Soul Fire (13 page)

‘Hang on, now,’ he says as he vaults up and into the hammock: strong as an athlete, graceful as a ballet dancer.

Mine. How can
he
be mine?

After a few more seconds, the movement turns mellow, like being rocked in a cradle. It’s delicious to feel the sun on my face, his skin next to mine. He leans towards me . . .

Ah, kisses like this should go on forever.

Except I sense someone watching us. I open my eyes and I see Guests watching. They’ve realised Gretchen’s gone, and now they’re waiting. Hoping they’ll be the next one to
get away.

‘What’s up, Alice?’

I realise Danny hasn’t noticed yet that Gretchen’s left the Beach. I should take it as a compliment. He only notices me. Yet I would have expected him to be more sensitive,
somehow.

‘It’s Gretchen, she—’

A text rumbles in my pocket. I take out my phone:
Morning, dirty stop-out. Time to go home. Yr mum’s just rung. I told her u r in shower. Call me later, I want
details of night with Lewis the sexy geek. Love from yr alibi, Cara

‘What?’ Danny asks.

‘I have to go. Sorry.’

‘You only just showed up.’

I kiss him one last time. ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow,’ and I can see from his face that he’s never read
Romeo and Juliet
.

I click off the Beach. Do I have time to check Burning Truths again? Otherwise it’ll be the early hours of tomorrow before I can sneak online again at home. Yes. It’ll only take
seconds, and then I can wake Lewis and go home.

The site looks less disturbing to me this morning. Am I used to it – or is it because I feel, at some deeper level, that the person behind it might be on the same side as me?

‘You’ve not been online all night, have you, Ali?’

Lewis! I click away from the site.

‘Just checking my horoscope,’ I say.

‘You don’t seriously believe in all that superstitious crap?’ He sounds disappointed in me.

‘Only the ones that say I’m going to have a brilliant day.’

Lewis smiles. ‘Well, you’re not going to have a brilliant day unless I get you home, are you?’ He shakes his head. ‘Come on. You’ve had all night. Your parents must
be wondering where you are.
And
what you’ve been up to.’

He’s blushing, as though we
have
actually been fooling around or something. The idea makes me blush too.

Lewis can’t get me out of the flat fast enough, driving like a Grand Prix champ, but stopping on the main road so no one sees me getting out of his car.

‘You look hung-over, Alice,’ Mum says, when I let myself in. She tries to sound stern, but she’s smiling. Perhaps a sleepover with Cara is a Sign of Normality.
‘I’ll make you a coffee, shall I?’

I clutch my head, like the worst ham actor in the world. I’m not hung-over, though I do feel wrecked.

‘So how was the party?’

‘Fun, I mean . . .’

I don’t tell
actual
lies about last night. I don’t have to; Mum laps up the stories about me and Cara and Matt and Craig. She wants to know what they look like, what
they’re studying, which one I fancied. It seems like months ago somehow – I have to invent extra details and I feel guilty when I see the hope in her eyes.

‘It’s such fun when your best friend is going out with your boyfriend’s best friend. You know it’s how I met your father,’ she tells me.

Finally I fake a few yawns, and she sends me upstairs to ‘sleep it off ’. She promises me a full Sunday roast later. ‘Just like we used to have.’

I am knackered, but when I get into bed I’m wide awake. My head’s full of unsettling pictures: Gretchen floating away to the sound of birdsong, Javier fighting back tears . . . and
here in real life, someone, somewhere, hunched over a laptop, trying to choose the right moment to tell the world how Meggie met her death.

Oh, Alice, really. For a bright girl, you are exceptionally slow to learn.

You are too young to let bad things concern you. Life should be all about cupcakes and parties and sunshine. But let the wrong people in, and you open the door to cruelty and
passion and sadness.

Was what happened to your sister not enough of a lesson? An ego out of control, a desire for fame that made her reject those who loved her in favour of those who could make her
name?

Meggie should be a cautionary tale. Yet instead of seeing that, you seem determined to pursue danger at whatever cost.

Unwise, Alice. Please, focus on your own future and let your sister rest in peace – before you pass the point of no return.

For a week or two after Ade’s party, we act like an ad family. Mum and Dad are all loved up: she laughs when he does something daffy, he brings home flowers. We eat
together, home-cooked food with real gravy. I work hard on my revision.

Except a couple of things don’t quite fit the cheesy image. One, I sneak downstairs every night to read about conspiracy theories and meet my ‘imaginary’ friends. Two, my
forthcoming birthday will also be the anniversary of my sister’s death.

Normality is stretched thin. It has to break sometime.

This morning, when I come down to the kitchen, Mum is talking on her mobile. She sees me and walks out into the garden, even though it’s freezing.

Dad shrugs his shoulders and butters his toast. I get some cereal and watch the breakfast telly.

She comes back after a couple of minutes.

‘It’s over,’ she says.

Dad flinches. I freeze. Time compresses. Mum’s leaving Dad? Who for? Her therapist?

But then she says, ‘That was Fran from family liaison. She wanted to catch us before we saw the
Mail
. They’re running an exclusive about Meggie’s murder team being
disbanded because the case is closed.’

‘And is it true?’ Dad asks.

Mum nods. ‘There was a meeting yesterday. They were meant to come and tell us in person today but someone leaked it to the press. They’re waiting for the inquest into Tim’s
death but Fran said they’re certain they got their man.’

I feel calm, which surprises me. Maybe now the real murderer will relax, thinking it’s all over. And when they relax, they might start making mistakes.

It’s cold for May. Too cold. Every time Dad sprays washer fluid onto the windscreen, it freezes like frosted glass.

We sit side by side in the car, waiting for the heater to melt the ice. I thought Dad had offered me a lift so we could talk about the news, but he’s saying nothing.

I fiddle with my nails, my gloves, my hair. But then I catch Dad staring at me and shaking his head.

‘It’s only mascara,’ I say. Since Ade’s birthday party, I’ve started wearing the odd bit of make-up again. It keeps Cara off my case if she thinks I’m making
an effort. And, OK, it makes what I see in the mirror a bit less scary.

‘What?’ Dad frowns. ‘Oh, no, Alice. It’s not the make-up. You know me, I wouldn’t notice if you were wearing black lipstick and a safety pin through your nose. No,
it was . . .’

I see it in
his
face. ‘I look like Meggie, don’t I?’

He nods. ‘I only noticed it just now. Of course, you’re still
Alice
, but you’re growing into a young woman and so the resemblance is bound to become more . . .’
His eyes dart across my face, and I know he’s seeing what I saw in the train window. ‘More
obvious.
’

I glance at him and realise he’s squeezing his eyelids together, trying to stop the tears, but they’re still spilling out through the tiny lines at the edges of his eyes.

‘It’s OK, Dad.’

‘Stupid,’
he mumbles.

The heater is working, now. As the ice melts, the windscreen clears, revealing the world to us, and us to the world. In a few seconds, the neighbours will be able to see my father in tears.

‘Everyone says it should get easier.’

He tries to smile. ‘
Everyone
hasn’t lost a daughter. Or a sister.’

That shocks me. Till now, Dad’s repeated the same glib phrases as everyone else: that the hurt will fade like a scar, that we’ll always feel my sister’s absence, but that there
will be times when we’ll forget it – only for seconds or minutes at first, but then for hours, perhaps even for a whole day.

Has he
ever
believed that or was he lying for my sake?

‘Forgive me, Alice. I’m worn out, middle-aged. My hope reserves have run dry, but it’s different for you. It has to be. Otherwise the killer won’t just have murdered
Meggie, he’ll have killed both my lovely girls.’

I know what’s coming next: the usual about how I must live my life for my sister as well as me. Trite instructions to squeeze in twice as much fun and love and success. When people say
that, they forget I was always destined to be the shadow sister, the one in the background. I didn’t mind. Life’s easier when people don’t expect you to be a star.

‘I don’t think I can live up to everyone’s expectations.’

He stares at the steering wheel for ages. ‘You know, Meggie wasn’t better than you. You were just different.’

Yeah, right
, I think.

Dad smiles. ‘She’d had slightly longer on earth to work out where she was headed, that’s all. Plus, her love of singing meant she never had to work out what she was going to do
with her life, the way the rest of us have to.’

Cara would be raising her eyebrows now; parents trying to get down with the kids is her number two hated thing in the entire world. After Lady Gaga.

But I know he’s trying so hard, and it makes me feel special. In return, I wish I could hug him and tell him Meggie is OK.

‘Because I see you every day, I hadn’t noticed what a lovely young woman you’ve turned into. But you’re not Meggie. You’re beautiful in your
own
way.’
He sighs, and looks away. He starts the engine and we reverse out of the drive and I pull down the shade against the winter sun, and there it is again, in the mirror.

My sister’s face
.

Sure, if we were standing next to each other, I’d look dowdier. My eyes are greyer and my hair mousier. But without the golden girl at my side, I am a decent enough imitation.

It’s only as Dad is pulling over, outside school, that I realise what this might mean. Whatever I do, wherever I go, people will look at my face and see Meggie, and think of loss and
tragedy. I will go through life having strangers feeling sorry for me.

Unless I take action. If I can find the killer, perhaps they will see me as Alice – a person in her own right. Strong, determined. Someone who never gave up fighting for justice for her
sister.

Mum and Dad are out tonight: the first dinner party they’ve been to in almost a year. I half expect them to take the laptop with them to make sure I can’t use it,
but they’re giddy, like kids, and forget all about the ban.

I wave them off into the dark night. Outside, red-grey clouds are coming down like an old army blanket, smothering the stars.

But on the Beach, a ripe peach sunset is filling the sky.

Danny is waiting for me by our rock, even though I’m visiting so much earlier with my parents out of the way. Perhaps he has a sixth sense, or maybe he spends most of his time here,
waiting for me.

We say nothing, just hold each other. Our kisses get better and better. Danny isn’t the first boy I’ve kissed, but this is the real thing. A century could pass, or a hurricane could
lift us up and fling us back down to earth, and I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t notice a thing. And despite the passion, it never feels rushed. Danny, at least, has all the time in the
world.

‘You save me from going crazy when you’re here with me,’ he whispers.

‘And the thought of you saves me from going crazy when I’m not,’ I whisper back.

‘I never thought I’d meet a girl like you,’ says Danny. He’s stroking my arm, raising the tiny hairs with his fingers and then smoothing them down again. Every single
nerve in my skin tingles, and I feel safe.
Cherished
.

‘Especially on the internet.’

He stares at me. ‘Yeah. Beauties like you don’t hang out on internet dating sites.’

I’m not a beauty, but I can’t expect Danny to know what that’s like.

On the Beach, everyone has their old imperfections airbrushed away, but I’ve seen the pictures of Danny when he was alive and he didn’t need any upgrading. His square jaw makes him
the perfect movie leading man. And he has thick blond hair that cries out to be rumpled, and
those
green eyes. They were the first thing I noticed about him, and they’re the last thing
I think of at night. They’re full of so much intelligence and sadness – though less sadness, since we found each other.

Danny breaks away suddenly. ‘I need to show you something.’

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bundle of paper. There must be twenty different pages, each one yellow and brittle-looking, like an ancient manuscript or a message in a bottle after
it’s bobbed across an ocean or two.

‘What are those?’

‘They’re for you. I didn’t want to give them to you, but I . . . promised.’

I hesitate, just for a second. They stink of damp and despair.

Too late now
.

The handwriting on the first one is scratchy, as though the person who wrote it had never held a pen before.

‘
Please Alice,
’ I read aloud. ‘
You are only hope to get message to my family about water. The water kill me. My family must know or the same will happen. Thank you.
From Li.

Danny takes the page and then points through the gap in the rocks to an athletic looking Chinese girl who is pretending not to notice me as she plays chess with a friend. ‘Li has never
written in English before. It took her hours. She thinks she was poisoned by the chemical works upstream from her village.’