Hi Everyone,
Today is my stop on the Blog Tour for The New Girl by Ingrid Alexandra where I have an extract from her novel. I was thrilled to be asked by Sabah Khan from Avon Books to take part along with some other fab book bloggers. You can find out who else is taking part in this fabulous Blog Tour at the end of this extract so without further ado, here it is:
As I approach the entry doors to the apartment block, a pungent, spicy scent invades my nostrils. It’s probably coming from the sixth-floor apartment with the balcony
directly above ours. The couple who live there are always cooking something exotic, in between screaming at each other and having noisy sex. But there’s something not
quite right about this smell. It’s as though something has started to rot.
Holding a hand to my nose, I reach for the letter box to find it unlocked, the flap hanging from its hinges. Letters are scattered on the slate tiles below, one with a filmy, brown
stain on the corner. Slick-skinned and weary from my walk, I’m thinking only of a cold shower, and it isn’t until I’ve gathered the mail, shut and locked the flap and taken the
lift to the fifth floor that I stop to think.
Why was the letter box unlocked? Cat and I never unlock it; it seems strange anyone bothered to open it in the first place seeing as the envelopes usually protrude from the slot.
A scruffy beige suitcase with a hole in the seam greets me as I enter the apartment. It sags sadly against the white hallway wall like a stain. Rachel arrived at seven-thirty
this morning, deposited her belongings, and immediately rushed off to work. She didn’t bring much, as the room came furnished. So, all day today, the few items comprising
Rachel Cummings’ worldly possessions have lain where they fell, awaiting her return.
Flicking on the kettle and glancing at the clock ( fi ve-oh-six!), I change my mind. Just a glass or two to end the day, I tell myself as I open the fridge, take out a bottle and slosh the remains of last night’s Pinot Grigio into a wine glass. There’s plenty more in the bar fridge in the laundry room, I’m sure. Leftovers from the party.
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