Page 43 of You Lied First
SARA
Flynn looks over to the closed tent and there’s a beat of stunned silence before Guy replies.
‘Still sleeping off her hangover!’ He laughs. ‘We tried waking her but she told us where to go in no uncertain terms. Maybe leave her as long as you can,’ he says to Margot. ‘Okay, so is that decided? Liv, will you come with us? We’ll get going right away and stop at an emergency department at the first hospital we come across. In Muscat, I imagine.’
Liv looks anxiously at Flynn, her face genuinely pale. ‘It’s best to get it checked out, babe,’ she says. ‘They’ll probably say you’re fine – but, if you’re not …’
Flynn sighs. ‘All right. My neck is a bit stiff to be honest and we’re done here, anyway, I guess.’ He looks around fondly. ‘It’s been brilliant. But will you be all right clearing up?’ he asks his mum.
Margot and I are possibly too enthusiastic in our eagerness to reassure him that we’re perfectly capable of packing up the entire camp. Not to mention digging a grave.
‘There are three of us,’ I say, avoiding Guy’s eyes as I lie. ‘We’ll be grand. Now, off you go.’ Now that everything’s decided, I can’t get them out of here fast enough. Thankfully,within ten minutes, they’re in the Land Cruiser and Guy’s gunning it over the sand away from us. Margot and I look at each other, hands on hips.
‘Right. Let’s do it,’ she says. ‘Let’s pack the car first then we can deal with …’ She nods towards Celine’s tent.
I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s going to be like, dragging out her body and burying it so I scurry around doing everything that needs to be done as quickly as I can. I shove things into random boxes and bags; I scrunch up my tent and ram it in the car and then work my way around the big tent pulling out the pegs until the whole thing collapses. Margot and I scramble to fold it up as best we can and we don’t speak bar what needs to be said. The contrast from the happy vibe as we’d set up camp yesterday, anticipating the sunset, our sundowners and the barbecue ahead, couldn’t be starker. I glance over my shoulder like a nervous tic, checking to see that no one’s coming.Who’s going to be coming?We’re about to bury a body. I can’t let myself think about it. Will we be looking over our shoulders forever?
When the car’s loaded, we survey the remains of the campsite. The single tent stands lonely, and the sand around it where we’d cooked and eaten and danced looks disturbed, but I hope the wind will erase the last traces of us.
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Shall we start digging? Where do you think? Over there by the tree?’
‘Wherever,’ Margot says, as if my question’s irritated her. I don’t have the energy to care if I have or not.
‘I’ll start. We can do five minutes each.’
I take the spade and start digging but the top layer of sand is dry and slippery and my progress is scant. Margot grabs thetrowel we used to cover our toilet holes and starts to sweep the loose sand away so I can dig down to the colder, darker sand below. Within minutes, I’m panting and sweat’s dripping down my temples and stinging my eyes, and I wish so much that Margot had driven the kids and that Guy was here to lend me his strength.
‘Your turn.’ I hand Margot the spade and straighten up, flexing my spine and rubbing the ache in my lower back.
Margot digs like the devil, powered by I don’t know what, and that energises me enough to take my next turn. By the time the hole is resembling anything large enough and deep enough to pass as a grave, the sun is notably higher in the sky. We stand back and look at our handiwork.
‘Is it deep enough?’ I ask.
‘Apparently some graves can be as shallow as two feet,’ Margot says. ‘I googled. I mean, as long as she’s in the hard sand, we should be able to get a solid layer over her. That’s the main thing, I think. Is it long enough?’
‘Maybe if we bend her legs? If they’re not stiff yet.’ I stifle a sob.
‘We need to be sure. Because we don’t want to get her out here and then have to carry on digging with her lying there in full view.’
I look at the hole. I’m not sure. There’s only one way to find out. Margot gasps as I slither into the hole and gingerly lie down. Flat on my back with my legs slightly bent to the side, I fit. The sand is cold. I can’t believe this will be Celine’s final resting place. I sit up quickly as I picture sand being thrown over the top of me; being buried alive.
‘Happy?’ I ask.
Margot covers her mouth and I see her shoulders shake. I’m not sure if she’s laughing or crying but then she moves her hand and I see she’s laughing. That type of shocked, horrified, hysterical laugh.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘It’s just … morbid. You in the grave. Come on, get out. Let’s get her.’
At Celine’s tent, I drop to a squat, bopping away the flies that are buzzing around, and pull up the zip. Celine is on her back with her eyes closed. If it wasn’t for the colour of her skin and the incredible stillness about her, she could be asleep. She looks small, childlike.
‘Sara, wait!’ Margot calls, so I reverse out of the tent to where Margot is hovering behind me.
‘What?’
‘We can’t bury her!’ Margot says. ‘That’s actually the last thing we should do.’
35
MARGOT
