Soul Beach

one we’ve been avoiding for months.
    It’s just that . . . he can tell my heart’s not in it, and that must be pretty tough on his ego.
    It’s just that . . . whenever we kiss I feel my body shutting down or, worse, I feel horrified. Of course I haven’t told him that, but he’s not stupid.
    It’s just that . . . he knows the difference between the way I used to respond, and the way I tense up now when he touches me. He’ll stop and we’ll sit up and mostly we’ll pretend it never happened. When we first got together, we could talk about anything. Now everything embarrasses us.
    ‘Do you want us to break up?’ I ask.
    ‘No,’ he says, but I don’t think he realises he’s nodding even as he denies it. ‘I know it’s not the most important thing in a relationship, and I love you so much, but I fancy you so much and . . .’ he stops speaking. ‘Sorry.’
    I put my hand on his. ‘Don’t apologise. We’re not fifty, are we? We’re meant to be having the time of our lives.’
    ‘We were so brilliant together.’
    Were.
    I breathe in sharply when I realise he’s talking in the past tense. It’s one thing to imagine I’ll be so mature if he wants us to split up. It’s a whole other thing now it’s actually happening.
    ‘I love you, Robbie.’
    But if I loved him, I’d want him. Maybe I’m in love with the memories of how he made me feel before it all went wrong. Now, nothing makes me feel anything any more. Nothing except Soul Beach.
    ‘I love you too, Alice.’
    He’s on the edge of tears and those kissable lips are drawn tight, as he tries not to break. I can’t let him cry. I know what I have to do for him. I shut my eyes.
    ‘But love doesn’t mean it’s not over between us, Robbie. We’d have split up months ago if you hadn’t felt sorry for me. Well, I’m a big girl now. I’ll cope. We’d have split up when we went to university, anyway. Everybody does.’
    He stares at me, unable to believe what he’s heard. That makes two of us. I am surprised at how easy it is to play the bitch.
    ‘Is that really what you think?’ he says eventually.
    I shrug. ‘I’ve watched my parents start hating each other since Meggie died, but they’re married. They have to work on it. We don’t. Sometimes it’s best to have a clean break.’
    He doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s relieved. After a few seconds, I swing my legs off the bed and push my shoes back on.
    I did this, so why do I still want him to say something to rescue us ? But he’s not even looking at me. I lean forward to kiss him, because it seems like the right thing to do, and out of habit he kisses me back properly and I pull away.
    ‘No.’
    I walk out of the door and down the stairs and I don’t even look round when I hear Robbie’s mother come out of the kitchen to ask whether I want a coffee and a slice of homemade carrot cake.
    I’m on my own again, the dusk turning the streets even greyer than before. I close my eyes, longing to hear the waves that remind me that there’s more to life than this pretty crappy reality.
    But it’s not the waves I can hear. It’s Meggie.
    Florrie.
    And I answer her in my head. I’m on my way . . .

31
    October stinks of bonfires and rotting leaves.
    Of cemeteries.
    But the Beach has the same, impossible fragrance it always does, a seductive cocktail of ozone and fruit punch and sea-washed bamboo.
    ‘What time of year is it, Florrie?’
    My sister and I are sitting together a little way from the bar, under a palm so huge that the shady area underneath feels like our own private hideaway. I come here twice, three times a day now: morning and afternoon, plus the briefest of trips before I go to bed.
    It’s as much part of my routine as brushing my teeth, though a lot more enjoyable – I can’t imagine not doing it. As for Meggie, she seems happier than she did when I first arrived, more like herself. I think it might be because of me . . .
    ‘Er. You really don’t know?’
    She opens her eyes. ‘Look around you. The weather’s always the same, so I lose track. Anyway, Sam in the bar says it’s better that way. The Guests who mark each day with a line in the sand will never accept what’s happened.’
    ‘It’s autumn. October.’
    ‘My favourite . Christmas is coming and the goose is getting fat !’ That’s the other thing that’s changed: Meggie sings, now. In fact, it’s almost impossible to stop her.
    I don’t tell her that Christmas this year will be