The New Girl

by Ingrid Alexandra

  He’d have proposed to you. Ha, did you know that? I don’t think you did. I don’t think you have any idea that was coming. He’d have proposed and, if you said no, he’d have blackmailed you into it. Use that night Tom was murdered to threaten you, hold it over your head so you’d give in. And you know it’s not because he loves you. I’m not saying it to hurt you, because you know it already. You’ve got something else that matters much more to him than that. Thank fuck you figured it out in time. Just.

  That night when he let his guard slip? That’s when the light bulb went off. That’s when I knew what he was. And what I needed to do.

  That – amongst other reasons – is why I can’t let him find you. Not until I’ve done what needs to be done, anyway. Not until I’ve figured out a plan. I can’t let you find out about us, or about that night, that way – and he’d use that, say I tricked him into it all somehow. That I was to blame for everything. I’ll have to go back to the apartment to get those shoes because you can’t find them. If you do, and you take them to the cops, you’ll find out everything else. And it’s too soon for that.

  I will tell you everything. But the time has to be right. You deserve a second chance at life, and I’ll make sure you get it. Make sure those fucking enablers in your life stop letting you live a lie. Forget fucking Cat. You need me. You need me to show you the truth, and be there for you when you finally understand.

  There’s a smudge at the bottom of the page – a signature of some kind? – that looks like a snake. Or a letter.

  ‘S’

  The front door slams and I jump, the notebook falling to the floor.

  ‘Fuck!’ I run to the window and try the latch but it’s rusted shut. I scan the room frantically for a weapon, but it’s as bare as a prison cell.

  Footsteps sound in the hallway seconds before Rachel bursts through the door. She smiles, holding up a bag. ‘You’re up! I got candles as there’s no power here. Oh, and some wine …’

  I back up towards the window until my back is flush against it.

  Rachel frowns. ‘What’s wrong?’ She looks down to where her belongings are scattered on the floor. ‘Oh.’

  I scan her face, trying to read her expression, but it’s like I’m looking at a complete stranger. Suddenly everything flickers like a television screen with bad reception. I blink, shake my head. The colours are leaking from reality and it feels like I’m underwater.

  I sink to my knees, cradling my head in my hands. What’s happening? The world’s gone black and white and fuzzy around the edges, I can feel the darkness beckoning.

  I’m on my back now, I’m not sure how. I feel no pain, only the pull of unconsciousness as Rachel stands over me, looking down with a peculiar smile.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  ‘Are you awake?’

  I rub my eyes and turn towards the sound of the voice.

  ‘Mary?’ Male laughter, warm lips on my forehead, my cheek. ‘Wake up, sleepyhead.’

  I yawn and blink as my eyes adjust to the light. Ben’s face comes into focus; he’s smiling down at me, frail morning sunlight framing his messy hair like a halo.

  I feel a rush of warmth in my chest. And then, just as quickly, I go cold all over. I sit up in bed, my eyes darting around the room. My room, back in the apartment. How can that be?

  ‘Where’s Rachel?’

  Ben eyes me curiously. ‘I don’t know. Does she work on Fridays?’

  ‘No, it’s just that we …’ The words die on my lips as it hits me. We never met with Mark. Never went to the cabin. Rachel isn’t some deranged killer.

  It was all a dream.

  I fall back against the pillows, relief bursting out of me in a bark of laughter.

  Ben looks down at me with a bemused expression. He lifts a strand of hair that’s fallen across my face and tugs it. ‘What’s so funny?’

  I shake my head, basking in the wonderful feeling of relief. I’m going to tell Rachel it’s a stupid idea to meet with Mark, that I’ll just keep trying the cops. That’s the smart thing to do, isn’t it?

  ‘Mary?’

  I giggle. ‘Sorry. It’s … Oh, never mind.’

  Ben chuckles as he shakes his head. ‘You’re a funny one.’

  ‘Oh, hey. Do you want to try that new pub by the water?’

  Ben’s face lights up. ‘I was going to suggest that!’ He throws back the covers and hops out of bed like an exuberant child, already tugging his shorts on over his boxers.

  I watch the muscles in his back working as he pulls on his T-shirt. He has a tattoo on his shoulder I haven’t noticed before. Some kind of Celtic symbol, hard to see from here. It looks familiar, though. I narrow my eyes. Didn’t Mark have a tattoo like that?

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Ben is saying. ‘Get up, you stupid bitch.’

  My skin goes cold. ‘What did you say?’

  When Ben turns around, Tom Forrester’s face is staring down at me. ‘I said, Get up, you stupid bitch.’

  Light sears my corneas when I open my eyes. I scream.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Rachel says, her face coming into focus. She’s kneeling over me with a torch in her hand, her brow knitted. Golden hair hangs over her shoulder in a gossamer curtain. She turns off the torch, clicks her tongue. ‘You must have had a reaction to the meds. Are you not supposed to mix them? I’m sorry about that. Your pupils are fine now, though. What are you on again?’

  I try my voice but it comes out as a gurgle.

  ‘Sorry, what was that?’

  ‘You … drugged me?’ My head is clouded, my brain heavy. ‘Again?’

  Rachel looks hurt. ‘I never drugged you. Honestly, Mary, what do you think of me?’

  I don’t know what to think. It’s a struggle to sit up, but I manage. ‘How long have I been out?’

  ‘Nearly twenty-four hours.’

  I jolt. ‘Fuck.’

  ‘You must be hungry. Are you hungry, Mary?’

  My stomach rumbles, but it’s nausea I feel. ‘No.’

  ‘You should eat something. I’ve made …’

  ‘No!’

  Rachel looks shocked, then her face hardens. ‘I’m sorry, okay? This hasn’t been easy on me either. I didn’t want … I honestly didn’t know you’d be out for so long. I only wanted you to relax, so I could explain …’

  ‘Relax?’ My voice is shrill. Adrenalin fires through my weakened body. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  Rachel glares. ‘This was the only way. I’ve only done this for your sake. You have to trust me.’

  My eyes wander to the photos and newspaper clippings littering the floor. ‘Trust you?’

  ‘I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for you. I think deep down you know that,’ Rachel says quietly.

  I stare at her, trying to make sense of her face. Trying to reconcile this strange person with the girl I thought I knew. ‘Cat will be wondering where I am. So will Ben.’

  Rachel shakes her head. ‘No. They won’t. I texted them from your phone saying we were going away for a few days. You know, to get some headspace. Cat didn’t think it was a great idea, but that’s probably because she’s not my biggest fan, is she?’

  When I don’t respond, Rachel frowns and sighs.

  ‘I suppose you’re thinking she was right about me now.’

  Dear, dependable Cat. She tried to warn me. Why didn’t I listen? What have I done? I run a hand over my thigh, feel the shape of the alarm through the denim. I squeeze my eyes shut and press, hard. Please let this work. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ I say. ‘I mean, what the fuck? What the fuck, Rachel?!’

  ‘Calm down,’ Rachel holds up her hands. She smiles as though everything is fine. As though I’m the one who’s crazy. ‘You’ve had a shock. It’s understandable. If you let me explain …’

  ‘Explain? Explain what? I trusted you. I thought you were trying to help me!’

  ‘I am trying to help you,’ she snaps. ‘I’m trying to protect you.’

  I gape at her and she glar
es back.

  Then she takes a deep breath and smiles. ‘I can explain, from the beginning – I promise. It will all make sense then. Can you at least let me do that?’

  I shake my head, almost laugh. What choice do I have? ‘Sure,’ I croak. ‘Sure, why not?’ I curl my fingers around my alarm. The cops will be here soon. Let her tell her sob story. It will be the last lie she ever tells me.

  I’m foggy-headed and a bit unsteady on my feet, but I follow Rachel into the kitchen and sit on one of the stools by the island. Though it’s still light enough outside to see, the sun will be setting soon. Rachel lights a candle, opens a bottle of wine and fills our plastic cups to the brim. I shake my head at the insanity of it all. I’m about to drink wine with a killer.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Mary. You can relax, okay?’

  Words evade me. I nod, though I don’t believe her. I’ve seen what she’s capable of.

  ‘Okay,’ Rachel gives me a secretive smile, as if this is a girls’ weekend and we’re playing truth or dare. ‘Good.’

  ‘Why am I here?’ I ask. ‘What does it have to do with the night of Tom’s murder? I saw the articles. What do you know about it?’ I have a feeling I already know.

  Rachel doesn’t say anything for a moment, but then she asks, ‘What do you remember, Mary?’

  I scoff. ‘Why don’t you tell me what you remember?’

  Rachel looks around, gestures to the balcony. ‘What do you remember about what happened here?’

  I close my eyes against an unwanted memory. My father’s eyes wide with fear. The screaming. The splash.

  ‘Mary?’

  ‘I remember what happened,’ I say, my voice barely a whisper. ‘I remember what my father …’ My voice breaks on the word. ‘I know what he did. What Mum did to him because of it.’

  Rachel exhales as if she’s been holding her breath. ‘That’s good.’

  I eye her sharply.

  ‘Not good, exactly. Of course it’s not good. But it’s progress.’

  I narrow my eyes. ‘Why does any of this even matter to you?’ I ask. ‘Why do I matter? Just help me understand that much, at least.’

  Rachel brings her cup to her lips, takes a long pull.

  This ought to be good.

  ‘I guess it first started at school,’ she says eventually. She’s quiet for a moment, staring thoughtfully through the glass doors. ‘You were different to the others, especially to me. You had everything. You know that, don’t you? I mean, you literally had everything.’ She laughs without humour.

  I watch her, one hand on my pocket.

  ‘It wasn’t just that, it was other stuff too. Who you are. Or who you were. Before, I mean,’ she sighs, twisting a strand of hair around her finger. ‘Everyone liked you. You didn’t even have to try. It wasn’t just because of your parents, all that money and fame and shit, although that’s what I wanted to believe then. It was more than that. At school, you didn’t give a fuck what anyone thought. You always had some smart-arse comeback. You were funny, smart, pretty … All the guys thought you were so hot.’

  Her words conjure a vague memory of that version of me; the one I lost to grief and abuse. The one I wanted to be again. Is that really how people saw me?

  ‘They never even noticed me. Neither did you, of course. You don’t remember me, do you?’ she asks.

  I avoid her piercing gaze, thinking of the grainy picture of the girl with untidy hair and an awkward smile. It’s hard to believe they’re the same person. ‘No,’ I admit.

  Rachel’s laughter is short and sharp. ‘Nobody noticed the girl who cut her own hair, wore second-hand uniforms and couldn’t afford a mobile phone. I only got into that school because they felt sorry for me – did you know that? Did you know they have a scholarship programme for kids like me?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Well, they do. My foster parents … Marnie and Steve.’ She spits the name. Her eyes glitter. ‘They couldn’t afford shit. Don’t know why you’d take on a kid if you couldn’t afford it, if you didn’t give a fuck what happened to them.’ There’s a bubble of spit in the corner of her mouth. She wipes it away.

  ‘I wanted to be like you. I wanted what you had. I wanted to be you.’ She gulps her wine and sniffs. ‘I took it too far. I know that. Don’t think I don’t know it, that I haven’t realised. I have. And I’m making up for it, I swear.’

  I clutch the cup that’s growing warm in my hand.

  ‘It was such a strange feeling; it was like I loved you and hated you at the same time, you know?’ She looks at me as though she expects me to understand, and looks away when I don’t respond. I see it now, how broken she is, like an injured bird. Yet it’s hard to believe, even now, that she’s capable of killing.

  ‘I used to sit behind you in registration. My name came right after yours … Baker, Cummings.’ She smiles wistfully. ‘You always had this curl of hair on the back of your neck when your hair was in a ponytail. Right here …’ She reaches out and I jerk away from her hand.

  She gets this lost, hurt look. Then her expression darkens. ‘Do you remember getting suspended from school? I thought that was so cool when I was fifteen. Some girl called you a slut and you let her have it. Wasn’t the first time, either. They said you had anger issues. Sent you to the counsellor. Remember that?’ She snorts. ‘But then you started ditching school, not showing up for classes. I wondered where you were. I worried. After I found out what happened to you, what your dad did …’

  I flinch.

  ‘They were just rumours, but I knew they were true. I’d know the signs, wouldn’t I? I wasn’t jealous then. Not after that. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t picked up on it before … hadn’t realised how similar we were. I’d thought you were so perfect, but I was wrong. And suddenly, I understood. I’ve always had it in me, too. The anger. It never goes away. I started to realise we weren’t so different after all, that we had a lot in common. All your confidence, that bravado – it was just an act. And that made me love you more.’

  She smiles at me, a strange, wistful smile.

  ‘The Mark thing just happened – I didn’t plan it. I want you to know that. I would never, ever hurt you on purpose. I was looking out for you. I watched you sometimes – not in a sick way, not in the shower or anything. I just wanted to check what you were up to, make sure you were okay. When all that stuff happened with your parents …’ She trails off, inhales sharply through her teeth.

  I close my eyes against a thrust of pain.

  ‘That was so fucked up, and it changed you. You changed.’ She looks at me, hard. ‘That was when I started to worry about you. I was planning to bump into you somewhere, start chatting over a drink, try to get to know you. I knew we’d understand each other. I thought I could help.

  ‘It was totally by accident that I ran into Mark when he wasn’t with you. It was at that underground bar in Fitzroy you guys used to go to. I knew you were seeing him, I think it was around the time you guys were moving to the coast. I asked about you, said I knew you. It was nice to hear him talking about you. I liked it. I could believe we were really friends.’

  A clap of thunder sounds in the distance as the last of the sun’s rays disappear over the horizon. The candle blows out and the room grows darker.

  ‘I didn’t mean to do it, Mary. But when I had the chance … when I let myself imagine it was me he wanted, over you … over you of all people!’ She laughs. ‘I felt like I’d made it. I had what you had. I had your boyfriend.’

  Chapter Forty-Six

  ‘What then?’ I say. ‘What about that night? You were there, weren’t you?’

  ‘I was with Mark that night, yes. But not because I wanted to be with him. I didn’t. I shouldn’t have let it get that far – it was stupid, selfish. I’m ashamed of it.’

  She relights the candle and I watch as the jaunty light dances over her face. ‘But I know now it happened for a reason. It gave me the chance to get closer to you, to understand what he put you thr
ough. See, that night I had a plan. I knew you were going to be at the party and I was going to take the opportunity to talk to you, to convince you to leave him.’ Her eyes narrow and she snatches a cigarette from the crumpled soft pack on the island.

  ‘Mark wouldn’t leave you.’ She sticks a cigarette in her mouth and lights it. ‘I’d already tried to convince him, but he wouldn’t. I knew by then what he was doing to you. Because he was doing the same to me. The whole lot – hitting, name-calling.’ She laughs bitterly. ‘You saw the bruises.’

  Something twists in my gut.

  ‘But it’s the gaslighting that fucks with you most, isn’t it? When they make you think you’re crazy, convincing you it’s all you when it’s them all along!’ She explodes into peals of laughter that reverberate off the walls.

  ‘He’s like a dog with a bone when he wants something, isn’t he? He won’t let up. And he wanted you. I couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let you get sucked back in.’ She drags long and hard on her cigarette, blows a pale rope of smoke towards the ceiling.

  ‘It wasn’t that hard to track you down. I got your details from the school records and called Aunty Anne – she’s lovely, isn’t she? Clueless, but lovely. I gave a fake name, said I knew you from school. Don’t be angry with her, Mary – she didn’t tell me anything. She’s so protective of you. You’re lucky to have her. Anyway, she wouldn’t tell me where you lived, of course, but she let slip that you’d gone to Sydney. When I stalked you and Cat on Facebook, I saw Cat’s post about signing the lease. You couldn’t see the street number in the photo, but I recognised the area. It’s a pretty recognisable beach. You didn’t really think that through, did you?’

  She pauses for a moment, exhaling smoke thoughtfully as she runs a hand through a length of fine hair. Her fingers snare on a knot.

  ‘Cat made it easy when she posted about wanting a roommate. I’m surprised Mark didn’t find you himself. Cat blocked him on Facebook, I’m guessing, and she’s smart enough not to have given away any details online. But she wasn’t careful enough. She doesn’t understand, does she? Doesn’t give people like him enough credit for being the scum they are. She tried to get me to stay away from you. Me! As if I was the one who was the problem and not her! As if you’re not allowed to be friends with anyone else! You know why I feel that way about her now, don’t you? She doesn’t get you, Mary. She just. Doesn’t. Get you.’