Soul Beach

reality feels so much less real than the Beach.
    ‘Sorry about him,’ says Danny. ‘I, uh, ought to be getting along too. But come back soon, huh, Alice.’ His smile is warm, like lazy summer afternoons, and he holds my gaze for a moment too long. I look down.
    Then he slopes off.
    My sister is looking at me in a funny way. It’s the expression she always gets when she’s about to say something clever. ‘You like him,’ she says languidly. ‘And you two would make a lovely couple. If it weren’t for the obvious problem—’
    I interrupt her. ‘Don’t say it. Not tonight.’
    ‘Eh?’ she looks surprised. ‘Oh, that, ’ she says, dismissing the whole life/death divide with the flick of a hand. ‘No, I didn’t mean that. I meant the altogether more fundamental problem that Danny Cross is even gayer than Javier.’

27
    ‘Gay?’
    She yawns. ‘That’s my theory, anyway. It’d explain why he and Javier are so prickly around each other. And why Danny never bothers to chat up the girls here.’
    I feel disappointed somehow and that in turn makes me feel silly: why should it matter to me either way? Anyway, it could simply be that Danny doesn’t bother to flirt with other Guests because Beach life seems so pointless to him. He almost said as much to me. I could say that to Meggie, but she’ll only take the piss and decide it proves her stupid theory that I like him.
    Well, I do like him, but not in that way. Her other friends make me feel awkward and stupid, the way I used to when she was fifteen and I was twelve and I could hear her catty mates laughing at me.
    I wonder if Javier and Triti do the same when I leave Soul Beach?
    Suddenly I feel exhausted. It’s been quite a night, with all the Tim drama, but I can hardly explain that to Meggie. ‘Listen, I know this is a rubbish excuse, but I have to get an assignment done for first period tomorrow, so I have to log off.’
    ‘Not like you to leave stuff to the last minute, Florrie.’
    ‘No, well, maybe I’m not such a swot these days.’
    I see it in her face – the moment when she understands why school work seems like the last thing I can be bothered with, how her death has made my life seem like a charade. But she doesn’t say anything.
    I’m about to blow my usual kiss, when I think about what Sam said in the bar. ‘I love you, Meggie. You’ll remember that, won’t you, even when I’m not actually here with you?’
    ‘Daft cow, of course.’
    ‘I know it’s soppy, but I’m going to say it every time I see you. We can’t know what will happen in the future, can we?’
    ‘OK, serious girl.’ She nods. ‘Look, it’s enough that you’re here. It’s proof , isn’t it? I’m the only one of my friends who has a Visitor. That means something, Florrie. So you don’t have to keep telling me. I know.’
    And I know better than to argue any more, so we air kiss.
    ‘Come back soon, Florrie. Missing you already.’
    I log off and instantly regret it. I want to go back and say even more. I don’t care if she takes the piss. But when I try, the site is down. Soul Beach is undergoing maintenance. Please try later . Maybe there are virtual cleaners picking virtual litter up from the virtual sand. Or maybe the whole thing is my imagination anyway, so when I’m not ‘there’, the site no longer exists.
    I go to the window. The storm has moved on, but I can still see lightning in the distance, towards central London, and the sky is the colour of brick. My own world looks so much less convincing than the Beach does.
    I wonder if it would be easier if I was always there? With Meggie. With Danny.
    I shake my head, to shake away the fuzzy brandy feeling and the stupid thoughts. The heart-shaped Post-It on my desk catches my eye.
    It has his name written on it: Danny Cross. Though for all I know, he’s no more real than the Beach and the tooth fairy. I want to Google him, but that’s what stupid kids do when they fall for the floppy-haired singer in a stupid reality TV band.
    It’s what people did all over the world, in their millions, over Meggie.
    Then I think of Tim. I guess he’ll be back in his flat by now. Is the storm raging over his bit of the London sky? Can he sleep? Is he thinking about Meggie, about Mum and Dad, about me? Fran telling us the news feels like weeks ago, even though it’s only a couple of hours. I click onto the Daily Mail website, and the Sun , and then the BBC news front page, but there’s nothing there