Page 38 of You Lied First

Nothing at all. Not a hair. Not a nail clipping.

Nothing that could be traced back to Celine’s presence in the house.

I’d even disinfected every surface and mopped every floor.

The Forrests go in one cab, and Liv comes with me.

We agree we’ll go through check-in, passport control and security separately ‘just in case’ – ‘just in case’ what, no one wants to say.

We’ll meet again once we’re airside. Liv and I ride in silence, each of us looking out of our respective windows at the passing landmarks.

As we draw closer to the airport and see the tail fins of the airplanes on the ground, I realise that my mouth is dry.

I’m scared: scared that they’ll look at my passport and call us into a private room with no windows.

Scared that we’ll get a tap on the shoulder from a uniformed official.

Scared that they’ll whip out handcuffs at the boarding gate and put them on us right there and then.

I’m scared, yet I know my fear is illogical. Celine hasn’t been reported missing. No one could have reported us. I place my hand on Liv’s.

‘Had a good holiday?’ I ask.

‘The best,’ she says. Her face is grey in the half light. ‘I wish we weren’t leaving early. We could have stayed. You’re always going on about value for money, but leaving early isn’t.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just that the Forrests had already changed their tickets and I thought you’d like to travel back with Flynn. Shall we try to get into a lounge when we’re through? Would you like that?’

‘Whatev.’

Liv closes her eyes and turns away with a small exhale, the poor, hard-done-by teen.

I squeeze her hand, and the returning squeeze is so faint I may have imagined it.

Then we’re there. The taxi driver opens the boot and pulls out our bags, and we join the bustle and clusters of people heading into the terminal.

Ahead of us, I spot the Forrests already at a check-in counter. Liv and I wait patiently in the queue.

‘Here for a holiday?’ the woman at the check-in asks with a bright lipstick smile as she opens my passport. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘It was lovely, thanks,’ I mumble with a faint smile. She stares at my passport long enough to make me squirm, then repeats the process with Liv’s, looking at her and then down again at the passport photo.

‘Olivia,’ she says. ‘Lovely name.’

My smile is tight and then she’s printing out baggage tags and dispatching our bags and I’m clutching the boarding passes and the baggage receipt like they’re hard-won treasure as we turn away from the desk.

There isn’t much of a queue at passport control, maybe four people ahead of us, and we stand in silence while we wait our turn.

‘Morning!’ I say with a smile as I hand over the passports.

The official smiles back absently, her mind on her task, while my heart thumps like a bass drum.

Why is it you look shifty when you try too hard to look innocent?

The wait for the computer to process our passports seems interminable.

But then it’s done and she’s holding out our passports without calling the police. Of course she is.

‘Have a good flight,’ the official says, and my knees almost buckle with relief. Security is quick and easy and then we’re airside.

‘Give me a high five!’

Liv smacks my hand lamely, not understanding my relief.

As significant journeys go, our flight’s distinctly unremarkable, which is exactly what we need.

When we reach Dubai, Guy doesn’t want any trace of us checking into a lounge together, so we eat whatever breakfast we can force down at a restaurant close to the departure gate, and pay in cash.

The Birmingham flight’s on time. The ground staff wave us through, and the cabin crew welcome us on board with painted-red smiles.

Despite our late booking, the five of us sit in one row: Flynn, Liv and me on one side of the aisle and the Forrests on the other.

I distract myself with movies and, before I know it, lunch is served and then we’re landing in Birmingham.

The sky outside is bleak, raindrops streaking across the window, and the sight fills my heart with joy.

Despite my little fantasy about moving abroad, when the chips are down, this is home.

We’ve made it. We’re safe. As the plane taxies towards the stand, I look across the aisle at Guy and gurn a relieved face.

He widens his eyes in agreement, then the intercom crackles and the captain speaks.

‘Good morning once again from the flight deck. Just an update on landing. I’ve been informed that there’s going to be a police check at the aircraft door so we’ll be disembarking from the front exit only. Please have your passports ready to present as you disembark the aircraft. Thank you.’