The Girl from the Sea: A gripping psychological thriller by Shalini Boland Read Free Book Online

out here this morning, allowing its natural wave to come through. In the photos Piers showed me, my hair was immaculate – dead straight, styled to within an inch of its life with hair products and straighteners. A reminder of the person I used to be versus the person I seem to be now.
    I chew my granola and gaze out at the river, trying to let my mind rest for a while. To stop forcing it to try and remember.
    Half an hour later, I make my way back inside, the cooler air a relief on my heated skin. My doctor’s appointment is at 10.15 this morning, and I don’t want to be late. I’m pretty sure I still know how to drive, so I’m going to be brave and attempt the journey on my own. I know I could call a cab – Piers gave me a large wad of cash until my replacement bank cards arrive – but I want to get back into the swing of things as soon as possible. Anyway, driving will help me orient myself. I need to get to know the area.
    I find a set of car keys in one of the kitchen drawers. I assume they’re the right ones, as the key fob is emblazoned with the Mini Cooper logo. I stuff some cash in a small leather shoulder bag and head downstairs, ignoring the swooping nerves in my belly.
    Satnav gets me to Bournemouth Hospital in plenty of time and without any incidents. I find a parking space without too much trouble, get a parking ticket, and make my way into the main entrance, my low-heeled sandals clicking across the tarmac. It feels like weeks since I was last here. I can’t believe it was less than twenty-four hours ago.
    I make my way to the Neurotherapy Department, give my name to the receptionist and take a seat in the waiting room. After skimming a magazine for ten minutes, I’m called into Dr Lazowski’s room.
    She gives me a smile as I enter the small consulting room. I’m taken aback again by how young she looks – not that much older than me. I guess I assumed a neurology consultant should be older. Her window is wide open, and the sound of distant traffic filters in.
    ‘Mia,’ she says. ‘Please take a seat. You look great. Much better. Sorry it’s so warm in here. I’ve opened the window but it makes no difference.’
    ‘Hi,’ I say, sitting down.
    ‘How are you feeling?’ she asks.
    ‘Okay thanks,’ I say.
    ‘Have you managed to remember anything?’
    ‘No . . . well . . . sort of.’ I flounder, still not sure how much to say.
    ‘Really? Well, that’s great news. Tell me.’ She has my notes in front of her on the desk. Her pen is poised, ready to record my words.
    ‘I don’t know if it’s a memory,’ I say. ‘It could just’ve easily been a dream. I’m not sure.’
    ‘That’s alright. Was it a clear memory, or fragments?’
    ‘Well, I woke up this morning and it came to me as a feeling, and then as images.’
    ‘Go on,’ she says.
    As I recall the dream again, my palms begin to sweat. Images of the woman flash up in my mind. ‘It was night time,’ I say, ‘and I was standing near a wooden building. I remember I felt . . . nervous.’ I decide not to tell her about the scary woman in the dream. I’m sure that she was part of a nightmare, rather than a memory, and it would sound too over-dramatic. Anyway, I don’t want to think about that woman, let alone talk about her. I shiver at the memory. The more I think about it, the more real it feels. So I push it away.
    ‘Do you recognise the building?’ Dr Lazowski asks.
    ‘No. Sorry. It’s probably just a dream, anyway.’
    ‘Mia, it’s good! You’re seeing images and you’re remembering feelings. This is progress. Whether or not it’s a dream or a memory, doesn’t necessarily matter. Before this, you hadn’t been able to tell me anything. So, I’m hopeful for you.’
    My heart lifts at her words. I hope she’s right. I hope this means my memory really is returning.
    ‘I also have the results from your MRI,’ she says. ‘I asked the radiology department to fast-track the results for me.’
    This piece of news