‘Are you still going to dye your hair black?’ I ask as I spark a cigarette. I splutter on the exhale; I still haven’t got the hang of it.
Cat sighs audibly, looking cross, but she doesn’t comment on my actions. ‘Thinking about it,’ she grumbles.
‘You should. You’d look badass. You should do it before Megan’s birthday. Can you believe she’ll be legal before us? You know she got held back at school when she was in Year Six. That’s why she’s turning sixteen this year.’
Cat doesn’t say anything.
We’re silent for a while as I smoke, coughing on every second drag. I’m not sure why I’m doing this. I know Mum wouldn’t be thrilled, but she couldn’t say much because I’ve caught her having a sneaky fag now and again. With Dad, I can never be sure what he’ll be cool with. Part of me wonders if I do these things because my parents don’t give me many rules, and I wish, in a way, that I had some way to rebel.
Cat doesn’t seem to share that desire.
‘Are you still planning on doing it with Ethan?’
‘What? Oh.’ I wrinkle my nose. Ethan Yeats, the boy I’m supposedly dating. Only I haven’t really seen him in three weeks and on the rare occasion he actually texts me, it’s with a dick pic. I have no intention of sleeping with him. I’m not sure I want to sleep with anyone. The idea of sex just seems so … aggressive.
Still, I don’t want to lose face, so I shrug and say, ‘Sure, I guess.’
I take a gulp from the stolen bottle of last year’s Riesling – a good year, Dad says – and blow a plume of smoke between the vines so my parents don’t see it.
‘You should be careful. Use … you know. Use, uh … protection.’
I smirk. ‘You really do take my parents too seriously,’ I say. I put on a sing-song voice, echoing my mother’s words as we left the house earlier. ‘Look after my girl, Cath-er-ine!’
‘Shut up,’ Cat snaps, her mouth pursed like she’s tasted something sour. And I’m reminded of how shirty she’s been lately, how nothing I do seems to impress her anymore. I wonder what’s bothering her. Whether it’s me.
I sip and smoke and stare down the path between the grapevines that stretch endlessly into the distance.
‘Give me that.’ Cat snatches the bottle from my hand and for a second I think she isn’t going to let me have it back. But then she looks at it funny, squares her shoulders. She presses the mouth of the bottle to her lips, hesitates only briefly before tipping her head back and taking a long swallow.
The sun has nearly set. Cat and I lie on the freshly mown grass in the back paddock, staring up at the clouds. We’re not being careful anymore. Not bothering to hide. We finished the wine and lost the bottle somewhere on the way back to the house, then decided it was a good idea to lie down and catch the last of the amber rays of sun. I can feel the warmth on my face, see the shadows lengthen and loom around us, the temperature drop to tolerable.
Mum’s singing in the tasting parlour, loudly and off-key, and Cat and I loll our heads to the side so we’re face to face, our noses almost touching, and dissolve into giggles.
At last she stops, or maybe she’s gone to the other side of the house, who knows. Now all we hear is the evening breeze whispering through the vine leaves.
‘I love it here,’ Cat says to the sky. ‘You’re so lucky, you know.’
‘You always say that,’ I say, annoyed. It makes me feel guilty when she says it, like it’s my fault or something. Like I chose my parents on purpose.
‘I’d never get away with this at home. Never ever ever. Your parents are so cool.’ Cat’s voice is wistful. She’s drawing invisible circles in the sky with her index fingers, her collection of silver rings glinting in the fading light.
I don’t say anything. She doesn’t know that sometimes my parents fight. That having 24/7 access to wine isn’t always the best – or safest – thing. It makes me realise I don’t tell Cat everything. Does that mean there are things Cat keeps from me, too?
‘It’s always kind of been about you, hasn’t it?’ Cat’s voice interrupts, and my thoughts trickle away like spilled wine.
‘What?’
I feel Cat’s hand clasp mine, and even though it’s hot and sticky, I don’t pull away. ‘I mean, more you than me.’
‘What?’ I repeat, and giggle, partly because the grass is tickling the back of my neck, partly because it’s hard to follow what’s going on. My thoughts are murky, like muddy water.
‘I don’t mind usually,’ she says in a whisper, like it’s a secret. Her breath tickles my ear and it kind of feels nice. I lean closer. She smells of coconut. She always smells of coconut. ‘You’re more interesting than I am, anyway. But sometimes …’ She doesn’t finish her sentence and the words hang, unspoken, in the air.
‘You’re interesting, too,’ I say, partly to break the silence but also because that’s the nicest thing I can think of to say.
‘I’m not.’
‘You are!’
‘I’m not.’
‘Okay, you’re not.’ I laugh, but it comes out as more of a snort.
Cat doesn’t respond. I feel bad, but I don’t know what else to say. And I think for a second. Is she right? Is it about me all the time? Do I let her have a say? It’s hard when she’s always so interested, always asking questions. Hard when she doesn’t talk about herself much. And I forget to ask, I suppose. Or maybe because she doesn’t like to say, I’ve stopped pressing her.
My eyes suddenly feel gritty and I rub them with the heels of my palms. Am I missing something? Is there something Cat’s trying to tell me? The thoughts slide over each other, slippery like eels, and I can’t grasp them, so I let them slither away into oblivion.
The sky darkens as the sun drops behind the hill. A shadow moves in my peripheral vision.
My father stands by the house, in the shade of the veranda. He’s watching us. He knows we’re here, but he doesn’t call us in. Doesn’t tell us off. He just stands there. And it makes me realise … I grasp at another thought, but it wriggles away. He does that a lot. Doesn’t he?
Through the haze in my mind, the darkness that’s falling, I can’t tell whether it’s Cat he’s watching, or me.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I’ve emerged from a booze-free sleep feeling stronger, more on top of things. My plan is brewing, evolving, and when it’s fully formed I’m going to speak to Rachel. She’ll believe me, and she’ll want to help. I know it. Then I’ll show Mark. Show Cat. I’ll show them I’m not the girl I used to be.
The houseboat bobs in its usual place, unseeing eyes staring out as I jog past. I avoid looking at it, increasing my pace as I near the northern end of the beach. There are fewer people here and the shore widens and rises in low dunes. To my left there’s a nature reserve, dense with fir trees, linking the foreshore to the mountain. Beyond it is a sandy crest, rising above the sea.
I don’t usually come this far. I was thinking of taking the track that runs through the reserve, but when I stop and stare into those trees, my heart leaps into my throat. Something primal inside me is transmitting a message – Turn back. You don’t want to go in there.
An image flashes in my mind – running, tripping, crashing through trees. A voice, snarling. Get up, you stupid bitch.
My body goes cold. I can hear the words so clearly. Is it real? Am I imagining it?
Get up, you stupid bitch.
My pocket vibrates and I nearly jump out of my skin. Breathing deep, I snatch up my phone. There are two messages.
Don’t forget that doco on at 8.30 on SBS tonight. And congrats on your appt. w/ Dr Chang next wk! So proud of u. C x
I shove down a flash of anger, check the next message.
MARY, MEET WITH ME. PLEASE.
Please. It’s ridiculous, but I get a thrill. Begging now, are we? I feel that surge of power again. I had it all wrong before. Yes, I had reason to be afraid. I still do. But what I didn’t realise is that Mark’s scared too. I know what he did. And tha
t gives me power. I feel the balance shifting, raising me up. Crushing him down.
And then it comes to me. That’s it, the final piece in the puzzle, the plan emerging, fully-fledged, ready to take flight.
I get a shiver. It’s dangerous. Exciting. I’ve got reason to drink tonight. It’s a celebration. A victory.
‘All I Want for Christmas’ whines out from the tinny overhead speakers and Christmas baubles gleam in the low lights. We’re in one of the older local pubs – what passes for old in Sydney anyway – and even though it’s Monday, it’s packed to the rafters. The rowdy patrons at The Alice are in holiday mode, flushed with cheer and house-made cider.
It’s too crowded and noisy, so once we’ve bought drinks I steer Rachel outside. There’s a beer garden out the back, crammed with smokers, candles flickering on the low brick walls beneath a veil of smoke. A path veers off to one side, so we slip down there where it’s quieter.
‘How’s your head?’ I ask.
‘Better. I’ve taken off the bandage now, and the stitches were dissolvable.’
‘Good.’ I try to smile. ‘Good, I’m glad.’
‘What is it you wanted to talk to me about?’ Rachel says.
I close my eyes, and open them again when I feel Rachel’s hand on my arm.
‘It’s okay. I know it’s hard,’ she adds. ‘That’s why I’ve waited so long.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You had to be ready.’ Rachel’s eyes are dark pools. She’s so close, I can smell the wine on her breath. ‘Who is it? Who is it that hurt you, Mary?’
I breathe slowly. Rachel’s not like Cat, I tell myself. She’ll understand. She’ll believe me.
‘You can tell me,’ Rachel whispers, stroking my arm. ‘Nothing you can say will shock me, I promise you. Here …’ She lifts the wine bottle from the cooler and tops up my glass. Her smile is encouraging. ‘Dutch courage.’
My temples throb, though I’ve barely had anything to drink. ‘My ex,’ I say, before I can lose my nerve. ‘He’s like yours.’
There’s a pause and then Rachel nods, once, as if she was expecting it. Her eyes are on my face. ‘Oh, Mary.’
‘So I know you understand. You’ve asked if I was in any kind of trouble.’ I swallow. ‘Well, I am.’
Rachel leans in, her hazel eyes glittering gold in the light coming from the beer garden. ‘What kind of trouble?’
I take a long pull from my wine glass and set it on the wall beside me. ‘Mark. My ex. He … he killed someone.’
Rachel gasps.
‘And now he’s after me.’
Rachel presses two fingers to her lips, her eyes round and fixed on mine. ‘You’re sure about this?’
‘You have to believe me, Rachel. No one else does. Not even the police. But I know what he is, and I know what he’s capable of. He has … aliases. No one knows the real him because he’s an expert at hiding, at protecting himself. And he’s done this, I know it.’ There’s a frisson running through me. As the words tumble out, I feel lighter. The way I did when I first met Rachel.
Rachel’s face is close to mine. There’s a hardness in her eyes that wasn’t there before, and something else. Something fierce. ‘I believe you, Mary.’ She takes my hands in hers and squeezes, hard. ‘I had a feeling it was something like this. Something big. It must have been so terrible, keeping it to yourself.’
I choke against an unexpected sob. ‘The police don’t believe me, Cat doesn’t believe me, so I thought you might not either. I didn’t know who to trust.’
Rachel strokes my palm with her thumbs. ‘They don’t know you,’ she says. ‘They don’t understand you like I do. They can never understand. I’ve seen what’s out there.’ She pulls my hand to her chest, presses it to her heart. ‘Of course I believe you.’
A tear slips down my cheek. ‘You don’t know what that means to me.’
‘Yes, I do. Because you did the same for me.’ She smiles. ‘God. You must be so scared.’
‘I was. I am. But not for long. I have a plan.’
Rachel leans in, a strange intensity in her eyes. Somewhere in the distance an ambulance siren wails. ‘Tell me,’ she whispers.
I don’t know if I feel sick or high or both. ‘He’s been texting. Making threats, saying he’s coming to get me. I ignored him, thought I could go to the cops and they’d do something. But they didn’t.’ I take a breath. ‘They won’t. So it’s up to me.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to take care of him myself.’
‘You mean … kill him?’
I’m thrown for a second. Kill Mark? The thought is so ludicrous I almost laugh. But then I see it. Mark’s face, distorted with fear. Smashing his skull in with a bat, over and over.
‘No, no. Of course not,’ I say quickly, looking over my shoulder. ‘I was thinking I could meet with him, get him to confess to what he did. I could bring my phone, have it recording in my pocket or something. I used to do that sometimes, only he’d always find it later and erase the evidence. But he won’t do that this time. We’ll be somewhere public …’
‘It’s dangerous.’ Rachel’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, as if she’s scared. Or excited. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ I exhale, relieved. ‘We have to work out the details, but I think we can do it. If I get a confession, the police will have to listen to me.’
Rachel’s nodding, her eyes gleaming in the low light. ‘Yes. Yes, they’ll have to, won’t they?’
‘I’ll send him a text then. Arrange somewhere to meet tomorrow.’
We don’t speak for a minute, thinking ahead to what must be done. The merry sounds of music and laughter seem to come from a different world. A world of normalcy, friends and laughter, a world I’m not a part of.
But I will be. Soon.
‘You’d better drink up, then,’ Rachel says, raising her glass. She smiles, teeth glinting in the low light. ‘Big day tomorrow.’
I lift my glass to meet hers. The glasses clink like the chime of a bell, sealing our fate.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
‘Lick.’
My tongue follows the curve from my thumb knuckle up to the base of my forefinger. My senses are heightened, my breath hot against my skin. I watch as Rachel does the same. Her pink tongue darts out and runs along her wrist, leaving a wet strip behind. There’s something mesmerising, even seductive, about the action.
I shake my head; my mind is slipping. I can’t let it, I need to think clearly. I need just enough for courage, not to cloud my judgement. I need to hit that sweet spot.
‘Sip.’
I throw back the cool liquid, wince as it burns its way down my throat and pools in my stomach. Rachel’s eyes hold mine as she takes her shot.
‘Suck.’
I mirror her movements as she presses the lemon wedge between her full lips and sucks, a single tear trickling down her cheek. I’m nowhere near as collected; I cough, splutter and make a grab for the iced water.
Feeling like I’m in a trance, I stare at Rachel as she stares at me. A slow smile spreads across her face.
‘So?’ she says.
‘So.’
‘What do we have?’
I show her the blank screen, the cursor still flashing, willing me to type something.
Rachel reaches for my phone. ‘May I?’
I hand it to her and she stares at the screen for a moment before tapping at it with her fingernail, her head tilted to one side.
She licks her lips, shoots me a coy smile. ‘Gimme a sec.’ She salts her wrist again, licks it, and downs the second of our two-for-one tequila shots. Without so much as a grimace, she drains the lemon wedge of its juice and places it on the table.
I leave my second shot where it is. I need my wits about me.
Rachel’s focus has narrowed; she taps the screen in silence for thirty seconds or so. Then she smiles and bra
ndishes the phone in front of my face.
‘Wait, I can’t see.’ I take the phone, start to read.
OK, I’ll meet you. See you at the lookout spot at the southern end of Halo Beach at four o’clock tomorrow. Xx
My heart skips a beat. ‘Kisses?’
‘Trust me, it’s perfect.’
‘It’s short.’
‘It’s to the point.’
I bite my lip. ‘Do you think he’ll come?’
Rachel’s eyes glitter. ‘Of course he will. He’s desperate, Mary. Remember, you have the power here.’
A shiver moves through me, like an electrical current. Maybe I’ll have that drink after all, I think, eyeing the shot glass. Rachel’s right. For the first time, the power is mine.
Rachel places a hand over mine. ‘You’re ready for this?’
I think of the look in Mark’s eyes when he spat in my face.
Making me ride in the back seat of the car like a dog.
Washing the blood – Tom’s blood – from my body, alone and terrified.
I think of his mind games, his threats.
I think of what he has done, what he will do again.
‘I’m ready.’ My thumb hovers over the phone. ‘No. Wait.’
Rachel looks alarmed. ‘What? Why?’
I smile, take her hand in mine. I bring it close, so her thumb is next to mine. ‘Together.’
Rachel smiles back, warm and bright.
And, together, we hit SEND.
Chapter Forty
There’s a man outside my window. He’s whispering to me, whispering my name. The wind is whispering too – telling me secrets, things I’m supposed to understand, to remember, but I don’t.
Something isn’t right. I’m afraid, but there’s something else. A wrongness, buried deep. That unpleasant tingle, like when a spider crawls over your skin. I want to run, to escape the feeling, but my legs won’t move. I’m paralysed.
He’s not outside anymore. He’s in the doorway, his bulk filling it, blocking the light from the hall. This man is not a stranger. I know him. I crave him. I fear him.
The New Girl Page 17
