Page 66 of You Lied First
‘What?’ Sara’s eyes shoot from Guy to Margot. ‘You were thinking of doing that? Why didn’t you tell me? I was just with you.’
Guy holds up a hand. ‘It’s okay. No one’s telling anyone anything.’
‘We need to stick together!’ Sara says. Her eyes latch desperately with Margot’s. ‘Any decisions need to be made together. Like we agreed!’
But since Sara mentioned the loosely packed sand, Margot’s been spiralling.
‘What if there was an air pocket?’ she muses. She’s picturing the loose sheet over Celine’s face and the poorly packed sand over the top of the body. Celine’s brightly coloured nails clawing at the sand. ‘It wouldn’t be impossible, would it? Maybe she was in a coma, and she came to and managed to dig her way out.’
‘I think it’s entirely possible!’ Sara says.
Guy slams his hand on a table, causing them both to jump.
‘Stop it! Both of you! Listen to me: she’s dead. And worrying that she’s alive is not going to change anything. And if by any chance she is alive, until and unless she walks into a police station and dumps us in it, there’s nothing we can do. All right? This Facebook account is a phoney. It’s just some cretin causing trouble. Understood?’
Margot can see that Sara is far from okay and she’ll definitely be having those nightmares again tonight. But, eventually, Sara nods, and Guy smiles and slaps his thighs.
‘Right. I think we need something to look forward to. Something to take our minds off all of this. Get some semblance of normality back. Agreed? Sara, why don’t you and Liv come over for supper one night? We’ll have a lovely evening and look only to the future and speak of cheerful things … current topic banned. How about it?’
Margot looks at Sara and their eyes meet. Margot gives Sara a micro-shrug, awhy not?Sara nods, and so does Margot, even though she feels as if Guy’s dinner invitation is more akin to trying to fix an open wound with an Elastoplast.
‘Okay, great,’ he says. He makes a show of looking at his watch. ‘I hereby declare that normality resumesnow.’
52
SARA
I’m on pins and needles for the next few days, waiting for the screech of a police car, a bang on the door – waiting for something, anything, to happen. Mentally, I prepare to be arrested. Will I resist? Or will I figuratively roll over and admit it all on the spot? And then something else hits me: what if it’s not the police who come? What if it’s Celine herself? In my mind’s eye, I see her, risen from her grave and covered in sand, tapping on my window with her orange-red nails. The image haunts me, night and day. I might not be in jail physically, but the places my mind goes are far worse than any jail cell.
But, almost unbelievably, nothing happens. The comment is deleted from the Facebook page and I carry on seeing my IRL clients. A stay-at-home mum with a gambling addiction, a woman who doesn’t get on with her mother-in-law, a father of four hiding financial problems from his wife, marital issues – the same problems over and over.
The day that Liv and I are to go to dinner with the Forrests finally rolls around. As I get ready, I wonder what it will be like, we adults with the biggest secret in the world acting normal in front of our innocent kids who suspect nothing. Todisguise my torment, I pretend to Liv, who’s getting ready at my house, that my angst is about what to wear.
‘It’s not that deep,’ she says languidly as I parade choices in front of her while she paints her nails.
‘But I want to get it right,’ I say. ‘I need my outfit to say: casual, didn’t make an effort, classy … does this need a necklace?’
‘You’re really overthinking it. Just be you. Wear something that makes you comfortable.’
I plump, in the end, for wide-leg trousers and a forgiving top with a chunky necklace and earrings. Liv throws on a sheer mini dress with scruffy trainers and then we’re in the cab, on our way, with me clutching the bouquet of flowers and the wine I bought at Waitrose, as if my life depends on it.
‘Looking forward to tonight?’ I ask Liv when I feel as if I might actually throw up.
She doesn’t respond so I jab her with my elbow, and she pulls an AirPod out of her ear with an irritated expression on her face.
‘What?’
‘I’m talking to you. Are you excited?’
She gives me a funny look. ‘It’s only the Forrests?’
‘Yes, but – you know? It’s the first time we’ve gone to their house for dinner.’
‘We spent a week living with them.’ She rolls her eyes.
It takes under fifteen minutes for us to get there, then another couple to buzz at the gates and drive up the gravelled driveway that I ran up, so distraught, the last time I was here. The cab comes to a halt and, before I’ve had a chance to gather myself, Liv’s rung the bell, Guy’s opening the door and I’mstepping over the threshold while hoping Celine isn’t lurking in the shrubbery ready to blackmail us all.
‘Sara! Liv! Welcome, welcome. If you just leave your shoes here. Shall I take those?’ Guy mwa-mwas me as I struggle with the flowers and wine.
