Eddie

I SIT HERE DAZED BY everything I've heard. Trying to make sense of what Bella has just told me.

"But that's not what happened," I say.

"What?" Bella frowns.

"My brother, Jake. He didn't die."

She looks totally floored. "But I don't understand. I heard—"

"Maybe he wanted to die," I say. "I mean, I was a little kid and my parents never talk about it. But I do know he somehow got hold of a load of drugs and tried to ride his bike over the cliffs. Suppose he changed his mind at the last second or something. The bike skidded off the edge, landed on the rocks at the bottom. It was a total wreck. At first I guess they thought the worst, like maybe his body had been washed out to sea or something, because he was AWOL for several days. When he finally turned up... even I could see something was different. Like the old Jake was gone. Like there was... a demon inside him or something. And it just got worse and worse."

I tell her about the drugs. The stealing. "He sold my dad's tractor. Just drove it off one day and sold it. It would have fetched, like, tens of thousands of pounds, money my parents couldn't afford to lose. They could never get out of him what he did with it. More drugs, probably. My parents had to remortgage the farm to buy a new tractor. They nearly lost everything."

Bella's staring at me, pale and stunned. "All this time," she says. "I'd thought..." She trails off. "But then—Where is he now?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"He's—what's the word? Estranged? He could be anywhere." He could be dead, actually, the way he was going. But I've never let myself believe that. "After the tractor... Mum had to talk Dad out of having him arrested. Dad said he never wanted to see his face again. He said as far as he was concerned he no longer had an older son. He's got a temper, my dad. Thing is, I'm sure he regretted it afterwards." I know he did. That night he locked himself in the barn with the replacement tractor, engine running. "But by then, Jake was gone."

And so in a way it is like he died. I think about all those years we lost as a family. All the nights lying up in my room, hearing Mum sobbing in the kitchen below. "I don't even know where he is, Harold. My baby boy. He could be lying—oh God—he could be lying dead in an alleyway somewhere."

I think about the dad that I can just about remember who used to sing local shanties and even—if he'd had enough to drink—get out his old fiddle. I think of how I never hear him laugh that big belly laugh I once heard. I think of how my parents hardly talk to each other anymore.

I think of all the times I've walked past the door of my brother's old bedroom, kept just the same as it was when he left, Mum hoovering every week to get rid of all the dust that settles on every surface with no one moving around in there to disturb it. All the times I've looked at his bodyboard or his football or his rugby trophies or his books or the photos of him when he was younger and thought about all the things he could have taught me: the sort of things a big brother teaches a little one. All the things we could have done together, all the adventures we might have had.

I think about sneaking into Jake's room once and taking a jumper from his cupboard, which still had the smell of him, and trying it on and the sleeves dangling down over my hands. And then, years later, trying on the same jumper and it fitting, but the smell being gone.

I think about lying in bed at night when I was younger trying to remember him, the sound of his voice. Trying to feel him out there, somewhere, trying to imagine where he might be, what sort of life he might have. And then feeling so angry at him because if he was out there, why didn't he just come home?

Now I know. I understand. Because a local woman died in the woods and he was there and he couldn't save her and he couldn't tell anyone. And then Dad said he never wanted to see him again. And none of it was actually his fault. Like Bella said, she got away with it. Francesca Meadows. She got away with it while my family broke apart.

"There was no explanation," I say. "Maybe if we'd known... if my parents had known..." I can hardly get the words out. I taste salt on my lips and realize I'm crying.

Bella reaches across the table and covers my hand with hers. Then she says: "This is why I'm here, Eddie, because of the lives she destroyed that night. You get it, don't you? You can't walk away from something like that as though it never happened. And you sure as hell can't come back." I'm not sure she realizes how hard she's gripping my hand, my fingers hurt. The look on her face scares me a bit. I know it's not me she's this angry with, but it's almost a relief when the door of the dining pod crashes open and Ruby barges in.

"Um. Hello." She flashes her dazzling professional smile at Bella. Her gaze falls to Bella's hand on mine and then she shoots me this look, like: just signal with your eyes if you've been trapped by a crazy. Then she frowns. "Er, Eds? There's something I need your help with..." I sense she's choosing her words carefully, but there's a nervous energy coming off her.

"Oh," I say, my voice sounding a very long way away. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll come now..." I turn back to Bella.

"You go," she says. "I've got something I have to do." Her voice is hard, determined. She's staring out through the windows at the night, as though she's already somewhere else.

As we walk away from the dining pod Ruby grabs my arm and mutters: "Who was that?"

"Oh," I say, still feeling dazed, "no one. Just a... a guest." A guest who has just taken everything I thought I knew about my brother and exploded it and formed a whole new picture. He had no choice. He must have been so scared, must have felt so alone.

"She seemed crazy intense," Ruby says.

I manage a shrug. "Probably too much to drink."

Luckily she seems too distracted to press any more. "This way," she says, marching toward The Manor. There's a—situation I need your help with." She waves a hand in the direction of the crowds on the lawn. "Oh, and it's got wild out here."

"What?" I say, not really able to focus.

"Er... everyone's acting, like, seriously fucking weird. They're all meant to be sitting down by now. But look at them!"

Now I do look and I see what she means. The food has been served: platters upon platters of fancily arranged salads and whole grilled fish, roast vegetables in posh arrangements, slices of pork from the spit roast, everything scattered with brightly colored edible flowers... but it's just sitting there in the light of the half-burned candles. Not a single guest has taken their place at the tables and several of the chairs have been knocked over. Before I went into the dining cabin it had definitely got looser, but nothing like this. Guests are running, crawling, swaying on the spot. A lot of them are clustered near the cliff edge, looking down at something on the beach.

Ruby points and I see the cloth covering the nearest table lift slightly and catch sight of naked, twisting limbs. "Are they..." I squint, trying to make it out, and then quickly look away. "Oh." Yeah, I think they are.

"Shit," Ruby says, suddenly, pointing. "They're in the pool, too."

I see writhing bodies lit by the pool lights, hear strange cries and whoops. More and more guests pile in as we watch, not a care about the people they're landing on as they jump in.

"What's... happened to them all?" I ask. "I don't get it."

"It's like everyone here is high," Ruby says. "But that doesn't make any sense. I mean, yeah, I clocked a couple of them powdering their noses in the toilets. But they can't all be on something, can they?"

We're nearly at the main building now. Ruby's leading me round to the back, near the staff entrance.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"He says he's a mate of yours. He said you invited him. I mean, clearly that's bullshit, but if he is your friend I wanted to give you a chance to talk to him first, before I call the police."

Ah, crap. I have a bad feeling about this. Like I need this on top of everything else.

"There." Ruby points and I see them now: a couple of shadowy figures in the flowerbeds. I hear sniggering, whispers. A "Fucking hell, mate!" that sounds all too familiar.

"Nathan?" I call.

The two of them freeze and look up, eyes gleaming in the light from the lanterns along the path. It's Tate and the other guy, Gareth, from the band, the idiot who was grinning away on the drums.

As I look back at them I remember Nathan the other night on the beach: "Heard they're having some sort of bullshit solstice celebration? Mate of mine works for an organic cider farm, says they've put in the biggest order ever."

And I think about the fact that if you want to get hold of any gear around here, Nathan Tate is your man.

"Ruby," I say. "I think I know what's happened to the guests."