Soul Fire

someone leaked it to the press. They’re waiting for the inquest into Tim’s
death but Fran said they’re certain they got their man.’
    I feel calm, which surprises me. Maybe now the real murderer will relax, thinking it’s all over. And when they relax, they might start making mistakes.
    It’s cold for May. Too cold. Every time Dad sprays washer fluid onto the windscreen, it freezes like frosted glass.
    We sit side by side in the car, waiting for the heater to melt the ice. I thought Dad had offered me a lift so we could talk about the news, but he’s saying nothing.
    I fiddle with my nails, my gloves, my hair. But then I catch Dad staring at me and shaking his head.
    ‘It’s only mascara,’ I say. Since Ade’s birthday party, I’ve started wearing the odd bit of make-up again. It keeps Cara off my case if she thinks I’m making
an effort. And, OK, it makes what I see in the mirror a bit less scary.
    ‘What?’ Dad frowns. ‘Oh, no, Alice. It’s not the make-up. You know me, I wouldn’t notice if you were wearing black lipstick and a safety pin through your nose. No,
it was . . .’
    I see it in his face. ‘I look like Meggie, don’t I?’
    He nods. ‘I only noticed it just now. Of course, you’re still Alice , but you’re growing into a young woman and so the resemblance is bound to become more . . .’
His eyes dart across my face, and I know he’s seeing what I saw in the train window. ‘More obvious. ’
    I glance at him and realise he’s squeezing his eyelids together, trying to stop the tears, but they’re still spilling out through the tiny lines at the edges of his eyes.
    ‘It’s OK, Dad.’
    ‘Stupid,’ he mumbles.
    The heater is working, now. As the ice melts, the windscreen clears, revealing the world to us, and us to the world. In a few seconds, the neighbours will be able to see my father in tears.
    ‘Everyone says it should get easier.’
    He tries to smile. ‘ Everyone hasn’t lost a daughter. Or a sister.’
    That shocks me. Till now, Dad’s repeated the same glib phrases as everyone else: that the hurt will fade like a scar, that we’ll always feel my sister’s absence, but that there
will be times when we’ll forget it – only for seconds or minutes at first, but then for hours, perhaps even for a whole day.
    Has he ever believed that or was he lying for my sake?
    ‘Forgive me, Alice. I’m worn out, middle-aged. My hope reserves have run dry, but it’s different for you. It has to be. Otherwise the killer won’t just have murdered
Meggie, he’ll have killed both my lovely girls.’
    I know what’s coming next: the usual about how I must live my life for my sister as well as me. Trite instructions to squeeze in twice as much fun and love and success. When people say
that, they forget I was always destined to be the shadow sister, the one in the background. I didn’t mind. Life’s easier when people don’t expect you to be a star.
    ‘I don’t think I can live up to everyone’s expectations.’
    He stares at the steering wheel for ages. ‘You know, Meggie wasn’t better than you. You were just different.’
    Yeah, right , I think.
    Dad smiles. ‘She’d had slightly longer on earth to work out where she was headed, that’s all. Plus, her love of singing meant she never had to work out what she was going to do
with her life, the way the rest of us have to.’
    Cara would be raising her eyebrows now; parents trying to get down with the kids is her number two hated thing in the entire world. After Lady Gaga.
    But I know he’s trying so hard, and it makes me feel special. In return, I wish I could hug him and tell him Meggie is OK.
    ‘Because I see you every day, I hadn’t noticed what a lovely young woman you’ve turned into. But you’re not Meggie. You’re beautiful in your own way.’
He sighs, and looks away. He starts the engine and we reverse out of the drive and I pull down the shade against the winter sun, and there it is again, in the mirror.
    My sister’s face .
    Sure, if we were standing next to each other, I’d look dowdier. My eyes are greyer and my hair mousier. But without the golden girl at my side, I am a decent enough imitation.
    It’s only as Dad is pulling over, outside school, that I realise what this might mean. Whatever I do, wherever I go, people will look at my face and see Meggie, and think of loss and
tragedy. I will go through life having strangers feeling sorry for me.
    Unless I take action. If I can