Lily can’t decide how to spend her afternoon off. Her feelings are still so numb, the warm breeze barely registers when she leaves the staff accommodation block. She’s dressed like a tourist in a T-shirt, denim cut-offs and espadrilles, but she’s too upset to sunbathe on Porthcressa Beach. Sabine’s phone is still tucked inside her pocket. It presses against her skin, reminding her to keep searching for her friend’s killer.
The air smells of cooking oil and stale coffee as she passes the kitchen. One of the chefs is taking a cigarette break, leaning against the wall. The middle-aged man calls out as she walks past.
‘Sorry to hear about your friend, Lily.’
‘It doesn’t seem real,’ she says, coming to a halt beside him. ‘I keep thinking she’ll walk back through the gates.’
‘How old was Sabine?’
‘Nineteen a few weeks ago.’
‘Jesus, she was still a kid.’ He uses his heel to grind the stub of his cigarette into the gravel. ‘It’s always the boyfriend, isn’t it? Who was she seeing?’
‘No one.’
The chef’s eyebrows shoot towards his hairline. ‘There were several, most likely.’
Lily stares back at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She always flirted with the lads in the kitchen.’ He gives an awkward shrug. ‘Girls like that draw the wrong kind of attention.’
‘It’s wrong to judge her; she’s not here to defend herself.’
‘Sorry, love, but everyone thinks the same.’ He holds up his hands, like she’s holding a loaded gun.
‘Sabine was friendly, that’s all, and kinder than all of you.’ She spits out the words.
The man’s smile remains on his face when he gives a low whistle of admiration. ‘I thought you were a mouse, but you’re a tough little nut, aren’t you?’
‘No one knew her like me. The rest of you can shut up.’
Lily is trembling when she walks away. She exits the hotel grounds fast, before anyone else can pass judgement. The midday heat is so stifling, she’s struggling to breathe. Her walk takes her past the police station, and she considers handing in Sabine’s phone, but it’s the last link to her friend’s memory. Lily returns to the house where she once lived on the Strand; the modest two-storey building has seen better days. Its only beautiful feature now is the view through the ginnel to Porth Minick Beach, and its acres of pristine sand.
The front door is unlocked, the hallway reeking of spilled beer. When she enters the living room, Lily calls her brother’s name, but gets no reply. She shakes her head in disgust. Her mother always kept the place clean and tidy, with wildflowers in a vase on the table. Harry has neglected it for months. Dishes are heaped in the kitchen sink, and stains mark the worn-out lino, discarded clothes and newspapers piled on the furniture. She sinks into an armchair, too upset to move, until she notices that something has fallen from her brother’s jacket, thrown haphazardly over the arm of the chair. It’s a Polaroid picture of Sabine, gazing at the camera, her expression beseeching. There’s so much terror in her eyes, Lily blinks hard, to avoid seeing it again.
‘What have you done, Harry?’ She mutters the words, then presses her hand across her mouth.