Page 22 of You Lied First
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I had to take a call. Got them?’
‘Yeah. All good. I haggled!’
‘Good girl!’ Guy says admiringly, and I bask for a moment, feeling like I levelled up in my Middle Eastern competency. I’m getting the hang of this place.
‘Where are the others?’ I ask.
‘They’ll be around,’ Guy says. We linger around a perfume shop, sniffing the paper strips the shop assistant keeps wafting under our noses.
‘Do you think Margot minded not coming with us?’ I ask.
He gives a little shrug. ‘She could have come if she wanted.’
‘Mmm,’ I say. As Celine said earlier: other peoples’ marriages.
‘But how about you? Are you enjoying seeing Oman?’
‘Oh! Yes! Absolutely! It’s not like I imagined at all. It’s so … exotic, and colourful, and surprising. I can’t believe how green it is, and how neat and orderly – not here in the souk, obviously!’ I babble. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’
‘You’re welcome, Sara. I’m glad you’re here. And I know Margot is, too.’
‘Thanks.’
And then, in among the crowds I spot Flynn’s head.
‘Oh, look, there’s Flynn – and Celine!’ But, even as I say it, I can see that something’s wrong. There’s a sheen of sweat on Flynn’s forehead and Celine’s hurrying to keep up with him. He strides through the shoppers, dodging this way and that to get to us. He looks flustered as he swivels his head around.
‘Is Liv with you?’ he asks as soon as he reaches us. ‘I can’t find her anywhere.’
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SARA
‘She was with you!’ I say, without bothering to temper the accusation that seeps into my voice.
‘I know,’ Flynn says, ‘but then we lost her. I thought she’d have come back here.’ He spins to face Celine and snaps quite savagely, ‘I told you we should have waited for her!’
Celine holds up her hands. ‘I’m sorry. I thought she was right behind us. Have you messaged her?’
‘She doesn’t have data. I told you that!’
‘Let’s just wait here,’ Guy says calmly. ‘I’m sure she’ll find her way back.’
But I’m not so sure. The place is a maze and, if I know Liv, she would have been focusing on everything but the route along which she walked.
‘Where were you when you last saw her?’ I ask. ‘Did she say what she was looking for?’
‘She was after a tote bag – something cute, not the naff ones,’ Flynn says.
‘Where are the tote-bag shops?’ I ask, hoping that, as with the fabrics and the jewellery, they’re all in one area, but Guy shakes his head.
‘Everywhere. Most shops have them. But look, don’t worry.The souk isn’t huge. If she has any sense of direction, she’ll make her way back towards the road where we came in …’
‘She has no sense of direction!’ I snap. ‘She could end up coming out the wrong side completely! And then what?’
Tears bloom in my eyes and I turn away, embarrassed. I’m picturing what Michael’s going to say. His anger when he hears that I lost Liv in a Middle Eastern souk. His ‘I told you so.Thisis why she lives with me’. How could I blow it like this? How do other parents keep an eye on their children at all times?
I’m hot, sweating, and my heart’s racing. The souk takes on a different feel: gone is the benign fun of a tourist trip. I spin around, scouring the crowds for Liv’s face, her hair, her walk. I know my daughter’s seventeen but she’s still my baby, and memories of the Madeleine McCann story flash through my mind. A lapse of parental attention. A snatched child. The people-trafficking signs stuck on the loo doors at the airport in Birmingham. Liv’s blonde hair and grey eyes. Rape. Sex rings. All these men milling about, watching us with hooded eyes, but doing what? Those narrow alleyways, the tiny staircases leading up – to where?
