Page 80 of You Lied First
‘Okay …’ I prompt. My ears are straining for sounds outside the room. Has she called the police? Are they waiting to pounce? I can’t see any evidence of wires on Margot but then I suppose they wouldn’t be obvious.
‘Is your phone off?’ I ask, searching for a sign that she’s recording the conversation.
‘What? Yes.’
‘Okay. Sorry. Carry on.’
‘So, you saw the autopsy report, right? That she was strangled?’
I nod. ‘Awful. So, unless a car full of bandits turned up in the night, it was one of us, I guess.’
My joke falls flat.
‘Look, Sara, there’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to dive right in,’ Margot says. ‘There’s something I need to ask you before Guy gets home.’
I hold myself very still. I’ve no idea how I’m going to react if she asks me straight out if I did it.
‘You don’t think I did it, do you? she asks. Because—’
‘No! God, no. Not at all. Never crossed my mind.’ I almost laugh with relief.
‘You don’t?’ She seems surprised.
‘No!’
But then I realise that I’ve made a terrible error. By eliminating Margot, I’ve just placed the blame on either myself or Guy. And I’ve seen how ruthless he can be. How he’ll put himself above anyone else if push comes to shove. Now that the knives are out, will we continue to stick together, or will he pick himself and throw me – or Margot – under a bus? Is this the moment the gloves come off?
‘It’s just that, Guy said … oh, never mind.’ Margot flaps her hand. ‘Let me ask you another question: which of us do you think is capable of strangling an adult with their bare hands?’
I stare at her. Has she forgotten that Celine was wearing a scarf?
‘I have a drunken memory of the night “it” happened …’ Margot’s voice is weak, quiet, her lips suddenly trembling with nerves. She takes a swig from her glass and swallows with a wince. ‘Obviously we’d all had a lot to drink. I woke up some time in the wee hours. It was still dark …’
I try to control my breathing and try to look naturally curious, although I can fathom a guess at what she’s about to say: she overheard what happened between Celine and me. Or worse: she got up and saw it.
‘Do you remember how Flynn said he heard a tent zip go down that night?’
I hold myself very still and nod my acknowledgement.
‘Well, I heard it too. The sound of a tent zip lowering,slowly and cautiously. Like whoever was doing it wanted to be quiet.’
‘Okay,’ I manage to say on a shuddery outward breath. I’m still not sure where she’s going with this. Celine and I both unzipped our tents that night. Is she talking about mine, hers or someone else’s?
‘But listen,’ Margot continues, ‘right when we first got back, I asked Guy if he left the tent and he said he didn’t. He told me I was wrong and it was probably an insect or something. But then … when Flynn said he heard it too, Guy suddenly changed his story and said it was him and he went for a wee.’ The expression on Margot’s face as she looks at me is pitiful. ‘Sara, I can’t stop wondering. Why did he lie? What if he went out that night for something more than a wee? What if he …?’
It takes me a moment to realise she isn’t talking about me at all. That she’s talking about her husband.
‘You think Guy’s the one who did it?’ I rub my chin as I look at her haggard face. The essence of the Margot I know is gone. She’s broken, and this is all my fault. I blow air out of my mouth, largely to give myself a moment before speaking. Is this a route I want her going down, or is it my moment to confess my own secret to her? Can I trust her with it?
‘Why wouldn’t you believe him?’ I say in the end. ‘If he says he went for a wee, he probably went for a wee. Maybe he just forgot, to begin with. He was pretty drunk, wasn’t he?’
The look that flits across her face makes my heart constrict as I remember my own moment with Guy in my house. I lean towards her, my chin resting on my cupped hands which are propped on my knees as I examine her face.
‘Margot, what is it? Are you scared of him?’
She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply before sighing the air back out. ‘It’s just … he likes to be, umm … well, you know Guy.’ She gives an uneasy little laugh that I don’t return. I feel like I’m only just learning that Guy, the version that Margot lives with, is not the same person as the jovial Guy who’d charmed Liv and me in Oman.
I hesitate. ‘You know you can always talk to me, don’t you? My house is a safe place if you ever need it.’ I hold my hands up, palms facing her. ‘No judgement. Any time.’
