Page 2 of You Lied First
‘Let’s get the bags upstairs so we can freshen up,’ Guy says.
He picks up two of the Forrests’ gleaming hard-shell suitcases, one in each hand, so I grab my own bag and follow him and Margot up to a landing so big it has its own sofa and television. The first bedroom we enter is enormous, with a bed that looks eight feet wide, an en suite bathroom, and sliding doors to a balcony that overlooks the pool. A cream leather sofa, two armchairs, an oriental rug and a low table create a gorgeous sitting area at the far end of the room.
‘Wow,’ I say, thinking that a whole family could live in this room. ‘It’s stunning.’
‘Isn’t it just.’ Guy throws his bag onto the bed. Margot’s already opening the built-in, mirror-fronted wardrobes, assessing where to put her things.
‘You can pick your room,’ Guy says. ‘There are three more. Come, let me show you.’
I follow him to another pool-facing room which, although smaller, is still larger than my living room at home, and is decorated in tonal shades of blue.
‘This is probably the next best,’ Guy says. ‘It has a goodbalcony with a pool view and the main bathroom is literally outside your door.’
‘It’s lovely,’ I say. ‘Perfect. Thank you.’
‘Great,’ he says, rubbing his hands together. ‘And I thought the kids could have the front principal. It’s got an en suite but it faces the street. I doubt it will bother them if there’s a bit of noise outside. They’ll probably be making half of it!’
‘Oh! Er …’ I’d naively assumed that Liv and I would be sharing, or we’d be in single rooms. Liv had said nothing to the contrary.
Guy peers at me.
‘Oh. Oh, my bad,’ he says, placing his hand on his heart. ‘I’m sorry if I assumed … It’s just that, well, I think that horse has long bolted.’ He pulls a cringing expression. ‘I mean, we always let them stay together when she sleeps at ours …’ He pauses, and takes a step towards me, his voice now sounding more serious, more responsible. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.’
I turn away, pretending to look at the view. Although I probably should have guessed, I didn’t know Liv was sleeping with Flynn. She hasn’t lived with me full time since she was fourteen, yet the realisation that if she’d confided in anyone about the status of her first serious relationship, it will have been in Michael and/or his new wife, Nancy, knocks the breath out of me. I assumed Michael would tell me if he had that conversation with Liv but clearly he hasn’t. I hate the way father and daughter still lock me out; still punish me via a thousand paper cuts. But I try to look on the bright side. I’m here. She wanted me to come on this holiday. She wants to build bridges with me. I breathe in deeply and try to smile as I turn back to Guy, even though I can feel tears welling.
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Ignore me. I’m just tired.’
Guy slides his arm around my shoulders and gives me a reassuring squeeze, as if he understands the subtext.
‘We all are,’ he says. ‘Let’s get unpacked and then let’s get this holiday started.’
2
MARGOT
Margot slides the French door back and steps out onto the balcony, breathing in the heady botanical scent of the garden, which mixes with the familiar scent of chlorinated water warmed by the sun. She runs a finger along the balcony guard rail and absently notes the pale coating of dust – not her problem this time. Below her, the light dances on the surface of the pool and she watches as Flynn and Liv flick off their shoes and dip their toes in the water, exclaiming with pleasure when they discover the water’s heated. Seeing her son down there takes her back to the times she used to spend on the balcony of the adjacent house, as she watched Guy in the pool with a much younger Flynn.
Her ‘boys’ had been so close when Flynn was growing up. Margot, as a stay-at-home mum who spent every waking hour – and often the sleeping ones, too – with Flynn attached to her, had been very conscious of making space for father and son to spend time alone together for the scant few hours a week that Guy was home from work. But that hadn’t meant she hadn’t kept a watchful eye. While they roughhoused in the pool, she’d bring a book and a glass of iced mint-lemonade up to the balcony and pretend to read while discretely making sureGuy didn’t throw their son too far, too hard, too deep. Flynn’s screams of joy would bounce off the walls of the surrounding villas, causing her to worry that the noise was a nuisance to their childless neighbours. In those days, Flynn couldn’t get enough of his father’s attention. She wonders when they lost that closeness. Had the shift been so insidious that she hadn’t noticed it happening?
Now, her eyes move to the villa directly opposite. All the doors and windows are closed. It’s impossible to tell if it’s occupied, let alone by whom. Sweat beads on her hairline and she wipes it away with the back of her hand. It’s the warmest part of the day and the balcony’s in the full glare of the white-hot sun. She turns back to the bedroom and dials the air conditioning as low as it’ll go. It’s nice to be in Oman. But here? She’s disappointed.
Yes, it’s a lovely villa; yes, they used to live here; and yes, until the end, they were largely happy here but, when Guy had told her he was going to surprise her with the accommodation, she’d pictured a five-star beach hotel with a spa, not self-catering in the compound where they used to live. Guy’s reasons for wanting to come back might be oblique, but right now the bigger question she faces is whether any of their old neighbours are still here. Margot very deliberately lost touch with them and is in absolutely no hurry to reacquaint herself. Back in the room, she tries to stifle her huffs as she unpacks her things.
‘Oops,’ Guy says, appearing suddenly behind Margot. ‘Think I just put my foot in it.’
‘How?’ Margot shakes out her clothes as she hangs them, hoping that any creases will vanish, and she won’t have to resort to using her travel steamer. Under her baseball cap, herhair feels rank. The clothes she’d put on at home the previous day are too warm, and she’s hanging for a shower.
‘I think Sara thought Liv would be in a separate room to Flynn.’
Margot winces. ‘Ouch.’
‘Well, if she didn’t know before, she does now,’ Guy says. He unlocks his case and starts making piles of clothes on the bed. He’s a fastidious packer and an even more fastidious unpacker, a quirk that contradicts his usuallaissez-faireattitude to life.
‘I’d love to know why Olivia doesn’t live with her mum,’ Margot says. ‘I know they say it’s because the dad’s house is bigger and he works from home so he’s around more, but it’s odd, isn’t it? That she doesn’t live with her mum? Especially a girl at that age. I’m sure there’s more to it. Something must have happened.’
Guy waves his hand dismissively. ‘I’m sure it’s all very civilised or Liv wouldn’t have wanted her mum to join us.’ He opens his side of the wardrobes, wipes the surface with a tissue, then lines up his T-shirts in a stack on the shelf with the precision of a civil engineer. ‘It’s none of our business, really.’
‘Well, I hope they keep it civil while they’re here,’ Margot says. ‘I don’t have the headspace for drama. It’s our holiday, too. Did you bring a proper shirt in case we go somewhere smart?’
