I don’t know, though. With Rachel it’s like the other way around. In everyday life she’s this carefree, confident girl – or at least, that’s what I thought when I first met her – but when she’s asleep, unprotected by her conscious mind … it’s like she’s still the little girl all those bad things happened to. In her head, something is happening and she’s reacting to it. Reliving the pain over and over.
Mark used to tell me I talked in my sleep. I’d shout things, but they never made any sense, it was all just gibberish. I don’t know if he was telling the truth because I could never remember anything. Although there was one time I do recall, during a sleepover when I was about ten. I woke up to find the other girls huddled together, whispering. When I asked what they were doing, they giggled and said I was crying in my sleep, talking to my ‘daddy’. I was so embarrassed I never slept over at Caitlin Stevens’ house again.
Rachel said she never remembers anything after she’s been sleepwalking. So I wondered whether she could be the one who took the shoes – mistakenly, of course – while having an episode. Who knows what goes through her head when she’s like that? But I checked her room and zilch. Nada. They’re definitely not in there, unless there’s a secret trapdoor hidden somewhere.
The most likely scenario is that I’ve simply misplaced them. The nights when I’ll wake up at two a.m., still wearing my clothes and my shoes, face down in the middle of my bed with no memory of how I got there. Yeah – it’s possible I’ve done something while dead drunk. I’m the one who knew exactly where they were, anyway. Who else would make a beeline for the shoes, touching nothing else? Whoever took them knew where to find them. But if it was me who moved them, why aren’t they anywhere in my room?
Without those shoes, I have nothing. No evidence, no proof, no names … except for one.
My only other lead in connecting Mark to what happened That Night is this Sophie girl that Mark was supposedly involved with, but what am I supposed to do without her last name? If I were still living with Mark, I could go through his phone, look for a contact with that name. I temporarily unblocked him on Facebook and searched through his friends list (he only has a few, he’s never on there – too good at covering his tracks) but no joy.
All I know, if Bruce is telling the truth, is that this girl is – or was – involved with Mark. She’s young, blonde, and she was there with Mark that night at the party around the time he went missing. Therefore, it’s likely she saw something.
I’m running out of time, my only piece of evidence is missing, and I have no leads.
Sophie.
Sophie.
Sophie.
Sophie.
Run, Sophie.
I’m interrupted by a knock at the door, but the sound fades behind the whooshing in my ears.
‘Run, Sophie!’
Images flash in the forefront of my mind: Mark’s face, twisted with rage. A crumpled body, face down on the ground. Looking down at my stomach. Blood.
‘Don’t fight me,’ a man’s voice – Mark? – hands on my body. Pain.
‘Run, Sophie!’ A girl, her voice high-pitched, hysterical.
Another knock at the door startles me from my trance.
‘Mary! Are you in there?’ The door opens and Ben steps through, his face drawn and pale.
‘What is it?’ I say, my heart pounding.
Ben’s eyes are haunted. ‘It’s Rachel. There’s been an accident.’
Chapter Thirty-Three
The sky erupts the second we get out of the car and we run across the car park, shielding our faces. Ben and I are soaked by the time we reach the front desk where a stout, solemn-faced woman with wiry grey curls greets us. ‘Can I help you?’
Ben has been unusually quiet throughout the car trip, so I step forward and say, ‘We’re here to see Rachel Cummings. She’s a patient here.’
‘Visiting hours finished at eight-thirty.’
I glance at my phone. ‘But it’s only just before nine. Please, we’re her friends. She’s in Emergency.’
‘Emergency?’ The woman shakes her head. ‘Sorry, family only.’
‘But she doesn’t have any family,’ I say, unexpected tears springing to my eyes. ‘Can’t you let us see her?’
The woman hesitates and Ben slants me a curious look. Then, sighing, the woman says, ‘Down the hall to your left. The fellows over there might let you in if you’re lucky.’
I release the breath I’ve been holding. ‘Thank you.’
Ben and I walk at a fast pace, our footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.
‘She was unconscious when they put her in the ambulance,’ Ben murmurs. ‘You might want to prepare yourself.’
I shiver and Ben slips an arm around my waist.
‘Why didn’t you go with her?’
Ben shrugs. ‘They said I could ride with them or come separately. I wanted to find you first. I’ve sent Cat a text but she hasn’t replied.’
We reach Emergency and, in contrast to the eerie silence of the hallway, there’s a flurry of activity. People in white coats scurry in and out of the electronic doors, lights flash and there’s the constant, low murmur of voices. The sharp, astringent scent of disinfectant fills my nostrils.
We reach a desk where a lady with long, silvery-blonde hair hovers. ‘We’re here to see Rachel Cummings.’
‘Okay then.’ The lady taps at her keyboard, a large solitaire diamond ring flashing on her left hand. ‘They’ve moved her to ward two.’
My heart lifts. ‘Does that mean she’s okay?’
The woman smiles, revealing a gap between her top teeth. ‘It’s certainly a good sign. Are you family?’
‘Yes,’ Ben asserts, before I can say otherwise. ‘Where can we find her?’
The lady looks at her watch. She hesitates, then leans forward, lowering her voice. ‘In the north wing, room thirty-four. You’ll have to make your way to the other side of the hospital, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s fine,’ Ben says, flashing a smile. ‘Thank you.’
The noise and commotion of Emergency behind us, we find the north wing and make our way through the deserted corridors. It feels like a different hospital here; some of the fluorescent lights are out and one is flickering, casting shadows on the bare, white walls. We pass a solitary desk manned by a bored-looking nurse who simply nods at us as we pass. We spot the sign for rooms twenty-five to forty and follow the hall until we find thirty-four.
I hesitate in the doorway.
‘It’s okay.’ Ben places a hand on my back. ‘I’m sure she’s fine.’
There’s no one around, so we step inside. It’s dark, save for the flickering light from the television on the wall, and contains nothing but a tired-looking armchair and two single beds side by side. One is empty, and Rachel is in the other. She’s on her back with her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her chest like she’s praying. Rain teems outside the window.
‘Maybe she’s asleep,’ I whisper.
‘Rachel?’ Ben calls softly.
Rachel doesn’t stir.
‘She looks okay, don’t you think?’
‘I can’t tell,’ I say. ‘Where did you say she hit her head?’
Ben taps the base of his skull. ‘On the back, here. When the car hit her, she just kind of flew to one side and then fell backwards onto the pavement. I heard the crack when she hit her head.’ He closes his eyes briefly. ‘It happened right outside our building. They must have cleaned the blood off her. The back of her head was covered in it.’
Goosebumps rise on my arms and I rub them, feeling cold despite the humidity.
‘It happened in slow motion, just like they always say. I could see it coming – saw the car heading straight for her. It was like I knew what was going to happen but I couldn’t move fast enough to stop it. By the time I yelled out, she’d already been hit. Then the fucker just drove off. I didn’t think fast enough to even catch his number plate.’ Ben sighs and shakes his head. ‘I feel like such a dickh
ead.’
‘What?’ I say, incredulous. ‘Ben, it’s not your fault. Like you said, it happened before you could react.’
‘Yeah.’ Ben sounds doubtful. ‘The thing is, Mary …’ Ben’s eyes, lit bright in the light from the hallway, find mine. ‘It kind of looked like the car was aiming for her.’
The temperature in the room seems to drop. ‘What?’ I whisper, hugging my arms to my chest.
There’s a rattle and a squeak from the hallway and I glance over Ben’s shoulder to see a silver trolley being wheeled by a tiny, dark-haired woman in a blue uniform. She disappears around a corner, and when I look back, Ben’s staring at something behind me.
‘What is it?’ I feel the back of my neck prickle.
‘Someone was staring at us.’
‘What?’ I look over my shoulder, but the corridor is deserted.
‘There was someone there, in one of the doorways.’
‘It’s probably just a patient,’ I say, but I move closer to Ben.
‘Yeah. This whole accident business has got me paranoid.’ Ben’s brief laughter is unconvincing. He strokes my arm, slips his hand into mine and squeezes. ‘I wonder when she’ll wake up? Maybe we should just go.’
We turn at the same time to see Rachel sitting upright, two eyes gleaming in the dark.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Rachel!’ I drop Ben’s hand and clap mine across my chest. ‘You’re awake.’
Rachel nods slowly.
‘How are you feeling?’ Ben asks, stepping further into the room.
I follow him and stand by Rachel’s bed. I can see her better here; her cheekbones look hollow and there’s a streak of dark blood through her light hair.
Rachel looks from Ben to me as if trying to figure something out. I wonder if she saw us holding hands. She already knows he was in my room the other night. ‘I’m okay,’ she says, voice hoarse as if from disuse. ‘Just a bump on the head. I’m a bit groggy from the meds, though.’
‘I saw what happened,’ Ben tells her. ‘I’m so sorry. If I’d been faster—’
‘It was so strange,’ Rachel interrupts, staring into the middle distance. ‘One second I was crossing the road, the next I woke up in hospital.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ben says again. ‘I should have come with you, been there when you woke up. I didn’t think it would take so long to get here.’
Rachel raises her right hand. It’s only then I see it’s connected to a tube that runs to some sort of machine with blinking lights. I can just make out the outline of the tattoo on her wrist. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she says. ‘It’s no one’s fault. Except maybe the arsehole who hit me.’ She laughs but it’s more of a wheeze. ‘The doctors say I’m really lucky. The blood made it look worse than it was. I just needed a couple of stitches. They think I’ve escaped concussion, but they’re keeping me in overnight as a precaution.’
Relief swells inside me. ‘Thank God. We were so worried. We came straight here, but traffic was crazy and then this lady was saying that we might not even be able to see you … She was all “family only”, but then …’ I stop, biting my lip.
Rachel’s expression is solemn; she looks so unlike herself. ‘Thanks for coming,’ she says to me, then turns to Ben. ‘Both of you.’
‘Of course,’ I say, smiling at Ben. ‘Ben lied so we could get in to see you.’ I turn back to Rachel, but she’s staring at the wall. ‘Are you okay?’
Rachel blinks. ‘Yeah. Just really tired.’ She lifts her head, winces, and rests it back on the pillow. ‘My head feels fuzzy. Probably the painkillers.’
‘Yeah, they’ll knock you around,’ Ben says. ‘You should get some rest.’
‘Yeah,’ Rachel sighs and her eyes slip shut. ‘You guys go home, I’m just going to be sleeping anyway.’
‘Are you sure?’
Rachel keeps her eyes closed. ‘I’ll be fine by tomorrow, I’m sure. I’ll see you guys then.’
I hesitate, darting a glance at Ben.
‘Do you have your phone?’ he asks Rachel.
Rachel nods towards the chair, clothes draped over the arm. ‘In my jeans pocket.’
‘Call one of us when you need me to come pick you up, okay? If you run out of battery, I’m sure they’ll let you use the phone here.’
‘Thanks, Ben,’ Rachel whispers. She looks at me, then at him and her lips turn upwards a fraction. ‘You’re a good guy.’ Her eyes slip shut again.
‘We’ll leave you to it.’ Ben reaches out to squeeze Rachel’s arm. ‘See you very soon. Rest up.’
As we’re leaving, Rachel calls out, ‘Mary?’
I turn back and see a glimmer of something in her eyes, something I didn’t expect. Desperation. ‘What is it? Are you okay?’
‘Let’s talk. When I’m out. Okay?’
I watch her closely, wondering what’s made her so afraid. ‘Of course.’
We say our goodbyes and I look over my shoulder one last time before leaving the room. Wrapped up in her white gown, so small even in the tiny bed, Rachel looks like a child.
I shiver as Ben and I step into the empty corridor again. It’s creepy with no one around. The north wing has the air of a ghost town.
When we get home, it feels like we’ve been gone for days. It’s pitch-black and we go about flicking on lights, turning on the TV for some background chatter. It’s as if neither of us wants there to be silence.
My phone buzzes and I check it. ‘Cat’s not back until tomorrow,’ I tell Ben. I feel a pang in my stomach. Cat and I haven’t spoken since our fight the other morning. ‘She left her phone at work and she’s texting from her friend’s phone to say she’s been drinking, so she’ll crash there. That means she doesn’t know what’s happened.’
‘Leave it ’til tomorrow, then. No point worrying her now. Rachel’s okay, anyway.’
‘Yeah.’ I smile. ‘That’s thoughtful of you.’
Ben’s watching me, something like hope in his eyes.
Feeling nervous, I pull at a loose thread on my T-shirt. ‘I’m not really hungry. Are you?’
Ben shrugs. ‘Not really. I could use a drink, though.’
I try to disguise my relief. ‘Yeah, me too. After all that.’ I grab us a bottle of Merlot and two glasses, and Ben sits down on the couch, patting the seat beside him. He stretches one arm out, like he’s about to give a one-armed hug. I smile and sit, leaning in, and he wraps his arm around me. It feels natural, safe.
We sip our drinks and Ben strokes my hair gently as we watch an old episode of The Simpsons. It’s safe viewing, comforting. An ad for pizza delivery comes on the TV and my stomach grumbles. ‘Ooh, pizza! Let’s get some.’
Ben laughs. ‘Guess you were hungry after all.’
‘Guess so.’
Ben’s eyes twinkle as he looks at me. ‘Mary, Mary, quite contrary.’
A surge of adrenalin makes me flinch.
‘Mary?’
I shut my eyes, pushing away the bad thoughts.
‘Hey. What’s wrong? Come here.’ Ben pulls me against him, kisses the top of my head. ‘You looked like you thought I was going to hit you.’
I don’t say anything. Silence yawns between us for a minute and then Ben’s arm tightens around me. His voice is soft when he speaks. ‘You know, that offer to talk … or, well, listen. It doesn’t expire.’
I lift my head and find Ben watching me uncertainly. He’s so kind, so good. It makes something ache inside me.
‘I don’t want to talk,’ I say.
Ben swallows. ‘Okay.’
I raise my knees and twist sideways so I’m kneeling on the couch. Leaning in, I touch my lips to Ben’s. His mouth is soft and tastes of wine. I pull back and he leans closer, cupping my face, kissing me in a way that makes my eyes sting with tears.
The pizza forgotten, we undress each other and make love right there on the couch, his heart thudding against mine, his breath hot in my ear.
Outside the window, the rain picks up, beating against the p
avement, drowning out the sound of the ocean.
Chapter Thirty-Five
12th December 2016
Rachel’s back home. I picked her up today and now she’s in her room, resting. She was right, they only needed to keep her overnight and she seems fine now, except for having to wear this plaster thingy on the back of her head. And there’s the stitches, but they’ll come out in a week.
I wonder what she wanted to talk to me about, what had her so worked up. I guess I’ll find out when she’s recovered. I keep thinking how frightened she must have been when she woke up in hospital. It’s terrifying what can happen in a split second. Lives can be irrevocably changed, or taken away. Nothing is permanent. No one is safe. And I’m no exception.
I don’t know what to do anymore. I’m at my wits’ end. I’m not sleeping, I can hardly eat. I’m on my second wine and its only lunchtime.
The shoes haven’t shown up and I have no leads on Sophie. The cops won’t listen to me and I can’t prove Mark’s threatening me. What use are they, if they’re powerless to help someone in danger? What use are they if they won’t look into testimony from an eye witness? I mean what’s the fucking point of them?
Some might think it’s surprising that they haven’t found out what happened to Tom yet. But I don’t. I dredged up some articles on the case and they were rife with reports about police incompetence, justice not being done for Tom. But then people just stopped talking about it. Like that Zak’s manager guy Bruce said, they found juicier things to sink their teeth into. Tom was just some druggo from a poor family, not a missing toddler or a beauty queen murdered in a crime of passion. No one cares. Not least his family, who, according to media coverage, weren’t even at the funeral.
It’s not the first time the police have failed me. I haven’t written about this yet because, unless I have to, I prefer not to think about it. When Mum and Dad disappeared, it was big news. I don’t think it was so much to do with the fact that they were minor celebrities in the mid-nineties – their wines outsold all the major national names and were highly sought-after overseas – but more to do with the fact that everyone wanted to know what was going to happen to Sylvia and Alan’s poor, devastated daughter. Everyone wanted a piece of the story, to burrow their way into somebody else’s drama.
The New Girl Page 15
