Soul Beach

doesn’t, not any more. If she walked up the driveway to our house now, she wouldn’t see any difference: same peeling paint on the garage door, same garden statue of a kissing couple next to the pathway (not my parents’ choice, but it had been concreted in by the previous owner and there’s no shifting it).
    Inside, though, everything feels topsy-turvy, like a parallel world where evil has reversed all the settings so that happy and family have changed to sad and strangers .
    ‘Tell me what’s been happening on telly , ’ she says.
    As I try to remember the latest storyline from her favourite soaps, it’s a struggle to pretend any of it matters. But I need to do it, for her sake. Funny to think that only a month ago I would have been ecstatic about being able to talk to her about anything , however banal.
    ‘Hi, girls.’
    I know it’s him before I turn around: Danny Cross . In the semi-darkness he looks older, more serious. He catches me staring and I blush. The one consolation is that I don’t think he can see me blushing, because I’m not really there.
    ‘Hot still, isn’t it?’ he says.
    Oh. I look at the web cam light, glowing mischievously. Evidently Danny can see my face. I hope it’s been given the magic Soul Beach airbrush, so that I look as stunning as the Guests. ‘Is it?’
    My sister sighs. ‘Ugh, it’s always hot here, even after sunset. I never thought I’d dream of rain.’
    I turn, peer out of my real window in my real bedroom: a storm has begun, and I didn’t even notice. The dense, dark sky keeps splitting open, the thunder coming a second or two later. The eye of the storm must be close.
    ‘We could go to the bar. At least they have ceiling fans,’ suggests Danny.
    As we enter, Sam drags herself up from a chair to mix their cocktails, but she doesn’t acknowledge me beyond a half-nod. I realise that our conversation was strictly private. It’s not as though I’d dare repeat it anyway. Not with so much at stake.
    I watch my sister extra closely as she sits down with her mojito, and I try to commit every millimetre of her to memory. Because if I do go ahead with my plan to corner Tim, and if that does resolve anything, I could lose her all over again.
    But where will she go then ? Will she no longer exist, or is there another place beyond the Beach?
    ‘. . . has she always been such a daydreamer?’
    Javier and Triti have joined us at the table, and Javier is waving a hand in front of my face.
    ‘Sorry. Miles away.’
    ‘You mean light years, don’t you?’ says Javier. The others laugh.
    Lightning flashes outside my bedroom window, almost dazzling me I’m so close to the eye of the storm now, and thunder follows immediately. No one on the Beach flinches, of course.
    I feel got at. ‘It’s not easy for me, either, you know.’
    ‘What? Being alive? Oh, poor you. ’ Javier has fixed me with his eyes, like a jaguar sizing up its prey. I look up to my sister but she’s smiling at him.
    ‘Javier, leave her alone.’ It’s Danny who stands up for me.
    A sly smile crosses Javier’s unshaven face. ‘Sweet.’
    ‘What?’ says Danny.
    ‘Love across the divide. It’s like a movie. But they’re doomed.’ Javier mimes playing a violin, and Triti and Meggie pull faces, but they’re oh, you’re too funny faces.
    Rain is lashing against my window now, loud as bullets.
    ‘Ignore him. He’s a dick,’ says Danny.
    ‘And you are proof that Americans have no sense of humour,’ Javier replies, stretching out his long legs, and yawning.
    Meggie smiles at me. ‘Don’t listen to either of them, Florrie. Apparently they’ve been at it ever since they got here.’
    ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Javier replies.
    ‘Did you arrive at the same time, then?’ I ask.
    Danny nods. ‘Yeah. A year ago. Kinda like twins.’
    ‘Twins?’
    The idea seems grotesque, that you’re twinned with someone who died around the same time. Though I suppose it’s every bit as significant as the day you’re born.
    Javier stands up and walks round to where Danny’s sitting. He puts his arms around Danny’s neck and gives him a kiss. ‘He ain’t heavy, he’s my soul brother, huh?’
    Then he blows me a kiss too. ‘Don’t break his heart,’ he says to me as he leaves the bar. Triti follows him like a faithful lapdog, without saying a word.
    More flashes – one, two, three in succession – fire up the sky. Usually storms scare me a bit, but I don’t feel that way now, because