pour you a drink.’ She looks around the bar, which is better stocked than the flashy Greenwich club Meggie sneaked me into last Valentine’s Day.
‘It’s OK. I’ve got some water,’ I say. It feels like a physical effort to drag my attention away from the screen and back into the ‘real world’ so I can take a sip. Why is Soul Beach so vivid in comparison?
‘Let’s sit down,’ Sam says, and she pours most of a bottle of red into her glass, before leading me to a table. The bar has a palm-leaf roof, but is open on all sides, and when I sit down all I can see is the sea, and the horizon above it. Tonight the water looks a bright jewel blue, like sapphires, and the sun hasn’t set yet, so I don’t know which time zone we’re in. ‘Now. What do you want to know?’
I try to focus. ‘OK. Why is Meggie here?’
‘She was murdered, right?’
I flinch. It still sounds so wrong. ‘Yes. Do you know who by?’
‘No. No way. We only get the basics, and to be honest with you, it’s a bloody good job, because I have a crap memory. And – no offence, because I like your sister, she’s a laugh – but there are so many of them, and they’ve all got a good story, so after a bit, it’s tricky to remember who’s who, never mind how they got here.’
‘Seriously?’
She nods. ‘I know I sound a right callous bitch. But, you know, part of helping people settle in is about making sure they forget why they got here, and focus on . . . well, life after death.’
‘Is this it, then? Heaven?’
Sam shakes her head. ‘Not quite. Look, to be honest, most of what we get told is strictly need to know. But have you heard of limbo?’
‘As in, that thing where you dance under a rope?’
She smiles. ‘No. The other sort. It’s the idea that there’s a kind of . . . waiting room between life on earth and eternal life. Or a purification process. Depends on your religion.’
‘Purification? Like hellfire? So Meggie did something wrong?’
She shakes her head again; the beaded dreadlocks swing happily from side to side, which feels wrong for the subject. ‘No. Not that I know of, anyway. I don’t play any part in the whole Judgement Day business. It’s a different division.’
‘You’re telling me that God has divisions ?’
She pulls a face. ‘Sorry, mate. My stupid sense of humour. Look. I know how to mix a Long Island Iced Tea, how to break up a fight, how to unblock the dishwasher, but I don’t understand much about the bigger picture.’
‘Oh. So what was all that about limbo?’
Sam looks shifty. ‘Only stuff I’ve picked up from all-night ‘putting the world to rights’ discussions that happen in here. But I do know that all our Guests died with something unresolved. Murders. Suicides. Accidents that weren’t all that accidental. I don’t know if we’re born with our date of death stamped through us like a stick of Blackpool rock, but these kids died too soon, or too violently. I promise you, no one here went peacefully in their sleep.’
I think of the headlines about Meggie: they called her the Sleeping Beauty Songbird . Zoe, the girl who found her body, said her hair was laid out on the pillow like a halo, and her skin was flushed, as though she’d had a bit too much sun. ‘No one?’
‘It might not be heaven, but it’s definitely not hell here either,’ Sam goes on. ‘I mean, look at this place. Free food. Free drink. Non-stop sunshine and beautiful party people. Guitars for those beach-front jam sessions. No stress. Volleyball .’ She smiles. ‘There’s every reason for the kids to forget what happened before.’
I really wish I had a glass of her wine in my hand. ‘Kids?’
‘Oh, yeah. I forgot. You haven’t seen anyone yet, have you?’
‘Yet. Does that mean I definitely will?’
‘Yes, I’d say so. It’s kinda of like those stupid Magic Eye pictures. You need to learn the knack. But you will, and then you’ll see what I mean by kids. Put it this way, I feel
‘It’s OK. I’ve got some water,’ I say. It feels like a physical effort to drag my attention away from the screen and back into the ‘real world’ so I can take a sip. Why is Soul Beach so vivid in comparison?
‘Let’s sit down,’ Sam says, and she pours most of a bottle of red into her glass, before leading me to a table. The bar has a palm-leaf roof, but is open on all sides, and when I sit down all I can see is the sea, and the horizon above it. Tonight the water looks a bright jewel blue, like sapphires, and the sun hasn’t set yet, so I don’t know which time zone we’re in. ‘Now. What do you want to know?’
I try to focus. ‘OK. Why is Meggie here?’
‘She was murdered, right?’
I flinch. It still sounds so wrong. ‘Yes. Do you know who by?’
‘No. No way. We only get the basics, and to be honest with you, it’s a bloody good job, because I have a crap memory. And – no offence, because I like your sister, she’s a laugh – but there are so many of them, and they’ve all got a good story, so after a bit, it’s tricky to remember who’s who, never mind how they got here.’
‘Seriously?’
She nods. ‘I know I sound a right callous bitch. But, you know, part of helping people settle in is about making sure they forget why they got here, and focus on . . . well, life after death.’
‘Is this it, then? Heaven?’
Sam shakes her head. ‘Not quite. Look, to be honest, most of what we get told is strictly need to know. But have you heard of limbo?’
‘As in, that thing where you dance under a rope?’
She smiles. ‘No. The other sort. It’s the idea that there’s a kind of . . . waiting room between life on earth and eternal life. Or a purification process. Depends on your religion.’
‘Purification? Like hellfire? So Meggie did something wrong?’
She shakes her head again; the beaded dreadlocks swing happily from side to side, which feels wrong for the subject. ‘No. Not that I know of, anyway. I don’t play any part in the whole Judgement Day business. It’s a different division.’
‘You’re telling me that God has divisions ?’
She pulls a face. ‘Sorry, mate. My stupid sense of humour. Look. I know how to mix a Long Island Iced Tea, how to break up a fight, how to unblock the dishwasher, but I don’t understand much about the bigger picture.’
‘Oh. So what was all that about limbo?’
Sam looks shifty. ‘Only stuff I’ve picked up from all-night ‘putting the world to rights’ discussions that happen in here. But I do know that all our Guests died with something unresolved. Murders. Suicides. Accidents that weren’t all that accidental. I don’t know if we’re born with our date of death stamped through us like a stick of Blackpool rock, but these kids died too soon, or too violently. I promise you, no one here went peacefully in their sleep.’
I think of the headlines about Meggie: they called her the Sleeping Beauty Songbird . Zoe, the girl who found her body, said her hair was laid out on the pillow like a halo, and her skin was flushed, as though she’d had a bit too much sun. ‘No one?’
‘It might not be heaven, but it’s definitely not hell here either,’ Sam goes on. ‘I mean, look at this place. Free food. Free drink. Non-stop sunshine and beautiful party people. Guitars for those beach-front jam sessions. No stress. Volleyball .’ She smiles. ‘There’s every reason for the kids to forget what happened before.’
I really wish I had a glass of her wine in my hand. ‘Kids?’
‘Oh, yeah. I forgot. You haven’t seen anyone yet, have you?’
‘Yet. Does that mean I definitely will?’
‘Yes, I’d say so. It’s kinda of like those stupid Magic Eye pictures. You need to learn the knack. But you will, and then you’ll see what I mean by kids. Put it this way, I feel
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