Page 86 of You Lied First
They walk in silence a little further until they reach a plateau. Guy stops and they all stand and look at each other. Guy takes out his phone and switches it off. After a moment’s pause, Margot and Sara do the same. Guy nods and rubs his hands together. The wind bites through the layers of Margot’s clothes, cutting straight to her bones. Not usually much of a smoker, she’s suddenly desperate for a cigarette but it’s too windy to light one.
‘I just wanted to get you here today to warn you that, at any point, we could find ourselves answering difficult questions and I want to make sure that we’re all prepared for that. We all saw the news that the police are looking at tourists as well as residents, and I’ve heard from several people that Adele – remember that woman from school? – has been joyously telling everyone that we were in Oman over Christmas, so it’s not something we can hide.’ Guy breathes in, his jaw tight. ‘I know, right. But anyway, it’s no secret that we were in Oman at the time, and we’ve even told the police here that ourselves – if they bother to pass that on to the Omani police. So I don’t think we have anything to worry about but the fact remains that it’s possible they might well question us, and I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. That we know what we’re going to say when they ask us.’
‘I thought they came for me yesterday,’ Sara says. ‘I came home and there was a police car parked outside my house. I nearly died.’
‘What did they want?’ Margot says.
Sara’s hand’s on her chest and her knees wilt like warm spinach as she talks about the relief she felt when she realised they were only there to ask about a stolen car.
‘I drove away! But then I realised I had to go back at some point,’ Sara says. ‘If they want to talk to me, they’ll find me, no matter what. Right?’
‘Exactly,’ Guy says. ‘Best to have an answer prepped. So, let’s recap. We stayed in a villa in the compound that we – Margot and me – used to live in quite a few years ago. We now know Celine was still living there, but we hadn’t been in touch and she wasn’t there while we were there. Everyone was away. We never saw her. It’s as simple as that. You don’t need to say anything else. Just that. Okay? And Sara, you don’t even know Celine, okay? You’ve never met her. So that’s easy.’
Sara nods and holds up two sets of crossed fingers, almost blue with cold.
Guy’s gaze scans from Sara to Margot. ‘Funny to think that one of us did it.’
Margot looks at Sara. She’s got to give it a try.
‘I was wondering if the person who did it should hand themselves in to the police with a story that doesn’t implicate the others,’ she says, and a shard of hope glimmers within her at the thought that Guy might actually do this. That would solve all of her problems. ‘It might be a way to put an end to all this so the others can get on with their lives.’
Sara looks at the ground, then back up. The wind lashes her hair across her face and she turns her body slightly to let it whip the other way. Her teeth are chattering. She looks utterly haunted.
‘It’s taking a toll on us all,’ Margot adds.
Sara shivers and starts to say something, but the wind snatches her words and Guy interrupts her.
‘No!’ he says. ‘Absolutely not. Out of the question. And, furthermore, I don’t think we, ourselves, need to know who did it. Am I right? Us knowing who did it doesn’t change a thing. In fact, it makes it harder if we’re questioned. Best we don’t know. So let’s just carry on as before. No one needs to confess to anything to anyone. We just keep going as we are. The police might come sniffing around but we’ve covered our tracks. They have nothing on us. It’ll all blow over. Eventually.’
‘We hope,’ Margot says.
Guy gives her a sharp look. ‘The last thing we want to do is start pointing fingers.’ He swivels his gaze from Margot to Sara. ‘So, that’s it. We’re none the wiser and I think it should stay that way. Sorry to have dragged you up here on such a cold day. I thought it would be a nice walk but I swear that fucking wind is from Siberia. Let’s go.’
‘Wait,’ Sara says. She sucks air in through gritted teeth. Her eyes are watery, from the wind that tears at her hair, sending it wild above her head.
‘No. Come on! We’re done. This is ridiculous. I’m freezing my bollocks off. Let’s agree to keep quiet and just say a prayer that whoever did it doesn’t turn into a serial killer.’ His laugh is hollow. Back at the cars, Guy gives Sara a hug, then beepsthe car open. He accelerates away before Margot’s sorted her seat belt.
‘I think that went well. Don’t you?’ he says.
‘Hmm?’ Margot says absently. She’s checking her emails. Her courier delivery’s finally arrived at the collection point.
69
SARA
The meeting on Cleeve Hill leaves me feeling even more uneasy than I felt after I left Margot’s house. The Forrests are up to something, I’m sure of it. I can’t get past why Guy, who knows himself that he didn’t do it, doesn’t want to know if it was me or Margot. And then there’s what Margot said. I’m still reeling from her suggestion that the murderer confess to save the others. There are two things to unpack from that. The first is that she’s so desperate for this to end that she thinks it’s worth taking the risk of implicating all of us if one of us confesses to the police. And the second is that she’s willing to sacrifice either Guy or me to a life in jail in order to bring an end to the situation. I think about that again: either she knows it was me, or she’s potentially willing to lose her husband to a life sentence. So which is it?
Does she actually think that Guy did it? Celine’s words come back to me again in a way that makes me queasy. If Celine was right, the Forrests don’t like me. I’ll never be one of them, she said. So why would they have any loyalty to me? Maybe Margot was bluffing that day at her house; trying to lead me to believe she thought it was Guy.
I sigh as I go over it all again in my head. She’d seemedscared to ask Guy if he did it. I didn’t think that was an act. But what if it was? What if the two of them had discussed it rationally and honestly and had realised that I was the one who killed Celine? That little chat in her studio had been designed to keep me feeling safe while they decide whether or not to hand me in themselves.
Technically, they could do that and come out of this smelling of fresh air if not roses – and that must be a tempting thought. Margot, I saw today, is desperate for this to end. But, if they were to hand me in, would it be better for me if I’d already gone to the police myself, voluntarily? I could make up a story about it being a drunken accident. Celine somehow got her scarf caught on something and tripped and hung herself by accident. Maybe I saw it and covered it up because I was scared, but I didn’t do it. I don’t know; something.
It all comes down to Guy. Who is he? The charming, jovial man I saw on the holiday, or the bully that Margot’s hinted he might be at home? Is she really scared of him, or is she in cahoots with him? My head sinks into my hands. A counsellor? I’m a disaster. I can’t even manage my own life.
The ring of my phone jolts me. It’s Michael. I pick up the phone wearily.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘How are you?’
