Page 70 of You Lied First
He turns her around in his arms and silences her with hard kisses while his hands work to undo his belt and trousers. She tries to push him off.
‘I said no. Please.’
But he carries on. It’s over in five minutes. Not long to suffer, really, but when she lets herself think about what he’s doing,how he knows it’s against her wishes and how he never listens to her or respects her, another layer of quiet fury is added to the ball of anger that’s gathering in her core.
‘Right, chop-chop,’ Guy says as he pushes himself off her and does up his flies. ‘Get up, sort yourself out. The car’s coming at seven and I said we’d pick up Sara and Liv on the way.’
55
SARA
The Forrests pick us up in a luxury minivan. It’s plush inside with a uniformed driver, leather seats and a bottle of water for each of us but, when we get in, Margot gives me a wan smile then stares out of the window in silence. She’s wearing dark mauve lipstick and a stunning silver dress that sets off her hair and the colour of her eyes in a way that makes her look magnificent, but her face is drawn and I wonder what’s wrong. Flynn and Liv bend their heads together over their phones. Guy starts to tell me about the debate there’d been on the PTA about whether to hold the fundraiser at the nearby golf club or the school hall. The consensus was that as much of the money raised as possible should go to the good cause rather than the pockets of the golf club. So the school hall it is, with the food cooked on site.
‘It’s a shame,’ Guy says, ‘as the golf club’s food is actually quite good. God knows what they’ll serve us now. Turkey Twizzlers! Imagine!’
As we make this inane chatter, I nod silently towards Margot and frown questioningly at Guy. He gives an imperceptible shake of his head, which I take to mean I should leave her be. But still, I try.
‘Have you ever bid at an auction before, Margot?’ I ask. I wait, but she doesn’t respond. She’s miles away and I notice the whites of her knuckles showing as she squeezes her hands into fists on her lap. ‘I’m quite nervous!’ I say. ‘I’m going to sit on my hands so I don’t bid on something by accident!’
My effort garners no response from Margot and a disapproving tut from Liv. I grimace at Guy, who mouths ‘don’t worry’ and then we’re approaching the school and I also look out of the window.
There’s a long, bright red carpet running up the school drive, fenced by golden poles. Teenagers are all over it, mincing their way up the carpet in micro-skirts, heels and tuxes, like they’re arriving at the Oscars, with their phones out to capture the moment for their socials. Liv is no different, deserting me to get her pictures, so I’m grateful to be able to walk in alongside Margot. I touch her arm as Guy goes off to take photos of Liv and Flynn.
‘You okay?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘Did something happen?’ I want to pull her away from the crowd and hear what’s troubling her, but she gives her head half a shake and turns to greet the person next to her, leaving me with no choice but to do the same.
As we enter the school, I have to hand it to the PTA: the lobby looks lovely. The grand staircase is festooned with garlands, and that seems to be where we’re gathering for pre-dinner drinks. Waiters are circulating with trays of glasses and a teen in a tux is valiantly plonking away on the piano, but the sound is largely lost. The noise level is insane as everyone makes small talk at the tops of their voices. I stand in a clusterwith the Forrests and mentally pinch myself: I’m standing here, at the school, in evening wear with a glass of fizz in my hand, when the reality could have been so very different.
After we’ve drunk a couple of glasses, the headmaster ascends to the first turn of the staircase and clangs on the stair rail, and we all fall as silent as a few hundred parents drinking free-flowing fizz can be, while he makes a short speech about the school in Borneo that our donations tonight will help to fund, invites us to take a good look at the auction prizes, and encourages us to bid like we’re millionaires – cue lots of guffaws – ‘but within your means, of course. I have to say that.’ Finally, we’re requested to move through to the hall and be seated.
The hall looks splendid, filled with circular tables dressed with crockery, flowers, candles and bottles of wine and water. If it wasn’t for the familiar school-hall smell that every adult associates viscerally with tedious assemblies and sweaty June exams, you could probably half-close your eyes and pretend you were at the golf club. I walk through with Margot, hoping to sit with her, but the seats have place names and the other parents at our table are already sitting obediently in their correct places. I nod to each of them.
‘Hi, I’m Sara,’ I say.
We learn that we’re sitting with Freddie and Mary-Jane, who get in very quickly that their daughter is taking four A-levels; Ali and Inaya, who are new to the school and parents to two much younger girls; plus a representative from the PTA called Adele, who laughs loudly at everything anyone, including herself, says – a nervousness thing, maybe.
‘So did anyone do anything nice over the holidays?’ Mary-Jane asks when the initial small talk fizzles out. My eyes shoot across the table to Margot, but she’s studying the set menu and doesn’t look up.
‘Nothing special,’ Inaya says. ‘Family stuff. Aunts, cousins. You know how it is.’
Everyone agrees that they do.
‘How about you? Is that a bit of a tan I see – did you go away?’ Adele asks me.
I freeze. Of course the holiday itself is no secret, but …
‘We went to Oman,’ Guy says smoothly. ‘Margot and I went with our son, and Sara and her daughter. Our kids are dating, so I suppose we were with the “in-laws” too!’ Everyone laughs.
‘Which part of Oman?’ Ali asks. ‘I used to go there a lot. Down in Salalah. It’s very beautiful, especially in the summer months when the tropical rains come.’
‘Ah, we didn’t make it to Salalah this time,’ Guy says. ‘We were in Muscat. We only had a week and we weren’t wildly adventurous. You know, a change of scene. We used to live there, too, so it was a bit of a trip down memory lane.’
‘I was desperate for some winter sun,’ I add.
‘I’ve never been to the Middle East and I’m not sure I’d ever go!’ Adele says with a laugh. She looks nervously around the table, as if she’s assessing who’ll be on her side.
