Page 13 of You Lied First
‘Sheri,’ says Margot, not expecting Sara to have heard of it.
‘Ah. Okay. So, umm, the kids are itching to get back. They’re talking about going to the beach. It’s a beautiful afternoon.’
Margot knows she can be stubborn at times, and this is one of those moments.
‘Well, I just need to pick up some fruit and veg,’ she says. Sara and Margot both look towards a different section of the market. Pyramids and piles of vibrant produce stretch as far as they can see.
‘Okay,’ says Sara, looking doubtful. ‘Do you need a hand?’
‘No, thanks. I’m good.’
‘If you’re sure. Well, I’ll see you back outside.’
Browsing the fruit and veg is like therapy for Margot. She wanders through the main aisle of the market, feeling the satisfying weight of a melon and assessing the firmness of a banana. Next she potters over to the chilled section and picks out a variety of salad leaves, a couple of bunches of fresh spinach, Omani mushrooms, big juicy tomatoes and a box of dates, and she starts to get a grip on her feelings. It’s not the others’ fault she feels this way, she tells herself. And she can see that Sara is trying – she’s really trying to connect with her.
But Margot’s problem is that, over the course of her marriage, she’s become a loner. Before Guy, she used to be gregarious, daring, adventurous and always into something or other – but her world has shrunk and sharing her emotions and making friendships no longer come easily to her. In her more reflective moments, she understands that her problems likely stem from the fact she plays her cards too close to her chest and people simply don’t know what she’s thinking or feeling, and then she’s left feeling lonely because she has no friends. And, God knows, she could do with a friend right now.
Margot sighs. Everything always leads back to bloody Guy. Margot had never planned to marry, never dreamed about the dress or the bridesmaids or Prince Charming, but then Guy Forrest had happened. Like a cyclone making landfall, he’d torn into her life, blasting her off her feet, and now here she is all these years later, suddenly wondering: how did I get here? What happened tome? Where did I go? And whispering to herself:how can I get out?
She shakes her head as she realises her thoughts are rambling. The others will be feeling the heat outside by now. She’ll try to make an effort with Sara. The last thing she needs is her becoming best friends with Celine bloody Cremorne, and it looks like it’s going that way already. She gathers her bags and heads back to the door. Time to go home.
11
SARA
‘Shall we head down to the pool?’ I ask Liv when we get back, but she shakes her head.
‘Me and Flynn are going to the beach. He reckons we might be able to hire a jet ski or a kayak or something.’
‘Something more exciting than hanging out with your old mum,’ I say, trying to hide my disappointment with a laugh, but I’m unnerved to feel the sudden burn of tears.
‘Aww, Mum,’ Liv says, pulling me into a hug. ‘Don’t be like that. I’m so glad you’re here. Are you enjoying it so far?’
I hold her longer than she probably wants.
‘Of course I am!’ I say when she pulls away. ‘It’s so nice to be with you. That food today was amazing, wasn’t it? And Celine seems fun.’
‘Yeah, why don’t you hang out with her this afternoon?’
‘Maybe I will. Anyway, have fun at the beach. Check the water for riptides. You got that video I sent you on Instagram, didn’t you? You know what to look for?’
‘Mm-hmm,’ she says in a way that implies she didn’t even open it. ‘Right, see ya.’
I flop onto my bed for a moment before heading out to the pool. The food’s made me drowsy and I could do with somealone time to process everything that happened this morning, not least the mini accident we had down by the souk. I shudder as I imagine what I’d have done if that had happened to me out driving on my own. It makes me double down on my decision not to get behind the wheel of a car over here. Follow your gut and all that.
As my muscles relax, my mind starts to drift. The Forrests really are a strange pair. On the surface they look so together, so glossy, but the moment you look closer, you can see tension roiling between them. I feel there might be more to Margot than the demure side she shows. And if there’s one thing I know about relationships, when one person is always backing down it’ll all blow up at some point. Hopefully not while we’re here.
‘Right, come on, Sara,’ I say as I haul myself back up. I can lie on a bed anywhere but it’s not every day I get to lie in the sunshine by a sparkling turquoise pool. I put on the bikini that I bought specially for the trip but, as I stand in front of the mirror and think about Guy and Margot seeing me in all my flabby forty-eight-year-old glory, I see that I’d been way too optimistic in the Marks & Spencer changing rooms.
I turn this way and that, sucking in my belly and pulling at the flab at the top of my thighs, but the fact is I’ve put on half a stone since I last wore a bikini – and it’s too late to do anything about it now. I know I shouldn’t compare myself to Margot, or the spritely child that is Celine for that matter but, in reality, if Margot lies next to me by the pool and I’m in this bikini, I’ll shrivel up with mortification. Margot’s about five foot ten to my five foot five, plus she’s lean. In that liminal space when I’d first met Guy but was yet to meet Margot, I’d stalked her socialmedia and my heart had sunk at the sight of her lanky frame at various upmarket social occasions looking angular in maxi dresses or cigarette trousers, accessorised with hats and spiky heels. Hers is a body borne partly through good genes, but I suspect also through ironclad discipline. Mine, not so much. The lunch we’ve just had being a prime example. I can’t believe she didn’t eat a thing. Maybe she controls her own world so meticulously as a way of pushing back against Guy. The way he’d mentioned being responsible for the ‘disciplining’ of his employee had felt weird, like it was more than a joke. It’s an odd partnership, that’s for sure.
I pull off the bikini and put on my tummy control swimsuit, tie a wrap around my lower half and go down to the pool. Margot and Guy are nowhere to be seen so I stretch out on a lounger and close my eyes. It’s December. The weather back home is vile but I’m lying in the sun by a pool, my daughter is on holiday with me and, for now, in this moment, life is good.
I don’t know how much later it is when I come to and hear the sound of Celine’s voice.
‘Hello-o!’ she calls. ‘You look relaxed! Fancy some company?’ Without waiting for me to respond, she plonks herself on the lounger next to mine. ‘My villa’s so empty.’
‘Well, I’m here!’ I say, genuinely happy to see her. Celine complements our group in a way that works for me. When she’s around, I’m no longer the odd number, the mother of the bride, the gooseberry to the two couples. Celine is someone for me to talk to. And she’s so easy to be with. ‘Thanks for the tour this morning,’ I say. ‘Your commentary was great.’
