it’s been since we’ve had a proper chat, or commiserated over a long, boozy lunch like we used to.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  She gives me a weak smile and I’m reminded that Cat rarely shows her true feelings. Could she be hiding more than she’s letting on?

  ‘I’m fine, really. It’s not that. Look, Rachel’s already behind with rent, okay? I’m pretty pissed off about it. We got someone in because we needed it covered. She’s working, right? Shouldn’t she be good for it?’

  ‘She’s only just started this new job. She’s …’ I lower my voice, even though Rachel’s gone, ‘… a little short on money at the moment.’

  ‘Yeah, well,
I figured that.’ Cat rubs her eyes, then looks at me, hard. ‘Look, just be careful, M. I’m not saying she’s a bad person or anything. It’s just … maybe we were a little hasty having a stranger move in. Maybe we should have waited until someone we know, a friend of a friend or something, was looking. With what you’ve been through, we should’ve been more careful. You don’t need any more crazy in your life.’

  My mind flashes to Rachel on her knees in the bedroom. The look on her face. The dark marks on her body.

  ‘She’s going through some stuff,’ I say, surprised by how defensive I sound. ‘She confided in me, after Gia said those nasty things about her. Maybe it’ll take her some time to get back on her feet, but I think we should give her a chance. I can cover her rent if …’

  Cat looks at me sharply. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No. You know I … I mean, I could if I wanted to. I have the means.’

  Cat closes her eyes briefly. ‘Mary. That’s not your job. You barely know her.’

  ‘I know, but …’

  ‘You’ve done this before …’ Cat mutters.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look. Don’t you think maybe it’s time you booked in with Doctor Chang?’

  I gape at my friend. Where did that come from?

  ‘Sorry,’ Cat mumbles. ‘I didn’t mean to say it like that. It’s just, you know the arrangement. And you know your aunt. She’ll be giving me hell if I don’t look after you.’

  I take a long swallow of wine. ‘I’ve been getting better,’ I say and Cat’s expression softens.

  ‘I know, M. And I’m proud of you. But …’

  ‘I know, I know. It’s on my list. I’ll do it soon,’ I tell her, wondering if I’m telling the truth. The thought of hour-long sessions in those airless rooms makes me feel bone-weary and anxious at the same time. ‘I still think we should give Rachel a chance. Come on. You’ve given me plenty of chances, haven’t you?’

  Cat sighs. She almost looks sad. ‘That’s different.’

  ‘Well, Rachel’s been through some things too.’

  ‘What things?’