Soul Beach

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.
    Yes, Soul Beach feels like the most incredible blessing, but it occurs to me for the first time that it could also be a burden . . .

23
    In London it’s dark and rainy. Fat drops fall steadily on the reporters below my bedroom window.
    But on Soul Beach it’s scorching.
    I can’t feel the heat, but I can see it, a desert haze that makes the shore look unreal. The place seems different to me tonight, and it takes a moment or two to remember what Meggie said about there being no animals here. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still tingle with excitement when I take my first steps.
    As I walk, I notice that the people on the beach are lying in small clusters, not moving. And then it strikes me: they look as though they’re all dead.
    ‘Alice?’
    I look round and see the American guy with the sad green eyes.
    ‘I’m Danny, remember? Your sister introduced us yesterday,’ he says, holding out his hand, then withdrawing it again. ‘Sorry, I keep forgetting that we’re on different planes.’
    ‘Is that what you think? That the Beach is a kind of parallel universe?’
    He shrugs. ‘What do I know? I’m a simple American homeboy. I don’t think about the bigger things, they make my head hurt.’
    I stare at him. Our eyes meet, but this time he looks away first.
    ‘That was a joke,’ he says, kicking at the sand.
    ‘Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know Americans did irony.’ Why did I say that?
    His eyes narrow, then he laughs. ‘Believe it. I spend hours trying to make sense of why I landed up here.