Soul Beach (8 page)

‘Sit down,’ says Triti, making space for me on the steps. ‘Megan’s so pleased that you’ve shown up, finally. She was starting to think you’d never reply to
her messages.’

‘Completely understandable, though,’ says Danny. ‘Don’t feel bad, Alice. I tried to contact my little brother the same way but I never heard from him.’

‘There was never any point in me trying to contact my brother,’ says Triti. ‘He never liked me when I was alive.’

I look at Javier. He shrugs. ‘Only child.’

I nod. It figures. ‘So, is it only sisters and brothers that are allowed to come?’

‘Well, there’s no handbook when you arrive, but I asked around,’ says Danny.

‘One way of passing the long lazy days,’ says Javier.

‘I think it can be anyone you have a strong bond with, who also happens to be young,’ Danny explains, ‘otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed onto the Beach.’

‘We do not want to see wrinkles or anything that
sags
,’ says Javier.

‘Ignore him,’ Danny says. ‘We all do. Seriously, though, the bond seems to be stronger with blood relatives. People have tried to contact friends, but none have shown up so we
don’t know whether it ever works.’

Something else occurs to me. ‘I haven’t seen any laptops here.’

My sister smiles. ‘It’s a bit more basic than that.’ She nods back towards the beach, where a couple of girls are standing by the water. One is holding a bottle, the other is
trying to scribble something onto a piece of paper that flutters in the breeze. She folds up the paper, kisses it once, and then takes the bottle from her friend. The note goes inside, then the
cork, and after another kiss, she tosses the bottle into the water. It bobs about for a while, before a wave sweeps it away. The girl stares at the sea long after the bottle disappears.

‘Messages in bottles?’ I ask.

And then I remember how Meggie’s hand-writing looked so odd in that final email.
Almost as though the ink had run.

‘The Management’s idea of a joke,’ says Javier.

Danny ignores him. ‘Mostly we never hear anything. Maybe they get lost in the oceanic post. More likely our loved ones can’t believe the messages are real. But occasionally a bottle
washes back up with a reply.’

‘Like yours did,’ Meggie explains.

‘We think it has to do with the depth of the connection between the Guest and the person they’re trying to contact. The deeper it goes, the more chance there is of them washing up
here.’

‘Yeah, such a deep connection that most Visitors leave Soul Beach after a week, maybe two,’ Javier says flatly.

‘Javier, don’t,’ says my sister.

He shrugs. ‘Better she knows, huh?’

‘Why do they leave?’ I ask.

They all look awkward now. Triti frowns. ‘Maybe they’re banned by the site for breaking the rules. Or for making a Guest unhappy. That happens sometimes.’

‘Yeah, or maybe the bond isn’t as deep as they thought. Maybe they don’t have anything in common any more. It must be hard to take, seeing us living in paradise, while they
have to deal with all the boring responsibilities of the real world,’ Javier suggests. ‘And, anyway, we are not very entertaining to watch. All we do is screw, swim and sit around
talking crap.’

‘Speak for yourself, Javier,’ Meggie says. ‘You’re a grumpy sod.’

Javier stands up. ‘Maybe I need more sleep .’ And he laughs drily, then walks off towards the sea.

‘Why was that funny?’

‘We don’t need sleep at all,’ Danny says. ‘Sure, the sun rises and sets, and then most of us do lie on the beach or in a hut when it’s dark, but that’s more
out of habit, we don’t need to. We never get tired. People have tried running for hours, until their body drops, but the brain, no. It never switches off completely. So we can’t blame
tiredness for our moods.’

‘What’s his excuse then?’ I ask.

Triti frowns. ‘You’ll learn.’

Meggie shakes her head. ‘Lighten up, Triti. Right now, I’m feeling pretty bloody ecstatic because my sister’s arrived and I’ve missed her like hell. This place does feel
pretty much like paradise with her here, so please be nice.’

‘Sorry, I’m
always
nice usually,’ says Triti with an apologetic smile. ‘Nice is my middle name. Bye, Alice. See you around, I hope.’ She shuffles away, her
earrings tinkling as she walks. From the back she looks thinner, more like a long, lean shadow than a person, but then that’s not surprising after what my sister said about no one bothering
to eat.

Danny stands up. ‘Guess you guys might like to be alone. Nice to meet you, Alice. I’ll have a word with Javier. Make sure he remembers his manners next time. We’re normally
great to be around, I promise.’

He looks at me with those green eyes and that longing again. I try not to return the look, but it’s too late. I feel like I’m falling through thin air, with nothing and no one to
catch me.

‘Well? Do you like them?’ asks Meggie, when he’s disappeared into the crowd.

‘They’re . . . interesting,’ I say, guardedly. Actually, Javier strikes me as completely self-centred, Triti is such a blank canvas that she barely seems to exist except for
those boobs and her huge jewellery, while Danny is the only one I’d be interested in talking to. But I don’t tell Meggie that because I know my sister will take even the tiniest hint
that I think Danny’s nice as a sign that I fancy him
to death –
no pun intended – and tease me for ever. Like she did with Tim.

Tim
. I shiver. I’d forgotten all about what’s happening in the real world. How did that happen?

‘They’re cool when you know them,’ Meggie says. ‘Maybe you didn’t see them at their best. It can be tough. We’re like a family . . . a huge, really
dysfunctional family. But we’re all we’ve got.’ She whispers. ‘How
are
Mum and Dad?’

I bet they’re still bickering downstairs, but I decide it would be wrong to tell her that, or to tell her why, much as I’d love to share the burden. I figure she has enough burdens
of her own. ‘They’re . . . fine. Well, not fine exactly. Not after everything that’s happened, but they’re coping in their own ways.’

She gives me an odd look. I never could get away with lying to my sister, but she doesn’t challenge me. Instead she folds her hands together, almost like she’s praying.

‘You won’t leave, will you, Florrie? You won’t lose interest in me. Not like other people’s Visitors have?’

I smile, because already I cannot imagine ever wanting to leave the Beach, or her. ‘No. Besides, you’re the most entertaining person I know. We’ll always have things to talk
about. There’s . . . love. And music.’ I pause as I realise that I’ll only ever be able to talk about music that dates from before her death. ‘And theatre and books and . .
. well, loads of other stuff.’

She laughs, for just too long for it to be genuine. ‘Eternity lasts a bloody long time, Florrie. We’re going to need a lot of small talk.’

I can’t think how to reply.

She smiles. ‘You look tired again. Maybe you should go; I don’t want you failing your exams on my account. But come back tomorrow. Tell me about school and telly and, I don’t
know, the clothes you’ve bought and the university you want to go to, and . . . I almost forgot. Tell me about the garden.’

‘The garden? As in, our
back
garden? When you’ve got this to look at?’ I wave at the beautiful beach.

‘You haven’t noticed, have you? Listen.’

I listen. I hear the waves and the chatter, like before. ‘What am I supposed to be hearing, Meggie?’

‘Nothing. That’s the point. Apart from the fake waves and the fake trees, there’s nothing here but us. Not another breathing thing. No fish, no insects and no birds. It’s
like whoever designed it ran out of time.’

‘That’s it.
That’s
why it feels so weird.’ Suddenly this beautiful place seems a little darker.

She nods and I realise she looks close to tears. ‘Oh, Florrie,’ she says very quietly. ‘I never realised I’d miss the screech of bloody seagulls quite this
much.’

There’s nothing I can say. I look at her face, trying to memorise every detail in case this is the last time. The more I learn about the place, the more I worry that I can’t count on
anything on Soul Beach.

‘I’m so sorry, Meggie. I wish there was something I could do to make it better.’

‘You make it better just by being here, Florrie. Believe me.’

I nod. ‘Thanks for saying that. It means a lot to me.’

‘Sleep tight, mind the bugs don’t bite,’ she says, and I click on the Log Out button before she sees me crying.

But then, before she disappears, I notice
her
eyes. Her irises are super-blue, but the whites aren’t white any more. They’re a violent blood-red. Then that redness spreads
like a blush across her face, as though she’s drowning in blood. It’s so horrifying that I have to close my eyes.

When I open them, the beach is fading away and I realise I am sweating and shaking. I fight to remember my beautiful sister, but, when I shut my eyes again, all I can picture is a Meggie with
crimson skin, gasping for breath.

The press are outside our door tonight. Dad waits until he thinks there’s a full house – local reporters, that guy from the
Sun
who lives round the corner,
two cameramen who’ve been here so often I bet they’ve saved our address as ‘home’ on their sat nav – then he walks out and stands in front of the double garage, the
same spot where he’s given his mini press conferences before.

‘I appreciate you have your jobs to do, but as usual we won’t be making any form of statement apart from to say that, obviously, we appreciate the kind messages we continue to
receive, and we all long for any development that will help solve the mystery of our beloved daughter’s death. Any further queries will be handled by the police press office. I’d
appreciate it if you’d consider leaving all of us in peace, especially our daughter, Alice. Thank you.’

He ignores the shouted questions about how we feel and whether we think Tim’s guilty, as he comes back into the house. I’m in the kitchen making a sandwich. Mum’s at Group. I
bet she’ll be top of the bill tonight.

‘How are you, Alice?’ Dad says, pouring himself a very large glass of wine. ‘Would you like one?’

He doesn’t usually offer. I’d been planning a late night trip to Soul Beach, but he looks like he needs some company. ‘OK.’

My father pours a lot less wine into my glass, and we sit down in the dining room, because the living room has a huge window and we have an unspoken understanding that it would be bad for the
reporters to see us drinking together.
Underage Booze Shame of Tragic Songbird’s Sister
is a headline we could probably do without.

‘It’s been a while since we talked properly,’ Dad says.

‘Hmm.’

‘This business with Tim. I just don’t see him as a violent boy. I know your mother says we never know what people are capable of, but it seems to me that the police are clutching at
straws.’

‘Right.’ What does he expect me to say?

‘You don’t think he killed Megan do you?’

I shake my head. ‘No. It makes no sense that he’d kill the person he loved. And I never did fancy him, whatever Mum says.’

Of course, he was attractive – Meggie would never go out with someone ugly. He had pale grey eyes and brown hair that always looked messy and glowed like embers in the sun. Oh, and a
permanent five o’clock shadow – not because he was a poseur but because he had too much on his mind to remember to shave every day. But there was never anything flirtatious about my
friendship with Tim. We liked each other, no more, no less.

Dad smiles. ‘Your mum says silly things. She’s . . . vulnerable.’

‘And I’m not?’

He smiles. ‘
Touché
. I’m sorry, Alice. You’re falling through the cracks at the moment, and that’s not fair. We’ll make it up to you. Things will
settle down . . .’

‘No they won’t.’

Dad rests his hands on his knees, which means he’s about to impart some gem. He must do this with his clients when they’re buying a house.
Weighing up all the information, I feel
it would be prudent to look into the shared boundary issue . . .

‘Alice, I don’t have much faith in the average PC Plod, but the detectives on Megan’s case seem bright and they really want to solve this. One day soon, it will be over and we
can focus on the good memories of your sister.’

‘You’re crazy if you think that’ll be the end of it.’

His right hand twitches on his knee but he doesn’t say anything. He nods, so I carry on.

‘In Year Ten we did a Media Studies project on press intrusion. There was a family with a murdered daughter, not even famous like Meggie was, and the press never left them alone. The trial
and the retrial and then the anniversaries. One year on. Five years. Ten years. Journos chasing them for comments whenever some other kid got killed. It’ll be the same for us, and
there’s nothing we can do about it.’

He takes a sip of wine. His face is colourless, as weary as my grandfather’s. Dad hasn’t had a proper night’s sleep since Meggie died. He feels he should have been there, to
look after her. Sometimes I hear the creak on the stair at two a.m., when he realises he’s not going to get another wink and goes down to watch Sky Sports with the sound off. He doesn’t
even
like
sport.

‘Doesn’t that make you angry, Dad?’

He sighs. ‘What makes me angry is that I used to have two beautiful daughters, and now I have one. What makes me angry is that someone thought they had the right to snuff Megan out. The
press,’ he waves in the direction of the gathering outside, ‘they’re an irritant but maybe they keep up the pressure to find out who did this. I can forgive them an awful lot for
that.’

I take a sip of the wine, not because I want to, but because it seems the right thing to do. I wish I could tell him that Meggie is all right. Well, not all right, but not alone either.

But I know this is
my
secret. These are my two worlds, as important as each other, but I am the one who must choose what Dad and Mum and Meggie can know, and what is best kept from
them.