Soul Storm (3 page)

‘Are you saying you don’t want me to come? Or that you want me to stop going after . . .’ I just stop myself mentioning Sahara’s name, ‘the person who killed
you?’

Meggie reaches for my hand again, and I let her take it. ‘I’m not talking about you leaving right
now.
I couldn’t bear it. But this can’t go on
forever.’

‘I think I’m getting closer, Meggie,’ I whisper.

‘To what?’

‘To knowing for certain. To finding the proof we need.’

She gulps. ‘I
do
still want to know who murdered me. And I want the world to know, too. But that has to come second to your safety. When I was alive, I thought the world revolved
around me but now I know better. I’m the past. A reality TV star-to-be that never was.’

‘You
still
are a star. So many people remember your music. And you deserve justice.’

She says nothing for a moment. ‘Sometimes I forget how much you’ve grown up, how strong you are. But that doesn’t mean you’re indestructible. Promise me you’ll
never put yourself at risk.’

I hesitate. ‘I promise I won’t do anything crazy.’

‘I suppose I’ll have to settle for that.’ And she does the strangest thing: lifts my hand to her lips and kisses it, like I’m royalty. Tim whispers something in her ear,
and she smiles and turns, walking away from me slowly but purposefully, towards the jetty. ‘Time to leave you two lovebirds in peace.’

Danny’s behind me: puts his arms around my waist and turns me round.

Red earth speeding towards me. Weightlessness.

‘You were wrong, Danny,’ I say, when the image fades. ‘What you said before. I’m not sacrificing anything to be with you.’

But he’s still frowning. ‘You might not always feel that way. I’m scared you’ll throw away your future on us. On me.’

‘It’s my future to throw away.’

‘Sure, I know. I know. Don’t hate me for wanting what’s best for you.’

‘I don’t
hate
you, Danny. But I wish everyone round here would stop treating me like a kid.’ I try to break away but he holds on to my hand.

‘Don’t go. Let’s forget all that. Hang out. Watch the surfers. Listen to the birds. After all, it’s vacation time!’

‘I’d rather kiss than watch the surfers,’ I say.

So we do.

‘I’m not sure the world is ready for you behind the wheel, Ali.’

Maybe Lewis is joking. Then again, my reverse parking isn’t up to its usual standards. For some reason, I keep getting flustered, even though we’re the only people in the car park of
a derelict warehouse. I can’t get insurance to drive his fancy silver convertible on the road, plus I doubt he’d trust me with the super-shiny paintwork in traffic.

I’m not sure I’d trust me either.

‘I’m normally better. You’re making me nervous,’ I say.

He runs his hand through his thick hair so it stands on end: always a sign he’s under stress. ‘You and me both. Can we take a break?’

I press a button to switch the engine off.
That’s
how swanky his car is. He doesn’t even have a normal ignition key.

‘You’ve got me worried now. My driving instructor said I was ready, but—’

‘I’m only teasing. You’re great. Enviable control of your steering. Reversing is slow but sure. And that funny thing you do with your tongue – poking it out when
you’re changing gear – is a bloody winner!’

I punch him on the arm. ‘Oi, you’re meant to be encouraging me.’

‘Seriously. It’s cute. So long as your examiner is a bloke, you’ll be laughing.’

I tut. ‘Just because
you
passed first time.’

‘Yeah, well, I had a
female
examiner. Worked the old geeky charm on her. Not only did I change gear as smoothly as a racing driver, I kept up a running commentary on the workings
of the engine, too. She gave me an A star. And then asked for my number.’

‘Wow!’ I say. ‘I didn’t realise they let people become driving instructors when they had eyesight that bad.’

But I’ve been noticing lately that women
do
seem to fancy Lewis. A particular kind of girl seems to like that long, lean body and the mad scientist hair and the designer glasses
(which I know for a fact have clear glass in them, even though he insists they were prescribed to counteract the glare of all the computer stuff he does).

Luckily I have Danny, otherwise I might get a crush on Lewis myself. And that would
really
mess things up.

‘So what’s the first journey you’ll take when you’ve passed, Ali?’

I shrug. ‘Not sure.’

He gives me a sideways look. ‘Really? Only I had it all planned out. I went to London, in the middle of the night, just because I could. Drove round the sights. Past Westminster. Along
Buckingham Palace Road. The Embankment. Felt like James Bond.’

‘Lucky you didn’t get arrested as a potential terrorist.’

‘I
did
get stopped by the police, actually. Even when I had my old car, they couldn’t believe a kid like me could afford a decent set of wheels.’

‘Show-off.’

Lewis blushes through his San Fran tan. He’s not
really
a show-off. I honestly believe he bought this car because he appreciates its engineering, not to impress other people.

‘Can’t believe you haven’t got a maiden voyage planned in your mum’s Polo.’

I’m pretty good at lying these days but Lewis is the only one who can see through me. The truth is, I know
exactly
where I’ll go if I pass. I also know he wouldn’t
approve. ‘The seaside, maybe.’

‘Ri-ight.’ He’s not buying that.

Neither of us says anything for a while.

‘How—’

‘What—’

We both talk at once.

‘Ladies first,’ he says.

‘I was going to say, what about I take you out for the day when I pass? A magical mystery tour,’ I say, ‘as a thank-you for being so impatient with me.’

‘That sounds very nice. But don’t you mean patient?’

‘No, no. I respond much better to threats. The idea that I’m about to be thrown out of the car and will have to walk home works very well for me.’

Lewis pulls a face. ‘Yeah. You’re right, I guess. My intolerance comes of spending so much time working for myself. I can be pretty impatient.’

‘I wouldn’t say that. The way you . . .’ I stop.

He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘The way I?’

‘All of Zoe’s photos. You were patient going through those. But I know we’re trying not to mention that.’

‘The elephant in the room. Or the car,’ he says, running his hand through his hair again. ‘I suppose it was too much to expect that we could get through an entire afternoon
without death rearing its ugly head.’

‘Perhaps.’ I try not to sound hurt but I’m not sure I manage it.

‘Sorry, Ali. That came out harsher than I intended. It’s just sometimes I hope that maybe you might want more than . . .’ he stops.

‘I might want what?’

‘Ah, nothing. You know I’m happy to talk about it anytime.’

Except, when I’m with Lewis, I think about ‘it’ less than when I’m around other people. Plus, I don’t feel that constant anxiety about being watched. This
afternoon, I’ve looked in my rear-view mirror the
normal
number of times, i.e. not every millisecond. Sure, Sahara would be easy to spot in this deserted car park, but it’s
more than that.

Lewis makes me feel safe.

He knows more about me, and my fears, than anyone else. OK, I haven’t told him about the Beach, because he’s a scientist and he might think I’m mad. But he knows more about my
campaign for justice than Cara or my parents.

‘I still can’t believe the photos revealed nothing new.’

‘I might find something else. There are a few left.’

We both know he’s just trying to make me feel better. We’ve pored over every pixel of the photos Zoe had on her computer. Freakish pictures we’re certain must have been taken
by the killer. Tim found them and left them in a safe place for Zoe to collect if anything happened to him.

Pictures of my sister alive. Pictures of my sister’s hand, after she died. Her lips on a glass.

And one more photo – that single close-up of
my
eyes. The surest sign that I could be next.

But there’s nothing we could take to the police to make them reopen the investigation. Sahara is as devious as she is deadly. I Googled ‘psychopath’ after we got home from
Spain. The search results summed it up:

Grandiose sense of self-importance

Like believing the whole world is out to get her.

Pathological lying

Like insisting she was my sister’s best friend, even though I know they fell out before she died.

Cunning/manipulative

Like fooling the world into thinking someone else killed Meggie.

‘So. Shall we call it a day and try again tomorrow, Ali?’ Lewis breaks into my thoughts.

‘I’d love to, but I need real, on-road practice and I can’t ask you to let me do that in your super-car. Ade and Sahara have offered.’

His upper lip curls. ‘How nice of them to come all the way from Greenwich to help you.’ Lewis isn’t as obvious as Cara, but he thinks the same: that spending time with them is
doing me no good at all. Even though he understands why I do it.

‘It
is
nice, isn’t it?’ I say.

I choose to ignore the worry in his eyes. He knows I think my sister’s killer is still out there and that it must have been someone close to her. He’s begged me dozens of times to
leave it be.

But he also knows me well enough to understand that there’s nothing he can say to stop me pursuing it to the bitter end.

‘Alice! Watch out! There’s a bollard. You’re going to hit it! Brake. Brake! God, that was close!’

‘Sorry, Sahara. I did see it, it’s just . . .’
It’s just that my driving gets so much worse when I’m in the car with the woman I suspect of killing my
sister.

I try not to giggle. I know it isn’t even a joke. Just a hyper feeling I get when she’s around. I’m on red alert in case she says anything that might reveal the truth.

‘Oh, don’t worry, Alice,’ Sahara trills, calmer now. ‘Last-minute nerves, eh?’

I look in the mirror. Ade’s in the back, nodding. ‘Alice, relax. You’re an excellent driver. We wouldn’t take you out in our car otherwise.’

Our
car. They bought it last month, traded in their motorbike for a heavy black Scandinavian estate. They were planning to take it round Europe over the summer. It’s big enough to
take surfboards on the roof, and a mattress with the back seats down, but they’ve travelled no further than Richmond-on-Thames.

‘They only got it so they could give you lessons,’ Cara said, when I told her. ‘They have no intention of letting you escape their clutches.’

They’re getting more serious about each other: there’s the car, plus next week they’re moving in together. Or, rather, Sahara’s moving into the flat that Ade used to
share with Tim.

The flat where Tim was found dead with a plastic bag over his face.

‘Maybe that’s enough driving for today,’ Sahara says. ‘Shall we get a drink and you can tell us what else you’ve been up to?’

‘There’s good coffee back at my house.’ I feel safer on home territory.

‘Great. Drive on then, Alice!’ She hits the steering wheel, like a rider would kick a horse to make it gallop. ‘You should know the way!’

Dad’s out and Mum’s sunbathing in the garden, so I leave my freaky driving instructors in the living room while I put the kettle on.

From the kitchen, I can see them whispering but I can’t hear what they’re saying. They’re leaning in close, which emphasises how strange they look together. Ade’s pale,
with delicate features and fine blond hair. He’s not my type but he’s attractive: Cara would never have fancied him if he wasn’t.

Sahara is all masculine edges, with serious arm muscles and a horsey face. Relationships aren’t just about looks, I know that, but I can’t imagine her intense personality is
attractive either. I used to feel guilty about judging her so harshly. Not any more. But I wish I could understand why Ade puts up with her.

As I walk into the room with the drinks, they freeze. The expression on Ade’s face is hard to read, but it could be
fear.
Maybe he’s scared to leave her.

‘Cheer up, it might never happen,’ I say and they both gawp at me. It’s not the kind of thing
I
say.

‘No biscuits?’ Ade says, and when I put the tray down and turn to go back into the kitchen, he follows me. ‘Go easy on her, please, Alice.’

I turn round from where I’m rummaging through the cupboards. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Just that she’s more vulnerable than you might think.’

But before I can ask him anything else, he’s taken a packet of cookies from my hand and gone back to his girlfriend.

‘Yummy,’ says Sahara. Her smile looks forced.

Over coffee, conversation is stilted. They talk about moving in together – apparently Ade is a clean freak, while Sahara snores louder than a pig.
Nice.
Then Sahara gets uppity
about the fact that Ade can’t help her pack because he’s going home to his parents for a few days, and she drops hints about me driving over to help, once I’ve passed my test.
Hints which I ignore . . .

Finally she gets the message, and switches to interrogating me about my uni applications and my social life – though she doesn’t mention Cara – but then she runs out of steam.
It’s not surprising. We don’t have anything in common except my sister.

I want to scream at the top of my voice: ‘Did you kill her?’ But with Ade here, it’s pointless. He never leaves her alone for a second.

‘I need to go and freshen up,’ she says eventually.

Now’s my chance to ask Ade what he meant by her being
vulnerable.

But he’s already smiling. ‘You know, you’re a great driver, Alice. Much better than I was as a learner. If you don’t pass, then there’s no justice in the
world.’