Soul Fire

either.’
    Danny looks back at the Guests. ‘Maybe nothing physical. But they’re more hopeful now. They believe in you, Alice.’
    I shake my head. ‘I’m no miracle worker. Nothing special.’
    ‘I can’t agree with that. You are special. And you also have what we don’t. Freedom. Life.’
    Perhaps I should work harder for them. Forget stupid exams and stupid parties. Dad talked about finding a purpose: maybe this is what I’m alive to do. But I already have my
sister’s death to resolve. And Javier’s. And surely Danny must be a victim of some kind of injustice, too. It’s overwhelming.
    ‘Where would I start, Danny? How would I choose between them?’
    He takes the letters, then puts his arm round me, stroking my neck. ‘I’m sorry. This is my fault. The first girl to give me a letter promised she’d keep it a secret and I
couldn’t bring myself to say no. But nothing stays secret on the Beach and, next thing, I’m like your personal mailman.’
    The pile of letters sits on the rock. The last one is written in old-fashioned writing – what’s it called? Copperplate. The shapes are beautiful but the words are ugly: death,
war, poison .
    ‘Once they started, I couldn’t accept one and refuse another. Who am I to say who deserves your help? It’d be like playing God.’
    A pair of bright green parakeets skitter through the sky, resting on a palm tree. Who is playing God here? I’ve spent so many hours on the Beach since September that it’s become
normal, but every now and then I wonder: is this a hoax? Or, worse, am I imagining it all?
    Dozens of Guests are watching. Waiting. Each hoping that they’ll be the one whose story moves me enough to make me take action in the real world.
    ‘I’ll do my best,’ I whisper, and they seem to hear me, because they drift away.
    ‘Try to forget them now.’ Danny turns my face back towards his. ‘No more nasty surprises. Just you and me . . .’
    I’m in bed by the time my parents get back. I hear the car door slam, then raised voices.
    ‘ . . . it won’t help her. Or Alice.’
    ‘It’s the right thing to do, Glen. She’d have wanted us to do something, to stop other girls suffering like she did.’
    There’s a metallic scrabbling as a key keeps missing the lock in the front door.
    ‘Come here, Bea, I’ll do it.’
    Once they’re inside, they try to argue more quietly, but I still hear fragments. ‘Meggie can be a force for good . . . make a difference . . . Olav says that . . .’
    ‘ . . . not a conversation to have when you’re too drunk to . . . I can’t reason with you—’
    ‘It’s not about reason! It’s about emotion! Though I can’t expect you to understand that! Well, you won’t stop me, Glen. I’m going to follow my
heart.’
    Another slammed door, then my mother’s unsteady feet on the stairs, then silence. The truce between my parents has lasted less than three weeks.

How quickly a year goes by.
    I miss you so much, Meggie. Your luminous skin, your delicate hands, your fragile grip on life. I wish things could have been different. Though often I do feel you are still
with me.
    In a way, because of Alice, you are.
    Seventeen is such a special age. What advice would you give your baby sister? To make the most of every minute, perhaps. To be careful what you wish for. To cherish those
closest to you.
    Happy anniversary, Megan London Forster. Forgive me if I haven’t given you as much thought as I should have, lately.
    Distractions, you know. But tonight is full of precious memories.
    Sweet dreams.

28
    On the morning of my seventeenth birthday, I wake up way before four a.m.
    Exactly a year ago, someone crept into Meggie’s room and stole her from us. I sneak downstairs to the laptop. I should checkin on Burning Truths. It’s gone quiet on there since the
inquest – no comments, no new posts – but surely there’ll be something new on there today. The date is bound to mean something to whoever is running the site.
    Yet I can’t quite face that yet. It is my birthday, after all. So I head to the Beach first of all.
    There’s a football game happening on the shore, lit by a full moon. Meggie’s playing, along with Danny and a few Guests I recognise but have never spoken to. Tim is watching her from
the sidelines.
    When my sister sees me, she waves, but keeps on playing. So she must be oblivious to the date, and its significance to her and to me. Even though I knew that would probably be true, it