The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller by Shalini Boland Page A

his spare set. I think I might have to get those keys back off him. I get the feeling it won’t be easy.
    ‘Hi, Piers!’ I call up the stairs, my voice shaky. I could cry – I’m all talked out. I don’t have the energy to tell him about my day. I just want to be on my own. Can I ask him to leave? No, probably not. I’m going to have to play the sweet girlfriend. It’s not his fault I turned into someone else. I take a deep breath and begin to climb the staircase. His face appears, peering down at me from the top floor.
    ‘Thank God you’re back,’ he says.
    ‘Why? What’s happened?’ I jog up to the top and kiss him on the cheek. He pulls me into a hug and then pulls back, staring at my face intently.
    ‘Are you okay?’ he says. ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been going out of my mind with worry, Mia. You need to get yourself another phone so you can let me know where you are.’
    ‘Why? What’s the matter?’
    ‘ What’s the matter?’ he repeats. ‘You just vanished. I came over this afternoon and you weren’t here. No note. Nothing. You didn’t call me to let me know where you were. Are you okay?’
    ‘I’m fine,’ I say, feeling a twinge of guilt. I guess I should have let him know where I was. He is supposed to be my boyfriend, and he doesn’t have my new mobile number yet.
    ‘Honestly,’ he says, ‘I was just about to call the police and all the hospitals. I had visions of you wandering around lost with no memory of anything. Where were you, anyway?’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know you’d be worried. I thought you’d be working.’
    ‘You really do need to get a phone, Mia.’
    ‘It’s okay, I got one yesterday.’
    ‘And you didn’t think to give me the number? Or give me a call to let me know you were alright?’ His worry is turning to anger. I’m trying to keep my temper under control, too. I’m not in the mood to deal with this right now.
    ‘I need a shower,’ I say. ‘Give me ten minutes? And then we’ll talk.’
    ‘Do what you want, Mia. I’m going home.’
    God, I’ve really pissed him off. My anger subsides. Even though I would rather he left, I realise I don’t want him to go off in a mood. ‘Hang on, Piers. Look, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking straight. Please don’t go. Don’t be mad at me.’
    He scowls, but at least he makes no move to leave. ‘I wanted us to spend the afternoon together,’ he says. ‘I made us a picnic.’
    Now I really do feel like a bitch. He was trying to do something nice for me and I didn’t spare him a second’s thought. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I mean it. I’m sorry. Look, come and sit down. Let’s have a drink.’ I take his hand and lead him over to the kitchen where he sits down on a bar stool and pulls me up close to him, his arms around my waist. I guess my quiet evening will have to wait while I try to make it up to him. ‘How about I make us dinner this evening?’ I say.
    ‘Really?’ He raises an eyebrow and looks doubtful.
    ‘What’s that look for? I’m sure I can rustle something up?’
    ‘Cooking isn’t really your strong point, babe,’ he says with a reluctant smile.
    ‘Cheeky.’
    ‘Go ahead, then,’ he says. ‘I’m prepared to be proved wrong.’
    ‘Let me just have a quick wash and get changed,’ I say, ‘and I’ll be right back.’ I try to disentangle myself from his embrace, but he pulls me back.
    ‘You still haven’t told me where you’ve been.’
    ‘Pour me a glass of wine and I’ll tell you all about it in a minute,’ I reply.
    He lets me go and I throw him a smile as I leave the room and head back downstairs to my room. It’s sweltering in here, so I throw open the door to the balcony. Evening noises and aromas filter in. The sounds of someone cooking – pots and pans clanking, taps turning on and off, someone somewhere playing a Motown track. I strip off my clothes, dump them in the linen basket and walk into the en suite. Then, I step into the shower,