Soul Beach

you’re trying to achieve, but I can tell one thing. And that’s that this really matters to you. You’re grieving, Alice, and that means you get a whole lot more slack from me when it comes to making mistakes.’
    ‘Even if it means I’m hurting other grieving people?’
    He hasn’t let go of my arm. ‘Maybe not. Though, despite your occasional grumpy moments, I don’t think you’re the kind of person who’d do that unless she thought she had a good reason. None of it makes sense to me, but if it makes sense to you, then roll with it.’
    I take my arm away, but what he said makes me feel a tiny bit better. Even though nothing about the Beach – or life – is making sense to me any more.

50
    I need beauty. Serenity. A clear horizon to give me a sense of perspective.
    But when I arrive on the Beach, it’s like Glastonbury in full swing. A dozen different melodies come at me from different directions: blues, rock, classical. I can’t even see the sand for dancing bodies. The bikinis and surfer shorts have been replaced by slinky metallic dresses and crisp linen shirts, and the steaminess level is off the scale. The smoky, bloody smell of barbecues draws my eye towards the red hot coals glowing at intervals along the beach.
    Immediately I know that They’re trying to distract the Guests. Whoever They are.
    I weave through the crowd towards the beach bar. Sam is inside, dreadlocks damp with sweat as she furiously chops lemons and limes for the jugs of mojito and sangria that are lined up on the bar. Guests keep coming in to help themselves.
    ‘Busy day?’
    She looks up and winces. ‘Hi, mate. Yeah. It’s never-ending. First I knew about it was when I spotted the kids dancing like there’s no bloody tomorrow.’
    I wonder where she goes between shifts. I’d ask her, but there are other, more urgent questions. ‘This is all about Triti, isn’t it?’
    She transfers a huge handful of limes into a bowl full of sugar, and begins pounding, crushing the fruit so angrily that I can feel citrus perfume spitting up in my face. ‘What makes you say that?’ she demands.
    ‘This is a massive distraction exercise. They tried good weather, now this. They want to tire them out, make them passive.’
    I realise as I say it that Danny must have given me the idea; he said the same thing about manipulating the environment to manipulate the Guests. So if he’s right about that , what else might he be right about?
    Sam lifts a massive bottle of white rum, and upends it so that a clear stream of alcohol runs into the bowl. A muscle twitches in her skinny arm.
    ‘As usual, your guess is as good as mine,’ she says. ‘But maybe you’re right. The trouble is, it takes a lot to tire out the Guests. I’ll be dead on my feet long before they are.’ Finally she looks up. ‘Sorry. That’s not funny, is it?’
    I shrug. ‘If I did your job, I’d probably have a pretty dark sense of humour, too. Have you seen her?’
    ‘Meggie?’
    ‘No. Triti.’
    ‘Rumour is she’s gone to ground, to protect herself. Not that there are a fat lot of places to hide here on the Beach, but some of the . . . well, the more thuggish elements were getting restless about her behaviour.’
    ‘Thuggish?’
    ‘Not everyone who died here was an angel in their old life, you know. All anyone has to go on is each Guest’s own version of their story.’ She adds mint to the mixture and soon the whole bar smells of a garden in high summer. Then she pours half the mixture into a massive cocktail shaker and shakes with ice, twenty, thirty, forty times.
    ‘But they can’t hurt her, can they?’
    ‘Not physically,’ she says, pouring the liquid into a jug full of more ice. ‘But I’d hate to be lonely here, put it that way. If I was a Guest, the only thing more terrifying than living here for ever would be the idea of having to face that eternity alone.’
    It hadn’t occurred to me that bullying could exist here, as well as on earth. ‘Right.’
    The need to find some way of rescuing Triti is more urgent than ever. ‘I’m going to find her,’ I tell Sam.
    ‘Good on you. She needs someone to look out for her. Everyone else is losing patience.’
    Back on the beach, I’m about to turn right, towards the quieter shores where she must be hiding, when I see Danny.
    He’s in the centre of a circle of people. Two girls are holding a piece of rope outstretched, and Danny . . . yes, sensitive, solitary Danny, is trying to limbo beneath