Page 61 of You Lied First
‘I know. I just can’t.’ She shakes her head and covers her face with her hand for a moment. ‘I mean, imagine it was Flynn or Liv missing. You’d be going insane.’
‘It was us or them, though, wasn’t it?’ I say. ‘Brutal choice, but – what was it Guy said?’
‘Collateral damage,’ Margot says bitterly.
‘It all feels like something I dreamed, or a horror movie I watched,’ I say.
Margot nods. ‘Yes, exactly! Speaking of which: do you dream about … it? Her?’
‘Oh my God. Every night! I dream that I’m burying her but she’s not dead. She tries to get out of the grave and I push her back in and I’m throwing sand in her face and she’s blinking it away and she just keeps coming up at me.’ I shudder. The feeling of throwing the sand onto Celine’s body is visceral.
‘I have one where she’s alive but we shove her in anyway and she’s begging us to stop.’ Margot pauses. ‘I hear her voice. It’s so real. And then I wake up and realise therealnightmareis actually my life. I can’t believe we did it, Sara. We buried a body. I just can’t process it.’
‘I’m here if you want to talk about it.’ I pause. ‘I mean, I have some experience. Mates’ rates!’
Margot smiles at my joke, then her face changes. ‘Really, though? Are there any techniques I can use? Because the memories are haunting me more than any ghost.’
‘Hmm. Well, the easiest one is reframing, I suppose. When negative thoughts pop into your head, like “we buried her”, try to reframe them as something like “she died of natural causes, and we gave her a decent burial”. Does that make sense? Try to tell yourself a more positive – kinder – story.’
‘Does it work for you?’
I laugh. ‘Not as much as I’d like.’
‘Well, thanks anyway. I’ll try anything.’ She looks around and lets out another sigh as her shoulders visibly drop and she sinks back into the sofa. ‘Thanks for letting me come over. There’s such a nice energy in your home.’
I look at her in surprise because my house is nothing if not humble, but then I understand what she’s really telling me: that the energy in her own house is not nice.
‘How’s Guy?’
Another huge sigh. I top up the wine she’s just finished and she nods her thanks.
‘He’s … Guy,’ she says.
‘I see.’
‘His coping strategy is staying busy and blustering through.’
‘Do you ever talk with him about how you feel?’
‘Guy Forrest? Talk about feelings?’ Margot’s laugh is tight. ‘No. He’s decided that we must put it behind us and moveon, and so that’s what we do. On we go: the Guy and Margot show! Oh, don’t get me wrong, he follows the news like a bloodhound – he’s in and out of my studio like a yo-yo, talking incessantly about the case. But it’s as if it happened to someone else; as if we weren’t involved at all. We sweep whatactuallyhappened under a great big carpet. Only …’
She shrugs then dips her head but not before I see her eyes shining with unshed tears. I think she’s going to pull herself together but then her face crumples and the tears start leaking through her hands. I scoot over and pat her back. I can feel the knobs of her spine through her top.
‘It’s okay. Let it out.’
I bite my lip, embarrassed that tears are gathering in my own eyes, too. I’ve never seen Margot let emotion out like this, nor let herself be so vulnerable. The back of my throat burns with the effort of holding back my tears. After a few moments, she looks up, regaining control as she scrambles in her bag for a pack of printed tissues.
‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffs. ‘It’s just nice to be able to talk about it with someone who understands.’
‘I’m always here for you.’ I squeeze her hand and try to imagine what life’s like for Margot in that big house – with a husband like Guy.
49
MARGOT
‘Iam strong. I am good.’
Margot chants the mantra to herself as she makes a late lunch for Guy and herself. She’s putting together a spicy salmon salad with cucumber, rocket, peppers, feta and a sprinkling of peanuts – one of Guy’s favourites. He’s battling middle-aged spread and is consequently keen on cutting out carbs, although he and Margot both know that he might get better results if he cut out the bottle of red he’s taken to drinking most nights since Oman, not to mention the whisky chasers that come after. Only they don’t talk about that.
