Free Soul Fire by Kate Harrison

and four a.m. OK, the first couple of days, I really struggled to get up, but now I wake up before the alarm even goes off. I
can’t wait to get onto the Beach.
    I love it here at night. The rise and fall of Danny’s chest as I lie next to him. The secrets and confessions that darkness teases out. The silly things – first pets, first crushes
– and the important stuff about happiness and love and even whether God exists.
    You’d have thought that dead people would have some pretty strong opinions on that last topic, yet the Guests have no idea if they’re in heaven, in hell . . . or even just in my
imagination.
    ‘So this friend of yours, Cara?’ Danny says. He pronounces it Kerr-uh , but that’s not what’s strange. What’s strange – and wonderful – is talking
to him about everyday stuff. It makes us seem like . . . well, like an ordinary boyfriend and girlfriend.
    ‘Hmm?’
    ‘These plans she has to make you go wild? They don’t include introducing you to guys, do they?’
    ‘They might.’
    ‘But I get so jealous, Alice.’ Those big green eyes are completely focused on me. He’s doing a very convincing impersonation of total adoration.
    ‘I don’t get jealous of all the gorgeous girls you hang out with here.’ It’s a lie. I do, a bit.
    ‘That’s different.’ He reaches over to take my hand. ‘I have to face it. Other guys have what I don’t have.’
    ‘Body odour?’
    Danny smiles sadly. ‘A future.’
    I don’t know how to answer that, so I kiss him instead. But afterwards, reality still lingers like a nasty smell. ‘Let’s go and see the others.’
    There’s a group sitting on the end of the rickety wooden pier. Meggie and Tim are there.
    ‘Hello, gorgeous little sister,’ Meggie says, hugging me tight.
    ‘Hi, Alice.’ Tim gives me a little wave but he reaches for my sister’s hand again, as though he can’t bear not to be touching her for more than a few seconds.
    Next to them, Javier and Gretchen are dangling their feet in the moonlit water.
    ‘Hey, guys. How’s life?’ I ask them.
    ‘Life after death is excellent,’ says Javier. ‘So good I think I might just stay here forever.’
    I’m about to say something sarcastic back, until I realise they’re both giggling.
    Gretchen shakes her head at him, then smiles at me. ‘Alice, he can’t help himself. Do you have this phrase in English? So sharp he will cut himself.’
    ‘That’s the perfect description of Javier,’ I laugh.
    But then I stop laughing. Gretchen’s face is changing before my eyes. Her skin is livid red, and so swollen you can barely make out where her eyes are. As I watch, she begins to shake, as
though she’s fitting, and I hear an awful noise from her throat, as though she’s so puffed up that she can’t breathe anymore.
    I blink, and when I open my eyes again, she’s back to normal. And no one else seems to have noticed.
    ‘I am sharp no longer,’ Javier insists. ‘Instead, I am a big fluffy ball of softness. Now that Miss Gretchen keeps reminding me of how lucky we are to be here, I would not dare
complain about my existence.’
    I sit down next to him. ‘You are feeling better, then? I was so worried about you. After Triti went . . .’
    He looks down. ‘It was a dark time. So many times I wished I could have gone with her. But now . . .’ he looks up again, smiling at Gretchen, ‘I forget all the many bad things
I can do nothing about. Triti, of course, but also the past.’
    I say nothing. He’s never complained about ending up here, never even hinted that he wishes things could be different. What happened to you, Javier? I can’t ask outright, but
I try to tell him with my eyes that it’s OK to tell me his troubles, if it would help.
    But the moment passes. ‘Enough self-pity. Gretchen has cured me. She is like medicine. No. Not like medicine. Like cava, you know, the sparkling wine of Cataluña, where I am from.
Full of happy bubbles. With her, I am a reformed