Soul Fire (14 page)

I take the second of the sheets. The letters are fancy, with looped js and ys and little circles over every i. This time I don’t read it out loud.

Alice, the war in my country must stop before it destroys the new generation who could build a different future. The Beach is torture, knowing my people suffer. If they know I was a pawn, it
could be stopped. And maybe I will escape too
.

‘That’s from Olivier,’ Danny says. ‘He was one of the ruling elite in his home country in North Africa. He was killed to stoke civil war. Thousands die each week, he
says. Don’t tell him I said this, but I think it’s hopeless. The UN have been there for twenty years and it’s made no difference.’

Suddenly the letter feels red hot, burning my fingers. ‘They’re all like this?’

Danny sighs. ‘After Triti disappeared, people thought it might have been a one-off. But since Gretchen left the Beach . . .’

‘I told you, that wasn’t down to me!’

He raises his eyebrows. ‘
I
know that. But they don’t believe it.’

I look away. ‘Can’t they see I’ve had no new gifts? Nothing’s changed on the Beach, either.’

Danny looks back at the Guests. ‘Maybe nothing physical. But they’re more hopeful now. They believe in you, Alice.’

I shake my head. ‘I’m no miracle worker. Nothing special.’

‘I can’t agree with that. You
are
special. And you also have what we don’t. Freedom.
Life.’

Perhaps I
should
work harder for them. Forget stupid exams and stupid parties. Dad talked about finding a purpose: maybe this is what I’m alive to do. But I already have my
sister’s death to resolve. And Javier’s. And surely Danny must be a victim of some kind of injustice, too. It’s overwhelming.

‘Where would I start, Danny? How would I choose between them?’

He takes the letters, then puts his arm round me, stroking my neck. ‘I’m sorry. This is my fault. The first girl to give me a letter promised she’d keep it a secret and I
couldn’t bring myself to say no. But nothing stays secret on the Beach and, next thing, I’m like your personal mailman.’

The pile of letters sits on the rock. The last one is written in old-fashioned writing – what’s it called? Copperplate. The shapes are beautiful but the words are ugly:
death,
war, poison
.

‘Once they started, I couldn’t accept one and refuse another. Who am I to say who deserves your help? It’d be like playing God.’

A pair of bright green parakeets skitter through the sky, resting on a palm tree. Who is playing God here? I’ve spent so many hours on the Beach since September that it’s become
normal, but every now and then I wonder: is this a hoax? Or, worse, am I imagining it all?

Dozens of Guests are watching. Waiting. Each hoping that they’ll be the one whose story moves me enough to make me take action in the real world.

‘I’ll do my best,’ I whisper, and they seem to hear me, because they drift away.

‘Try to forget them now.’ Danny turns my face back towards his. ‘No more nasty surprises. Just you and me . . .’

I’m in bed by the time my parents get back. I hear the car door slam, then raised voices.

‘ . . . it won’t help her. Or Alice.’

‘It’s the right thing to do, Glen. She’d have wanted us to
do
something, to stop other girls suffering like she did.’

There’s a metallic scrabbling as a key keeps missing the lock in the front door.

‘Come here, Bea, I’ll do it.’

Once they’re inside, they try to argue more quietly, but I still hear fragments. ‘Meggie can be a force for good . . . make a difference . . . Olav says that . . .’

‘ . . . not a conversation to have when you’re too drunk to . . . I can’t reason with you—’

‘It’s not about reason! It’s about emotion! Though I can’t expect you to understand that! Well, you won’t stop me, Glen. I’m going to follow my
heart.’

Another slammed door, then my mother’s unsteady feet on the stairs, then silence. The truce between my parents has lasted less than three weeks.

How quickly a year goes by.

I miss you so much, Meggie. Your luminous skin, your delicate hands, your fragile grip on life. I wish things could have been different. Though often I do feel you are still
with me.

In a way, because of Alice, you are.

Seventeen is such a special age. What advice would you give your baby sister? To make the most of every minute, perhaps. To be careful what you wish for. To cherish those
closest to you.

Happy anniversary, Megan London Forster. Forgive me if I haven’t given you as much thought as I should have, lately.

Distractions, you know. But tonight is full of precious memories.

Sweet dreams.

On the morning of my seventeenth birthday, I wake up
way
before four a.m.

Exactly a year ago, someone crept into Meggie’s room and stole her from us. I sneak downstairs to the laptop. I should checkin on Burning Truths. It’s gone quiet on there since the
inquest – no comments, no new posts – but surely there’ll be something new on there today. The date is bound to mean something to whoever is running the site.

Yet I can’t quite face that yet. It is my birthday, after all. So I head to the Beach first of all.

There’s a football game happening on the shore, lit by a full moon. Meggie’s playing, along with Danny and a few Guests I recognise but have never spoken to. Tim is watching her from
the sidelines.

When my sister sees me, she waves, but keeps on playing. So she must be oblivious to the date, and its significance to her and to me. Even though I knew that would probably be true, it hurts me
more than I expected.

‘Strange time to be playing, right?’

Javier’s at my side. ‘What do you mean?’

He shrugs. ‘It is very late at night for a match.’

I say nothing.

‘What is it, Alice?’

I shake my head. The rules silence me, yet again.

‘I get it. You have to be careful. But I can guess, right? It’s your sister?’

I nod.

‘It is one year ago, am I right?’

I stare at him, but his face gives nothing away in the low light from the paper lanterns.

‘How did you know?’ I ask.

‘I think I am the only person here who keeps count of each day.’

‘But Sam told me no one does. That it drives Guests mad.’

‘Sam does not know everything, even if she thinks she does. It’s good to have secrets, especially from nosy bar girls. Makes me feel I have a little . . . control. When, of course, I
have none.’

‘Right.’ Javier has always claimed to be happy here, yet why would a happy person bother to tickoff the days in paradise, like a prisoner counting down his sentence?

‘You know, Alice, it is better for Meggie that she does not remember.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘Except . . .’

He looks at me. ‘What?’

‘It’s my birthday, too.’

‘Ah! And I suppose if you tell her that . . .’

‘Then she might remember her own anniversary and I don’t want to make her feel bad.’

Javier nods. ‘You are a good person, Alice.’ He leans over and kisses me on both cheeks, which is closer than he usually gets to me: I smell alcohol. Is he drunk?
‘Felicitaciones!’

‘Thank you.’ I give his body a squeeze. ‘Have you . . . have you thought anymore? About my offer?’

‘I haven’t
stopped
thinking about it. It comforts me, when the perfection of this place makes me want to scream. But let us be realistic. You are an English schoolgirl. My
story begins and ends in another country, in a language you do not speak.’

‘I can’t promise anything, Javier, except that if you give me permission, I will try. And there are means. Ways that even a schoolgirl can make a difference. The internet, for
example—’

He laughs. ‘My father didn’t even know what the internet
was.
’

It’s the first time he’s mentioned his father. ‘Whatever you can tell me could help. About your father, too—’

‘ALICE!’ Danny calls out, abandoning the football game, and then striding towards me. ‘You’re early. What a fantastic surprise!’ He kisses me, and over his
shoulder, I see Javier slinking away. Did he ask me for help? I don’t think I got an answer.

My sister follows, as the game breaks up.

‘Hey, little sister. What a treat!’ She puts her arm round me, and for a moment I really want to tell her what day it is. But it’s not fair on her.

‘Who won the game?’ I ask.

Meggie laughs. ‘It’s not the winning, it’s the taking part. Didn’t Miss Gregory always tell you that in your hockey class?’

‘Yeah.’ Miss Gregory retired last term. For some reason I don’t want to tell her that either. Even the littlest things must make her realise the world is changing without
her.

‘You look very serious,’ she says.

‘I’m worried about Javier. How does he seem to you?’

Danny answers. ‘Still cut up over Gretchen. That’s normal, right?’

‘Do you think he wants out?’

My sister frowns. ‘Come on, Alice. Stop worrying about other people and make the most of your time here, eh? It’s paradise!’

Tim’s behind her now and she shrugs apologetically. ‘I’ll leave you two in peace, OK.’

When she’s gone, Danny looks worried. ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it, Alice? Passing on those letters put ideas in your head. But you don’t owe any of us anything. Just
enjoy being with us. With me.’

He kisses me again. For a few seconds, I pretend we are normal, that he knows what day it is, has presents for me hidden in a bamboo hut, a reservation in my favourite restaurant . . . I long
for even a few moments of ordinariness with the boy I love.

‘Alice? Is that you?’

My eyes spring open.

Dad.

I slam the laptop lid without shutting down the Beach, and as I stand up and spin round, he’s coming into the living room.

I grab my water glass and stand up. ‘Dad! You gave me a fright.’

‘So did you.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘What are you doing up so early?’

‘Couldn’t sleep. Got up to fetch a drink of water.’ I look down at my glass, and see the fluorescent blue light in my mouse is glowing in the half-light. I edge in front of it,
hoping he hasn’t seen it too.

‘I couldn’t sleep either. I’ve been doing better, lately, but what with the date. . .’ and then he realises, and comes towards me and gives me the biggest of bear hugs.
‘Happy birthday, Alice. A new year. Let’s make it your best, eh?’

My parents take me to lunch at my favourite pizza place. The weather seems to have changed overnight, so it’s warm sitting by the open window. We drink a glass of
champagne each, and Mum hesitates before toasting ‘my two girls’. Dad checks my reaction, and I smile, because it feels like the right thing to do, as though Meggie is here celebrating,
too.

The waiter appears with a small Victoria sponge loaded with fizzing sparklers, and when the other customers look at our table, it doesn’t feel like they’re staring because they
recognise us from the news.

At home, I feel woozy from the champagne, and tired from my early morning Beach walk, so I snooze through the afternoon. Then Cara comes round to get me ready for later.

There’s no party. My sixteenth was cancelled after the police came to tell us the news and to make plans for a party this year felt too much like tempting fate. Instead, we’re having
a few drinks at a new bar she wants to try near the river, with Lewis and with James, Cara’s latest arm candy.

‘What did you get, then?’ Cara is brushing my hair so hard it makes my eyes water.

‘Driving lessons. A new phone. Plus a cheque.’

‘Enough to pay for an end-of-exams trip to Spain?’

‘Maybe.’

She turns me round. ‘You might go, after all? Oh, Alice, it’ll be brilliant!’

‘I haven’t decided for sure,’ I say. ‘But maybe someone needs to keep an eye on you.’

‘Why?’

‘Where do I start, Cara? You’re going to a foreign country with people you hardly know, to try to get off with a guy who is already dating this really intense, slightly scary woman
with muscles like a bouncer’s. Oh, and “the guy” happens to be way too old for you.’

‘Ha! I’ve been out with loads of older men. Plus, little miss perfect Alice, Lewis is older than Ade, and his age isn’t stopping
you
.’

‘Lewis is a mate.’

She laughs at me. ‘Just a mate? Does
he
know that?’

‘Of course.’

But when the taxi drives straight past the new bar, and stops outside Lewis’s flat, and when he opens the door and I can hear music and see dozens of flickering candles, I wonder if he
does
know that.

‘Surprise!’ he says, and Cara winks at me as we go inside. James – a catalogue model who is ninety-four millimetres too short to do catwalk – is already there. I’ve
never seen the French doors open, didn’t even realise there was anything beyond the wall of adopted plants, but a line of fairy lights leads out onto a square patio, where a table is set for
four.

‘Lewis, have you been
cooking
?’ Cara says, as though cooking is some kind of perverted hobby.

He blushes. ‘I raided the chiller cabinet in the supermarket. I know how much you drink, Cara, so I thought I’d provide something to line your stomach, or you’d start singing
and the neighbours would call the police.’

But the food doesn’t taste mass-produced. Maybe it’s because we’re sitting outside, but the tomatoes taste of summer, and the bread is warm from the oven. The crockery
doesn’t match, and neither do the glasses, but it feels less formal that way and it’s absolutely perfect. Exactly what I wanted, even though I didn’t know it till now.

James says nothing but looks very pretty, Cara helps herself to wine, and I drink loads of water because the champagne at lunch has left my mouth dry. Lewis keeps getting up to change the music,
top up our drinks, add more candles.

‘Relax, Lewis,’ Cara tells him, when he gets up for the fifteenth time. ‘This isn’t a royal banquet.’

But then he relaxes, and his dry humour makes Cara laugh, and she keeps giving me the thumbs up under the table.