Soul Beach

I’ve somehow broken the rules of the Beach again, by meddling in someone else’s affairs.
    Either way, I am convinced something is wrong . . .
    Soul Beach is quiet. Hard to know what time it is ‘there’ but I’m guessing somewhere around four a.m. There’s a hint of dawn on the horizon, but the bodies on the beach are slumped, and even the waves seem to whisper shhh .
    No one stirs as I pass. Most of them can’t see me, after all. As I increase the pace with the mouse, my footsteps speed up, slapping against the sand until I begin to pant – it really does feel as though my lungs are emptying as I get faster. I remember what Meggie said to me, about the beach stretching on for ever, about no one ever finding the edge.
    Finally I see Danny, half-sitting, half-lying against the side of a beach hut, his shoulders slumped and his eyes closed. The images of him in his tux, and then of his plane smashed against the desert like a broken insect, come back to me and the contrast is so shocking that I have to look away. I stalk around the other side of the hut, and find Triti and Javier asleep in one another’s arms. He’s so long and lean, and she’s tiny, but they both look like little children, their mouths slightly open as they breathe. What happened to devastate his family so completely?
    And then I look inside the hut, through the gap between the door and the bamboo frame.
    She’s on her own, a sheet half wrapped around her. How strange. I’ve seen Meggie in the nude a thousand times, I’ve bathed with her, compared freckles (thousands on me, no more than a dozen on her). But this feels wrong. Like spying.
    I put the laptop into sleep mode and shuffle into yesterday’s clothes. I try to reason with myself: at least she’s still here. At least I can still talk to her. A few moments ago, I thought I might have been banished from this paradise, so I should be glad.
    But none of that improves my mood. I wish . . .
    I try to stop myself thinking it, but it’s too late. Sometimes I almost wish I was dead, too, because at least then I wouldn’t feel so left out.

29
    The news about Tim being let out is all around school.
    I feel the stares as I go through the gate, and when I’m outside sixth-form block, I’m attracting so much attention that I have to check I remembered to put on my jeans.
    ‘Alice!’ Cara cuts through the crowded corridor and gives me a hug. I wriggle free, though with her at my side I do feel less exposed. ‘I heard about Tim. Need a coffee?’
    ‘I’m late already.’
    ‘Screw that. The teachers’ll let you off anything today. Make the most of it, chick.’
    Before I can argue, I’m being swept towards the common room, which is empty because anyone up this early has a class to go to. Cara makes me a coffee, and when I sip it, it tastes of booze. ‘Ugh!’
    ‘Medicinal,’ she explains. Cara’s mother has one of those drinks cabinets that just keeps on giving. ‘Plus, we’ve got History, haven’t we? I need something to get through that even on a normal day.’
    I take another sip. ‘I appreciate the thought, but that’s disgusting.’
    She sniffs, then tastes, and pulls a face. ‘Shit, you’re right. I guess that means we’re not teen alcoholics, then.’ She walks over to the sink with the mugs and pours them down the drain.
    Cara sits back down again and reaches into her bag, pulling out a packet of chocolate biscuits. ‘Plan B.’ She makes a big pile out of them on the table in front of me. ‘The leaning tower of digestives. We can’t go to History until we’ve finished them! Agreed?’
    I nod.
    ‘Do you still think Tim’s innocent?’ she asks.
    I turn the question back onto her. ‘Do you?’
    She shrugs. ‘He never seemed the murdering type to me, though I admit I’m not the best judge of men. I thought he was a bit dull. Maybe he had an awful temper that none of us saw. His hair was sort of ginger, wasn’t it, and they say they’re the worst. Maybe he did it but didn’t mean to.’
    No. Not Tim. ‘ Maybe .’
    ‘You don’t sound like you believe it. Do you suspect someone else?’
    ‘Just because I’m her sister doesn’t mean I know who killed her, Cara. I don’t have a sixth sense.’
    She sighs. ‘Sorry.’
    ‘It’s all anyone can think about when they see me. Oh, look, there’s Alice. Oh, wasn’t it terrible what happened? Poor Meggie, so talented . It was bad enough when she was alive – Let’s hear you sing, Meggie. Alice, you