Page 16

Chapter 15

Liv

I was supposed to relax this weekend before the madness of the final phase of work begins on the wellness studio. But instead of starting my Sunday morning with a run around the acres of beautiful grounds surrounding this spa, I’m in my room, firefighting. Jamal, the studio’s project manager, has called to report a problem with the underfloor heating. He’s struggling to find a workaround. And if he can’t, it’s going to cost me a small fortune to replace.

It’s not even 10 a.m. and I’ve already rubbed topical menthol into my temples and swallowed two herbal belladonna tablets to thwart this creeping headache.

I find Anna in the spa area, lying on a sunbed next to the pool. Her knees are pointed upwards and the book Big Little Lies is perched upon them. I’ve yet to see her make use of the pool, sauna or steam rooms.

‘Where’s Margot?’ I ask as I scan our immediate vicinity.

‘Having a treatment,’ she says.

‘Another one?’

‘Yes, to add to her pedicure, manicure, eyebrow tint, deep-tissue back massage, Indian head massage and full-body seaweed wrap.’

‘Is there any part of her that hasn’t been touched?’

‘Aside from her heart?’ Anna replies, quite quickly. ‘I’m joking.’ We both know she isn’t.

‘I wondered if she might have left early to take care of her family.’

‘Our Margot isn’t quite the Florence Nightingale type, is she?’

‘More like Nurse Ratched,’ I quip and Anna laughs.

As we are on our own, I take the opportunity to ask her a question. ‘I’m curious as to how you two became such good friends,’ I begin. ‘You have very different personalities.’

‘Margot rubs a lot of people up the wrong way,’ she replies. ‘It’s a defence mechanism. Attack before you’re attacked.’

‘But you’re no threat to her and I’ve heard some of the things she says to you.’

‘Me?’ she asks, as if this is news to her.

I tread carefully. ‘She can be ... quite blunt. With you. Sometimes. Don’t you think?’

‘That’s just her way.’

‘But it can feel ... unwarranted.’

She shrugs. ‘I haven’t noticed.’

‘I’d just hate to think you were taking to heart any of the things she says. About, well, you know, your weight, or your appearance.’

‘I’m a tough cookie. I can handle myself.’

‘Okay,’ I reply, and sense a slight shift in the atmosphere between us. Now I’m worried I’ve said too much. Maybe Anna has spent so much time around Margot that it really is water off a duck’s back. Or perhaps she has Stockholm syndrome, where a hostage forms a bond with their kidnapper.

Brandon asked me why I spend so much time with Margot. At the time, I couldn’t answer, but now I think it’s because I know how to handle the Margots of this world. I know how they think and what motivates them because I once surrounded myself with people like her. On the flip side, I’m at a loss as to how to handle someone as kind and selfless as Anna. She reminds me so much of my sister Amelia, someone I so badly wanted to protect but couldn’t – a failure that will forever both haunt and mobilise me.

The alarm on Anna’s phone chimes.

She beams. ‘Facial time!’

Her robe falls open as she swivels her legs to climb off the sunbed and I spot scarring on her left thigh. It looks like a burn mark, the size of a large hand, and going by its paleness, it doesn’t look recent. Below are diagonal scars, a dozen or so, and they’re wide. Some are faint, almost white lines, and others red or purplish, suggesting they’re more recent. And one has scabbed over. They’re too organised and too symmetrical to have been accidental.

Anna realises what’s happened and her face reddens as she ties her robe up tightly and looks at me to judge my reaction. I pretend I haven’t seen anything, but I’m fooling no one.