Page 88 of You Lied First
I dress in comfortable clothes, expecting that I’ll be in them for quite some time, then I compose a WhatsApp message to send to Margot. She’ll be so relieved to be able to put this behind them and finally move on.
Morning. Shock news: I’m going to the police station to hand myself in. Don’t worry. All will be well
The last bit is meant to convey the fact that I’m not going to dump them in it. God, it’s difficult talking in riddles. I send the message, shove my phone in my bag and leave the house. It’s about a twenty-minute walk to the police station and I value every moment of it, breathing in the fresh air, looking at the trees that line the roads, still in their bleak, twiggy winter state but beautiful all the same. I pay attention to the clack of my boots striking the pavement, the feel of my heart rate rising with the exercise, and the warmth that tingles through my body to my fingers. Is this the last time I’ll ever walk along a street in the winter in Britain? What will it be like in a jail in Oman? It’s not like inmates post pics on social media: I have nothing to go on.
‘You’re doing it for Liv,’ I say out loud because I can feel myself faltering.
My steps slow as I approach the police station. I stare at the windows of the building as I wait at the lights to cross the busy road. How will the people inside that building take my confession? Will they know what I’m talking about? Will they believe me, or think I’m delusional – looking for my fiveminutes of fame? What’ll happen next? Will I be extradited to Oman immediately? Or not at all? Will there be a trial? Here or in Muscat? I have no idea. The traffic stops, the crossing beeps, and I walk the final few metres towards my fate … and straight into Margot.
72
MARGOT
Margot grabs Sara’s arm, spins her smartly away from the police station and marches her towards the back street where she’s left her car. The traffic was dense when she left home and she’d thrown the car through all the wiggly streets she knew, abandoned it in a side street and run the last bit to the police station. It was stressful but she’s grateful beyond words that Sara chose to walk, and that she was held up at the pedestrian light because, if Sara had gone into the station and spilled her guts, Margot doesn’t know what would have happened. Thank God she reached her in time.
‘Oww!’ Sara tries to yank her arm free. ‘What the hell?’
‘Go with it, please,’ Margot hisses. ‘You need to hear what I have to say, then you can make your decision. But I’m not letting you hand yourself in without listening to me first. Okay?’
She frogmarches her to the car in silence then barks, ‘Get in.’
‘What’s going on?’ Sara asks. ‘I feel like I’ve been kidnapped.’
‘You have been kidnapped,’ she says. ‘Kidnapped before you could make a huge mistake. Why in God’s name do you want to hand yourself in?’
‘I’m handing myself in before you and Guy do it for me,’ Sara says.
‘We …’ Margot begins, but Sara holds her hand up to stop her.
‘I know you think it was me, and you’re partly right. I know what happened, and I can’t put us all through this anymore so I think it’s best if I just tell the police myself. Don’t worry, I’ll say it was just me and Celine in the desert. You won’t be implicated. I’ll tell the police what really happened. It wasn’t murder, by the way.’
‘And what exactly are you saying did happen?’ Margot asks.
‘It was an accident! You know how drunk we were? You’d all gone to bed and we stayed up for another drink … the stars were amazing. We were spinning around and looking up at the sky – her scarf got caught up and we were too drunk to notice. I passed out. She must have carried on spinning until … uh, oh, God, when I came to, I realised she’d got wound up in her scarf and I couldn’t revive her. I panicked and put her back in the tent. I couldn’t deal with it. I felt responsible even though it wasn’t my fault. I’m a coward, Margot, and I should have admitted what I knew, but I’m not a murderer. Hopefully they’ll be a bit lenient on me if I come forward. I want this to end. We can’t live like this, looking over our shoulders all the time. You said it yourself. The police know we were there. It’s only a matter of time till they come asking questions. Liv has disowned me. Everyone’s living on edge. It’s destroying us. If I do this now, everyone can get on with their lives.’
‘Very noble,’ Margot says. ‘But I don’t believe for a minute that’s what happened, and neither will the police. Her scarfgot caught? On what? Pull the other one, Sara. If you tell them that, you’ll be spending the rest of your life in jail. You understand that, don’t you? You’ll never see any of this again.’ She indicates the world outside the car. Unfortunately, it’s a dank street of terraced houses, parked cars and bare trees that don’t look so very enticing in the flat winter light, but Margot hopes Sara can see the vision. ‘I refuse to let you do it.’
‘I’ve always taught Liv to do the right thing,’ Sara says, and her voice wobbles. Her head tips forward into her hands and Margot realises she’s crying. She looks at her, aghast. She hadn’t realised she was so close to the edge.
‘What if the police come calling? What if they question Liv?’ Sara wails. ‘She’s a kid who went on a holiday – not a fugitive! I don’t want her to go through that.’ She inhales snot with a gulp. ‘I need to do something. I need to put this right for her – and for you. We can’t live our lives like this, one step ahead of the law; questions hanging over us the whole time.’
‘You want to put this right for me?’ Margot asks softly.
‘I do. Yes! For you and for Liv and for your family. I bet you wish Guy had never invited me to Oman.’
Margot lets her head slump forward, resting on the steering wheel for a moment. ‘No. It was lovely to have you both there. I might not have shown it, at least to begin with, but I was really glad you were there. I’m just sorry that it ended up like this.’
‘It’s not your fault. Really, it’s not.’ Sara tries to smile but doesn’t quite achieve it. She blows her nose and her hiccups start to slow. A jogger runs towards them and past, his feet slapping the ground. A delivery van shoots past them, unseemly fast, up the narrow road. Sara folds up a clean tissue and puts it in her pocket.
‘Well, if that’s all, I’ve a police station to visit.’ She moves her hand to the door handle, but Margot leans across and slaps it back down.
‘You cannot hand yourself in,’ she says. ‘I won’t let you.’
‘Why? Is Guy there doing it for me now? Is that what this is about? Make yourselves look good in return for leniency?’
‘Sara! We were never going to hand you in! Why would we?’ Margot closes her eyes as her stomach lurches. ‘I won’t let you step up for this because I know you didn’t do it.’
There’s a stunned silence in the car, then Sara speaks.
