Beach Bodies: Part Three. Ross Armstrong

code. Swear on my life.’

      The women of the group assess the state of the coven as the room falls silent.

      It was a pressure cooker atmosphere even before all this. Their pride and futures bound up in how they were perceived, their honour and sense of themselves as potent beings. Every day was literally survival of the fittest. People have left the show in the past, citing stress or emotional difficulties. People have suffered after-effects, some citing PTSD, which critics have belittled as a very on-trend malady, but others, who know the spotlight and felt its burn, know the scars it can leave.

      ‘Listen, I started to think,’ says Summer, ‘we were such a strong threesome, it was almost polyamory. So I thought if I removed myself from it, Liv would be happier with Sly. I could be with Tommy. Dawn could go with Lance. And…’

      ‘Happily ever after,’ Liv bites.

      ‘I was going with my heart and my head. I thought that’s what you wanted?’ says Summer.

      ‘You never asked. But how benevolent of you to gift Sly to me,’ says Liv.

      ‘Well, it turns out he didn’t want that anyway,’ says Summer.

      ‘Even better,’ says Liv, throwing up her hands.

      ‘Wow,’ says Roberto, clapping his hands, a small laugh escaping from him.

      ‘Stop saying wow,’ says Summer. Oh, there are things I could say, Roberto, she thinks.

      ‘No, it’s just… Tommy, man, what a legend. In a manner of speaking,’ says Roberto. ‘You know, err, he shagged Dawn…’ He gestures to Lance and finds a stiff nod of confirmation. ‘God rest her soul. Then Summer. Anyone else?’

      ‘I snogged him before she did,’ says Liv, ignoring Summer’s glance.

      ‘Bloody hell,’ says Roberto. ‘And I mean, let’s be honest, we all thought he’d end up with Tabs.’

      It’s an uncomfortable thing to air. It was the type of gossip that gained greater thrill the more it was spoken behind the backs of the people in question. It acquired a quality of brilliance, like marble buffed to perfection. Telling one of them about it takes away the sheen and adds a glint of guilt.

      ‘The joke of it is,’ says Tabs, steadily, ‘we knew people thought we’d crack on. But we were only ever mates. That’s why he told me everything. That’s why people liked us, we had the feel of people with history. And that’s because that’s what we did have.’

      ‘The public were gunning for you. To get together, I mean,’ says Simon. ‘Wait. What do you mean, history?’

      Tabs almost blushes, an unusual colour for her, then she collects herself. ‘We had a moment at the airport.’

      ‘That… shouldn’t have happened. Why were you—’ says Simon.

      ‘I had to change my flight and we bumped into each other at the airport. We had a fleeting moment. But that’s all it was. It fleeted. It died. And then he was my best friend in here and I can’t believe Sly would hate him enough to—’

      ‘This is precisely the question,’ says Simon. ‘Do we think he did? Because that’s what I’ve been getting at. Sly was unaccounted for. You lost him. What if he saw red, planned to kill Tommy in the Love Nest, at the scene of the crime, so to speak. When you lost him, in the dark, could he have moved the body?’

      Liv shares a look with Summer for the first time in a long while.

      ‘I don’t know, I was freaking out…’ says Summer.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ says Liv, then adds, ‘I don’t know for sure.’

      ‘Then what?’ Lance shouts. ‘He moves the body, scoots outside to tap on Dawn’s window, kills her, then comes back upstairs to slit his own throat and jump out of a window?’

      Another light seems to go out before their very eyes.

      ‘That’s the person more likely than you, is it? It’s bollocks, mate,’ Lance says. ‘All you can throw is dead ends at us. I want to see what your secret thoughts are. I want to see inside that head of yours.’

      Lance reaches down towards the knife, then picks up the blue moleskin next to it. Simon’s eyes widen. ‘Your confession’s in here, Si, I’m sure of it.’

      ‘No. No,’ says Simon.

      The others note Simon’s fear as Lance, the bit between his teeth, opens up the book and smooths down the first page.

      ‘Wait,’ says Simon. ‘The storm’s stopped.’

      ‘What?’ says Lance, at this poor excuse for a distraction. ‘Oh, fuck off.’

      ‘No, listen,’ says Tabs.

      And they do, listening for the howling gale, the kind that feels like it could send you mad over a long enough timescale.

      But they hear nothing. Nothing at all.

      ‘He’s right,’ says Liv, and gets up to open the blinds.

      As half of the picture is instantly revealed out there, they find no jewels of rain falling anywhere. Justine stands, dragged from her seat, as if called upon by a hypnotist.