Silence. We all sat at the breakfast table once again, like we had that morning. Except, this time, there was no grandad. We were all grief stricken. But now,it felt more like emptiness. Like all of our emotions had been used up. In one fell sweep. We couldn’t look at each other. There was nothing to say. Our once perfect holiday had now been shattered into a million pieces, and none of us were prepared to try to pick them back up again. We were now waiting for a detective to come and try to instead. And what’s worse, we didn’t need a detective to come and tell us it was one of us who had done it. We all knew, deep down. We all knew that one of us was not who we thought they were, that they had maliciously done this to us, to grandad .

We heard a sharp rap on the door. The detective. All our heads turned, yet I could tell no one wanted to open the door to them. We all knew what had happened had happened. But opening that door would make it all real. After a few seconds of silence, my Aunt Belinda stood up, stifling a sob, and walked over. We all peered down the corridor as she opened the door and a group of stern faced police in gloves and pristine white overalls appeared. “Um, upstairs.”Belinda said, mousy and quiet as she seemed to shrink into herself. They nodded solemnly and began noisily dragging their equipment up the stairs. She walked back over and sat down, lips pursed and red raw eyes concentrated on a spot in the distance. Her lipstick was badly smudged and her mascara had followed her tears down her cheeks but, for once, she didn’t seem to notice. The detective followed her through into the open plan kitchen and dining area. We all stared at him. Morose yet still expectant. He was our only hope to somehow make sense of this and help our wounds to heal. “Detective Estebana Figueroa,” he said, “I assure you that our team will try our very hardest to come to a conclusion of this terrible crime. The culprit will be found.” He had a thick cypriot accent and was wearing a deep cerulean blue polo shirt with a pass and the station logo on, tucked into matching khaki shorts with way too many pockets. He also wore a red cap and a pair of sunglasses tucked into his belt. He seemed to be in his late thirties, with dark, closely shaven hair and murky green eyes that were very stern, yet instantly compelled you to trust him. I could also tell he was clever, very clever, and just slightly smug. He was the main detective in the area and I knew he had solved lots of murders before from a quick google search a few minutes before. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” he said, before giving us a quick, sympathetic nod and turning away to join his team upstairs.

Two days later, and now we were trying to make sense of the grief. Detective Figueroa was now always here with his crew and he had informed us that after the funeral the next day, questioning would start. We now knew for sure that one of us had done it, because they had confirmed that there wasn’t any sign of a forced entry. We knew that he had been shot, after a short struggle, shown by some wounds on the body, but the gun and his phone were both missing from the scene. They hadn’t been able to find any fingerprints or much substantial evidence of the murderer yet but they did know that the murder must have been committed between 10:40 and 11:50am. The most mysterious information was that, on a notepad next to him, he had written in big, bold letters, S E A. They thought it might be ‘Sea’, because grandad had loved it so much, or maybe it stood for something, but really no one had much of a clue. We knew all this information now, but it didn’t help us to feel any better about it. It had still happened and no amount of information could change that fact.

My dad had gathered us all together in the morning to tell us that he thought that Grandad would have wanted us all to carry on with our lives, not wallow in his death. We had all agreed that he would have wanted us to enjoy the rest of our holiday, and although that might not be possible, we owed it to him to at least try. So that morning, we all went to the beach.

I lay on my towel, surrounded by my family and friends, Ellie’s hand clutched tight in mine, as I stared up at the clear sky. The beach around me was almost exactly as it had been on that day. It seemed unfair to me that everything in my life could change so suddenly, yet everything else stayed the same. Selfies were still being taken, children were still playing by the shore. Nothing had changed here. I sat upright and looked around at my family. They were all trying to be happy, trying to enjoy themselves, and although it wasn’t the same as before, their smiles seemed to be having an effect. I felt slightly lighter, brighter and more hopeful,m. And I could tell they did too. I turned to meet Ellie’s eyes and she gave me a slightly shaky smile. We weren’t as happy now, but we could still read each other’s minds. “Paddle in the sea?”she asked. I nodded. We got up and jogged over to the sea, past Conrad texting, Belinda, Lori and my mum sunbathing, my grans setting up a picnic, Renuka and Luke discussing something privately and mine and Ellie’s dads building a sand castle with Niall. Soon we were skipping through the waves and laughing. I finally felt that, once this case was solved, I could definitely be okay again.