Soul Fire

the inevitable paparazzi reception committee at the runway. But she never made it to first class.
    Sahara and Ade and Lewis file on board behind us; in Barcelona, Zoe will be waiting. My suspects are all lined up. I am never going to stand a better chance of discovering who killed Meggie.
    My breathing slows a little. This flight isn’t where the danger is. But when we touch down in Barcelona, that’s when I’ll be playing with fire.

34
    Even in the sea of faces in Arrivals, Zoe stands out.
    It’s not just her pale skin, or the skullcap she’s wearing even though it must be twenty-five degrees Celsius. It’s an aura of unhappiness so powerful it seems to repel people.
All around her, families push and pull and call out, but there’s open space around Zoe. No one gets near.
    Get a grip, Alice, you’re starting to sound as weird as Sahara.
    We head towards Zoe, and she holds up her hand in a half-wave that also keeps us at arm’s length.
    ‘You’re late,’ she mutters to Sahara, then starts marching off without bothering to check that we’re all here. Zoe walks at people, and they seem to get out of her
way. ‘Bloody tourists everywhere, thanks to the bloody fire fiesta.’
    The way she says it leaves me in no doubt that we’re a nuisance. Any euphoria we felt on landing safely and seeing the real sun for the first time in months is extinguished.
    ‘Little ray of sunshine, she is,’ Lewis says behind me.
    ‘Do you see why I think it could be her?’
    ‘Burning Truths?’ he whispers. ‘Or . . .’
    ‘Don’t.’
    I’m hot and sweaty by the time we get to the train station. Zoe hands out tickets like we’re ten years old. But when she gets to Lewis, she stops. Her face
contorts.
    Is that fear ? Or just irritation? ‘What’s going on?’ she asks Sahara, as though Lewis isn’t even there.
    ‘Sorry, Zoe. Last minute addition. Lewis is a friend of Alice’s. He’s here mainly for some conference.’ Sahara frowns. ‘You’re not planning to join us in the
hostel, are you, Lewis? Only I’m not sure there’s room.’
    Lewis shakes his head when she mentions the hostel. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve made my own arrangements.’
    Zoe still won’t look at him. ‘So long as he doesn’t expect me to take him where he wants to go. I’m busy enough as it is.’
    Lewis raises his eyebrows at me. It’s not much of a welcome.
    ‘Watch your bags, passports, everything,’ Zoe says, in the weary voice she must use with her language school students. ‘Barcelona is more famous for pickpockets than Picasso
now. They’re on bikes, skateboards, on foot and especially on the Metro. Better not to take anything valuable out with you. But I wouldn’t leave stuff in your hostel, either; it’s
one of the dodgiest in the city.’
    ‘Welcome to beautiful Barcelona,’ Cara calls back, and everyone laughs.
    Everyone except Zoe.
    The hostel isn’t that bad.
    OK, the communal bathroom is grim. And our shared room is a sectioned off area of corridor, with bunks stacked four high. And I’m sure I spot two different kinds of cockroach. But the
bathrooms and bunks aren’t the point. The point is that we are thirty-six steps from the beach.
    I kept seeing glimpses of it through gaps between buildings as we struggled through narrow streets with our trolley bags. Zoe seemed to be leading us on a crazy route, but then finally we turned
a corner and she watched our faces, as though she’d handed us the best present ever, wrapped in a giant bow.
    The sea, dreamboat blue, with nothing on the horizon except a few windsurfers and a shimmering building in the shape of a boat sail.
    I glanced at Zoe and she looked . . . proud, as though the view belonged to her. It was the first time she’d acted like a human being since we arrived. But then she scowled and told us we
were making her late for her intermediate conversational English class.
    Sahara and Ade stand by the window and coo at the shimmering sea and the purring waves.
    Cara calls down to Lewis, who is waiting in the sun while we check in. ‘You can keep your posh hotels, mate. We’ve got the best view ever from up here!’
    This was Javier’s beach, of course. His secrets are buried here. But not for much longer. I reach into my pocket and feel the slip of paper with the address of the café on it.
I’ll find it today. I promised.
    ‘Hey, daydreamer, let’s get down there,’ says Cara, abandoning her stuff.
    ‘Wait for me,’ Ade shouts out, then