Free Soul Beach by Kate Harrison

That’s why it feels so weird.’ Suddenly this beautiful place seems a little darker.
    She nods and I realise she looks close to tears. ‘Oh, Florrie,’ she says very quietly. ‘I never realised I’d miss the screech of bloody seagulls quite this much.’
    There’s nothing I can say. I look at her face, trying to memorise every detail in case this is the last time. The more I learn about the place, the more I worry that I can’t count on anything on Soul Beach.
    ‘I’m so sorry, Meggie. I wish there was something I could do to make it better.’
    ‘You make it better just by being here, Florrie. Believe me.’
    I nod. ‘Thanks for saying that. It means a lot to me.’
    ‘Sleep tight, mind the bugs don’t bite,’ she says, and I click on the Log Out button before she sees me crying.
    But then, before she disappears, I notice her eyes. Her irises are super-blue, but the whites aren’t white any more. They’re a violent blood-red. Then that redness spreads like a blush across her face, as though she’s drowning in blood. It’s so horrifying that I have to close my eyes.
    When I open them, the beach is fading away and I realise I am sweating and shaking. I fight to remember my beautiful sister, but, when I shut my eyes again, all I can picture is a Meggie with crimson skin, gasping for breath.

22
    The press are outside our door tonight. Dad waits until he thinks there’s a full house – local reporters, that guy from the Sun who lives round the corner, two cameramen who’ve been here so often I bet they’ve saved our address as ‘home’ on their sat nav – then he walks out and stands in front of the double garage, the same spot where he’s given his mini press conferences before.
    ‘I appreciate you have your jobs to do, but as usual we won’t be making any form of statement apart from to say that, obviously, we appreciate the kind messages we continue to receive, and we all long for any development that will help solve the mystery of our beloved daughter’s death. Any further queries will be handled by the police press office. I’d appreciate it if you’d consider leaving all of us in peace, especially our daughter, Alice. Thank you.’
    He ignores the shouted questions about how we feel and whether we think Tim’s guilty, as he comes back into the house. I’m in the kitchen making a sandwich. Mum’s at Group. I bet she’ll be top of the bill tonight.
    ‘How are you, Alice?’ Dad says, pouring himself a very large glass of wine. ‘Would you like one?’
    He doesn’t usually offer. I’d been planning a late night trip to Soul Beach, but he looks like he needs some company. ‘OK.’
    My father pours a lot less wine into my glass, and we sit down in the dining room, because the living room has a huge window and we have an unspoken understanding that it would be bad for the reporters to see us drinking together. Underage Booze Shame of Tragic Songbird’s Sister is a headline we could probably do without.
    ‘It’s been a while since we talked properly,’ Dad says.
    ‘Hmm.’
    ‘This business with Tim. I just don’t see him as a violent boy. I know your mother says we never know what people are capable of, but it seems to me that the police are clutching at straws.’
    ‘Right.’ What does he expect me to say?
    ‘You don’t think he killed Megan do you?’
    I shake my head. ‘No. It makes no sense that he’d kill the person he loved. And I never did fancy him, whatever Mum says.’
    Of course, he was attractive – Meggie would never go out with someone ugly. He had pale grey eyes and brown hair that always looked messy and glowed like embers in the sun. Oh, and a permanent five o’clock shadow – not because he was a poseur but because he had too much on his mind to remember to shave every day. But there was never anything flirtatious about my friendship with Tim. We liked each other, no more, no less.
    Dad smiles. ‘Your mum says silly things. She’s . . .