know what to think. But it’s made me even more determined to set up this
experiment as soon as I can.’
I nod. ‘It wouldn’t do any harm for me to go online again now, though, would it? Because if I’ve been banned, it’s not even worth getting access to a lab.’
Banned?
Saying it out loud makes it real. My future without the Beach will be one of unfinished business, not knowing what’s become of my sister or Tim or Danny.
He frowns. ‘Please. Stick to what we agreed, Alice. I want to get to the bottom of this more than anyone, especially now. But you’ve had your chance to tell your friends that you
need some time offline. Please do what we agreed. Enjoy normal life, time with your folks, while I work on it. You keep your side of the bargain and I will keep mine.’
I leave a few minutes later; Lewis is distracted and so am I. Plus, Mum’s already texted me, suggesting we go out for a ‘girly’ lunch.
The engine turns over, I pull on my seatbelt, take a breath, check my mirrors.
They’ve moved.
Not the rear-view one in here, but the ones at each side. Not by
that
much. And wing mirrors are always being smashed or clipped, even on a quiet road like Lewis’s.
But
both
mirrors?
The air inside the car could melt plastic, but my skin prickles with cold fear.
I adjust the mirrors, so almost every angle of the street is covered. Of course, there’s always a blind spot, so I check that, twisting in my seat.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No Sahara. No Lewis. No one at all behind me.
But someone must have been here. It’s a reminder – like I need one – that life offline isn’t without its dangers.
17
I try to enjoy my ‘normal’ life, really I do.
But every minute I’m checking my mobile for a call or a message from Lewis. It never comes.
Doubts begin to creep in about whether he
ever
believed me, and then fears about the consequences of what damage he may have done by glimpsing Soul Beach. I even drive round to his
place, but he doesn’t answer the door. Either he’s out, or he’s hiding.
Meanwhile, Mum keeps coming up with
activities
to keep me busy. It feels like the stuff they give psychiatric patients to do to take their mind off their insanity. One day we go to a
bloody pottery, the next to a pasta-making class.
I try to smile as I stuff floppy envelopes of dough with hot spinach. I hate spinach. None of it distracts me from the black despair I’m feeling as I contemplate being without the Beach
forever.
‘Fun, isn’t it?’ Mum says.
More fun than family therapy, I’ll give her that. That was Tuesday: the day after Lewis took hold of my life without telling me when he planned to let go.
It was hard to know which of us least wanted to be at therapy: me or Dad. All Tuesday I’d felt I was being followed again, so when Olav took us to a different room – the
pastel-painted
Family Space –
and I realised one chair had a view onto the street, I asked to sit there.
Which led to a full twenty-minute discussion about where my feelings of paranoia and control-freakery might stem from. It was the perfect chance to play my silly game with Olav, to twist and
turn his words and make him doubt his own sanity. I tried – suggested a game of musical chairs, and then said I could only talk if everyone else sat on a beanbag – but my heart
wasn’t in it.
All the way through, I could imagine Lewis sitting behind me, whispering sarcastic comments in my ear:
just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re NOT out to get you,
Ali.
Or,
do you think Olav would be drummed out of the shrink’s club if he shaved off his goatee beard or dared to wear socks with his sandals?
But Lewis doesn’t even seem to be speaking to me any more.
At least Mum was happier by the end of the session. ‘It’s the start of a journey, Alice.’
A journey that involves eating home-made pasta off hand-painted plates and wanting to smash both onto the floor.
The
experiment as soon as I can.’
I nod. ‘It wouldn’t do any harm for me to go online again now, though, would it? Because if I’ve been banned, it’s not even worth getting access to a lab.’
Banned?
Saying it out loud makes it real. My future without the Beach will be one of unfinished business, not knowing what’s become of my sister or Tim or Danny.
He frowns. ‘Please. Stick to what we agreed, Alice. I want to get to the bottom of this more than anyone, especially now. But you’ve had your chance to tell your friends that you
need some time offline. Please do what we agreed. Enjoy normal life, time with your folks, while I work on it. You keep your side of the bargain and I will keep mine.’
I leave a few minutes later; Lewis is distracted and so am I. Plus, Mum’s already texted me, suggesting we go out for a ‘girly’ lunch.
The engine turns over, I pull on my seatbelt, take a breath, check my mirrors.
They’ve moved.
Not the rear-view one in here, but the ones at each side. Not by
that
much. And wing mirrors are always being smashed or clipped, even on a quiet road like Lewis’s.
But
both
mirrors?
The air inside the car could melt plastic, but my skin prickles with cold fear.
I adjust the mirrors, so almost every angle of the street is covered. Of course, there’s always a blind spot, so I check that, twisting in my seat.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No Sahara. No Lewis. No one at all behind me.
But someone must have been here. It’s a reminder – like I need one – that life offline isn’t without its dangers.
17
I try to enjoy my ‘normal’ life, really I do.
But every minute I’m checking my mobile for a call or a message from Lewis. It never comes.
Doubts begin to creep in about whether he
ever
believed me, and then fears about the consequences of what damage he may have done by glimpsing Soul Beach. I even drive round to his
place, but he doesn’t answer the door. Either he’s out, or he’s hiding.
Meanwhile, Mum keeps coming up with
activities
to keep me busy. It feels like the stuff they give psychiatric patients to do to take their mind off their insanity. One day we go to a
bloody pottery, the next to a pasta-making class.
I try to smile as I stuff floppy envelopes of dough with hot spinach. I hate spinach. None of it distracts me from the black despair I’m feeling as I contemplate being without the Beach
forever.
‘Fun, isn’t it?’ Mum says.
More fun than family therapy, I’ll give her that. That was Tuesday: the day after Lewis took hold of my life without telling me when he planned to let go.
It was hard to know which of us least wanted to be at therapy: me or Dad. All Tuesday I’d felt I was being followed again, so when Olav took us to a different room – the
pastel-painted
Family Space –
and I realised one chair had a view onto the street, I asked to sit there.
Which led to a full twenty-minute discussion about where my feelings of paranoia and control-freakery might stem from. It was the perfect chance to play my silly game with Olav, to twist and
turn his words and make him doubt his own sanity. I tried – suggested a game of musical chairs, and then said I could only talk if everyone else sat on a beanbag – but my heart
wasn’t in it.
All the way through, I could imagine Lewis sitting behind me, whispering sarcastic comments in my ear:
just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re NOT out to get you,
Ali.
Or,
do you think Olav would be drummed out of the shrink’s club if he shaved off his goatee beard or dared to wear socks with his sandals?
But Lewis doesn’t even seem to be speaking to me any more.
At least Mum was happier by the end of the session. ‘It’s the start of a journey, Alice.’
A journey that involves eating home-made pasta off hand-painted plates and wanting to smash both onto the floor.
The
Similar Books
