Page 20 of You Lied First
‘Amen to that,’ he says. ‘I’m on it.’ As he disappears off into the villa, Celine sits on the lounger next to me. She stretches her fingers out and looks at her nails.
‘By the way, look, it’s nothing suspicious or anything, but maybe best not to mention to Margot that I was with Guy today.’
I take a moment before I reply because the funny thing is, I hadn’t been suspicious. Yes, a part of me wondered how they ended up playing together, though it really is none of my business. But now it sounds entirely like she’s covering something up. My mind rewinds at high speed through the times I’ve seen them together: is there something going on between these two? Has there ever been?
‘Of course,’ I say. ‘But – should I be suspicious?’
Celine closes her eyes and puffs out a little air. It seems as if she’s not going to say anything else, so I wait. I know that silence is often rewarded with further elaboration, and I am not wrong.
‘Who, in such a long marriage, is actually happy?’ she says eventually. ‘Show me that person, and I’ll show you a liar.’ She laughs and looks towards the villa.
Ouch, I think. Messy.
16
MARGOT
As the sun starts to sink towards the horizon, turning the sky a soft apricot, Margot picks up the pool bar menu and thinks about a crisp glass of Chablis and a little dish of olives. She would give anything to have a drink here, in solitude, before she goes back to face her husband, her teenager and her houseguests. She knows she’d be fine to drive after one glass, but there’s absolutely no way she’ll risk breaking the law. Anyway, Guy said he’d be back by four latest and they spoke about going to the souk at six, so she puts the menu down and reluctantly begins to gather her things. Her day in blissful solitude is over.
The sky turns pink then slides into purples and mauves as Margot drives back to the villa, her foot easing up on the gas the closer she gets. But she can’t delay the inevitable and, before she knows it, she’s opening the front door. She hears at once the laughter coming from the garden, and sees the shapes of several people out there. In the kitchen there’s already an empty wine bottle on the counter and anger flashes through her: either they’ve forgotten that they were going to the souk or Guy has assumed, as always, that Margot will refrain from a sundowner so that he can have six, and that she will be the designated driver.
For a few moments, she watches them all through the window: Guy, Celine and Sara. They look perfect together, complete somehow, as they talk and tease and throw their heads back with laughter while sipping their drinks. She sees how Celine watches Guy, her fingers fluttering on and off his arm as he speaks; how Sara belly-laughs when Celine tells a story; and how her husband’s face lights up when Sara speaks. Where does Margot fit into this picture? There is no space for her.
She takes a deep breath and steps outside.
‘Margot! How was it?’ Sara calls, the first to notice her. ‘Did you have a lovely day?’
Margot smiles. ‘I did, thank you. How about you?’
Sara babbles on about having a brilliant time doing nothing and feeling so ridiculously lazy and how it’s all just been absolute heaven. While Margot waits for her to finish, she notices that Celine has sunburned cheeks that match those of her husband.
‘What did you do, Celine?’ she asks lightly, and every cell in her body is receptive to the frozen microsecond that occurs before Celine replies.
‘I lay in the sun here, too. Can’t you tell,’ she says, waving her hand at her face. ‘Fell asleep and got a bit too much.’
She notices Sara’s eyes flick to Guy and then away as Celine speaks, and that tells Margot all she needs to know. Celine was out with Guy, whatever they were doing – golf or something else.
‘Where are the kids?’ she asks.
‘Upstairs having showers,’ Sara says. ‘They haven’t been back long.’
‘So, what about the souk at six?’ Margot says briskly, looking at her watch. ‘It’s getting late …’
Guy slaps both hands on his thighs. ‘Oh, shit! Completely forgot about that!’ He looks at his wine glass and pulls a face. ‘Whoops!’
‘Liv wanted to go, didn’t she?’ Margot asks Sara.
‘Yes,’ Sara says. ‘I’d love to go, too. But we can take a taxi. Please, Margot, have a glass with us.’
‘No, don’t even think it,’ Guy says. ‘Margot will drive.’ And Margot knows that this is her moment; he won’t argue with her in front of the others. She’s been dreading the souk trip. She hates walking down the narrow lanes looking at the same touristy stuff in all the shops: the ‘OMAN’ tote bags, the silver trinket boxes, the pashminas, the silver coins, the kaftans, the Omani hats and the evil-eye necklaces. She hates the men who try to pull you into their shops to look at knock-off handbags. She can’t stand the push and rub of the evening crowd and she’s dreading the innocent amazement of Sara and Liv; the slow progress they will make as they stop and look at every item in every shop. Neither of Margot’s available choices may be rosy, but she knows which is the lesser of the two evils.
‘Actually, why don’t you get a taxi,’ she says, omitting the question mark. ‘There’s only four of you, so you’ll fit in one.’
‘I’ve been meaning to go there, too,’ Celine says. ‘I need to get some gifts for when I go home. My mum needs a new pashmina, and she loves those glass evil-eyes. But I can go another day …’
Guy, predictably, won’t hear of that, and a plan is made for them to go together in two taxis. No one tries to persuade Margot to come.
‘Oh, and by the way,’ Guy says when everything is agreed. ‘I forgot to say: we’re all good for camping. I sorted everything.’
