Soul Fire

condensation.
    ‘Good day, Alice?’ she says, wiping sweat from her forehead. She bakes when she wants to Make Everything Better. ‘What did you get up to?’
    ‘Hung out with Lewis. He’s got a new flat so we . . . went shopping for cushions, houseplants, that kind of thing. He’s a boy, you know – no idea which colours go with
which.’ I lie so she won’t think we spent the whole day in front of the computer.
    She nods, satisfied. ‘Just like your dad! Now, take a look in the dining room.’
    I open the door. She’s set up my laptop and keyboard on the table, so that the screen faces towards the living room; she can checkup on me instantly.
    Next to the laptop, there’s a plate of lopsided cookies, a DVD box and an application form.
    ‘For your provisional driving licence,’ she says. ‘If you apply now, you can take the theory test as soon as you’re seventeen. And the DVD is driving software, to help
you prepare.’
    ‘Great. Thanks. And the cookies look delicious.’
    She gives me a quick, nervous hug. ‘You do understand about the online thing, don’t you, Alice? I want what’s best for you. New friends. New horizons. And you won’t get
those sitting hunched over your laptop, will you?’
    If only she knew.
    I take the cookies upstairs with me, and the space where the laptop was taunts me. I try to read a school book, but the words don’t stick. I pick up a magazine, but the
pages are full of ‘celebrities’ with less than a thousandth of Meggie’s talent, and I throw it across the room in disgust, knocking over a perfume bottle. I laugh. I haven’t
worn perfume in months. No point on the Beach where everything smells of ozone and lilies.
    I doze on my bed, wondering how long Mum can keep up this stupid bloody ban. And then I start thinking about Burning Truths . . .
    My phone wakes me up. Sahara’s name flashes on the screen. I almost let it go to voicemail, but that’s the coward’s way out. And, anyway, she might know something.
    ‘Hello Sahara.’
    ‘Oh, God, Alice. I’m so glad I caught you, you poor thing. How are you feeling? It’s so awful, but, even so, there’s a kind of justice to it, don’t you
think? Not that I wanted Tim to die, of course, but it’s the end, isn’t it? Finally. The end of this whole awful, horrible business.’
    She stops. I think she’s out of breath. I can picture her: her long pale face slightly flushed as she waits for my answer.
    ‘I’m not quite sure how I feel, Sahara.’
    ‘Oh.’ She sounds shocked that I’m not emoting enough. ‘Well, I know you weren’t convinced Tim was the, um, killer. But surely now you can see. It must have
been him.’
    There’s no point trying to explain why I can’t see. ‘How’s Ade?’
    ‘In pieces. You know, I’m sure he feels responsible in some way. Because he’d gone out. He thinks he should have spotted the state that Tim was in. I mean, hello ? Tim
fooled us into thinking he was a nice guy. So of course he could hide suicidal thoughts, no problem. I’ve told Ade. The guilt stops here.’
    ‘You’re right. He shouldn’t feel bad.’
    Unless he killed Tim?
    I don’t know where that thought came from. I brush it aside.
    ‘We’re all upset, Alice. I’m trying not to let him see how devastated I am.’
    ‘You hated Tim.’
    ‘It’s not black and white like that. I was very close to him before Meggie died.’
    ‘We all were,’ I snap.
    I hear a choking sound at the end of the line. I’ve made her cry. Shit. If anyone should know that everyone grieves in a different way, I should.
    She gulps. ‘Anyway, Alice. This isn’t about the past. It’s about the future. The one good thing that could still come out of all this is that tragedy can bring people
closer.’
    We never were close . ‘Right.’
    ‘It’s Ade’s birthday next week. Originally we were planning a party. Now no one feels much like celebrating, of course, but I feel it’s important he knows he’s got
friends supporting him. He’d love you to be there.’
    Love? I didn’t even know Ade before Meggie died. ‘Are you sure? I mean, I’m not even old enough to drink, officially.’
    She laughs. ‘I remember saying the same to you when I bumped into you in Greenwich that time.’
    That was the afternoon she showed me my sister’s bedroom. She wasn’t supposed to have the key, but she took a strange pride in getting in, showing me how the police had gutted the
place, removed carpets, furniture, even