Page 50 of You Lied First
She stands. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she says, although she can see all he’s doing is scrolling TikTok.
‘’Kay,’ he says, and puts his headphones back on.
40
SARA
Liv asks to go straight back to her dad’s.
‘You sure, baby? You’re welcome to stay,’ I say, but she nods.
All her stuff is at his. I walk her to Michael’s door, then retreat back to the cab so I don’t need to exchange words with whoever opens the door. It’s Nancy. She blows me a kiss – typical Nancy – I wave back, and then the front door closes. My daughter is gone, and I’m alone with the horror of what I helped to do.
Back home, I go through the motions of unpacking and putting on the washing. I check my emails and my website, but I can’t focus on answering any questions right now. I haven’t got any online clients booked till tomorrow. I get up, walk around, fiddle with things, sit down. I make tea and forget to drink it. I’m jittery and distracted. Waiting for something to happen. And then something does happen. Guy pays me a surprise visit.
‘Come in,’ I say.
Standing in my doorway he looks strange. Wearing a jumper and jeans, he’s not the Guy in shorts and linen shirts I got to know in the sunshine. I see how England reduces him to something less than he was in the desert. Something mundane.
‘How are you, Sara?’ he asks. I lead him into the front room and dither about what to offer him.
‘Oh, I’m all right. You know.’ I shrug. ‘Glad to be back! I suppose!’ I put my face in my hands and laugh. ‘I mean, not glad to be back, but you know what I mean.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he says.
‘Can I get you anything? Some tea?’
‘No. Thanks, but I won’t stay. I just wanted to pop in and check that you’re okay. Not having any second thoughts or anything? Because we did the right thing. You know that, don’t you?’
I turn away. ‘I do. Of course I do. But – I don’t know. Why does it have to be so difficult?’
I feel his hands on my shoulders, and he turns me around.
‘Look at me.’ I meet his eyes. Dark, dark brown, almost black. ‘We did the right thing, Sara. It’s time to look to the future. Forget what happened. Just get on with our lives. All right?’
‘All right.’
He pulls me into a warm hug then releases me. ‘Good. We’ve got this. Okay? Everything’s going to be fine. Margot and I are with you. We’re all in this together.’
The days that follow are more of the same as I go numbly through the motions of my life. I keep busy with my clients, my YouTube channel and the website but, while I’m coaching people through their problems all I can think is: how long until Celine is reported missing? How long until the story makes the news? What if her body’s found? Every day, I wake up with dread writhing in my stomach and wonder if thiswill be the day the news will break. There’s no chance that Celine won’t be missed. Her usually active social media is left hanging. She won’t be responsive on WhatsApp. It’s just a matter of time till her housemates return to the villa and raise the alarm.
I know I can’t google her name or even search her social media in case the proverbial shit hits the fan, and my computer and phone are seized so, every day I scan the major newspapers online, and check the world news pages, expecting to see a story about a missing Brit. There’s nothing, which you would think might make me feel relieved, but it leaves me even more jittery and wretched because I know that, of course she’ll be reported missing. She’s a Brit abroad: of course there’ll be something in the papers.
I struggle with my work. How can I advise people on their inconsequential problems when I have far bigger worries myself? The teen problems I deal with on YouTube seem so trivial: kids who can’t focus for their exams; friendship issues; boyfriend problems. Absolutely no one is dealing with the guilt of hiding a dead body and making a run for it.
I try to reframe it in a more positive way – I now have more empathy with those who find themselves in a bad situation not of their own making. But, still, I can’t concentrate. All thoughts lead back to the desert; to that impossible decision made in the heat of the moment. I eat only what I need to, taking no joy in food. My only solace is those few hours I manage to get some sleep, and that’s chemically induced.
I do nothing to mark New Year. I call Liv to wish her a Happy New Year, and she’s cheerful on the phone. New Year’s Eve was great. Her revision’s going well. Flynn’s brilliant. TheForrests are fine. Everything’s good. As it should be, given the decisions we made in the desert to ensure that it would be.
And then, just shy of six days after we land, there it is:British expat missing in Oman.Just a short story, a few lines.
A 32-year-old British expatriate has been reported missing in Muscat. Friends of Celine Cremorne alerted authorities when they were unable to contact her. The Royal Oman Police have launched a major search.
My instinct is to pick up the phone and message the Forrests. I want to ask if they’ve seen the story, but Guy’s told us we mustn’t communicate about this on our phones. I wonder if he and Margot are as obsessed with it as I am, or if they’ve somehow managed to put the saga behind them. At least they have each other to speak to. Who do I have?
No one.
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