Page 46 of You Lied First

A fter Margot calls me, sounding distressed, I get Liv to take the appeal straight off her socials but I don’t know how many people saw it.

Did anyone screenshot it? Forward it? Repost it?

In the time it was up, did someone see it and connect the dots that we were there?

I don’t know how they’d know, but I’m always surprised by the strange and rather random connections that happen on social media.

A couple of days pass by uneasily and I know something’s happened when Guy’s name appears on my phone.

I stare at it for a moment before picking it up.

I’m so jumpy I’m almost expecting the police to hammer on the door.

Will they have sirens on when they come to get me?

Probably not. They could be surrounding my house right now.

‘Hello?’ I say tentatively.

There’s a pause then Guy says, ‘Hello, Sara. Margot and I wondered if you fancied meeting us for a coffee?’

‘A coffee?’

‘Yes. A coffee.’ His voice gives nothing away. ‘How are you fixed today? We’re actually at that new coffee shop just down the road from you right now, and we thought we’d be spontaneous for once. Carpe Diem and all that. Are you free?’

The Forrests wouldn’t drive from Charlton Kings to my neck of the woods to visit the mediocre coffee shop at the end of my road for no reason. They just wouldn’t.

‘Okaaay,’ I say. ‘You say you’re there now?’

‘Just got here.’

‘I can be there in fifteen minutes?’

‘We’ll wait. No problem.’

They look, when I arrive, like any other middle-aged couple enjoying a Sunday coffee in a café.

Guy has a newspaper in front of him; Margot’s looking at her phone.

But, knowing them as I do, I can see tension in the pinch of their faces.

Margot’s deteriorated since I saw her at school.

She looks worn, like an old kitchen table that’s been scrubbed too many times, thin-skinned and pale, and her eyes are bloodshot and haunted.

It makes me wonder what’s being said between her and Guy at home.

She pulls me into a silent hug, and clings on for a few extra seconds, as if trying to communicate something. Guy gives me a distracted half hug.

‘It’s a beautiful day. Why don’t you get a take-out, and we can walk?’ he says. He’s already over by the counter. ‘What do you fancy?’

And so, cups in hand, we exit the coffee shop and head, without discussion, towards the park.

‘Couldn’t hear myself think in there,’ Guy says. ‘Much better to be outside.’

‘What happened?’ I ask.

‘Do we need a reason to spend time together?’ Guy says, indicating with his eyes that he’s not going to say anything while our phones are on so we juggle each other’s coffees while we switch them off.

‘Okay, what is it now? I’m dying,’ I say as we set off towards the long path around the perimeter of the park; the one where no one but dog-walkers go. I haven’t been on a recreational walk in months.

Guy lets out a sigh that’s half a roar of frustration. ‘It’s Tom and Di. Fucking stupid Di. I swear.’

‘Guy,’ Margot says warningly. ‘She didn’t know.’

My breath catches. ‘What? Did she say something?’

‘They phoned,’ Margot says. ‘Tom and Di. Happy to tell us how we might be able to help the Omani police with their search for Celine.’

‘Oh, God.’

‘Just wait. It gets worse.’

‘What can be worse than us helping with enquiries?’ I stop walking, but Guy and Margot carry on, and I scurry to catch up.

‘It seems the Omani police are way more efficient than our lot,’ Guy says. ‘Not to mention that a missing Brit doesn’t look good on them. Seems they’ve been going door-to-door, asking questions. Hotels, businesses …’

‘Car-hire firms,’ Margot adds. ‘Homes.’

‘They want answers.’

‘Oh my God,’ I say again. ‘I saw that article, but I didn’t think about Tom and Di.’

‘Yep. They knocked on their door.’

‘And?’

‘Di was home,’ Guy says. ‘Jesus, if only Tom had opened the door, he’d have handled it. So they ask if they know Celine, then mention the compound where Celine was living, and Di recognises that it was where we were staying – at the same time that Celine went missing.’

‘And she told them that?’ My mouth’s open behind the hand that’s covering it.

Margot nods sadly. ‘She thought she was helping.’

Guy takes up the story, his voice high-pitched and sing-song to mimic a silly woman.

‘So, she’s all like, “Oh, yes! My friends were staying there around New Year! Definitely the same compound. I think they even used to know Celine Cremorne when they lived here. I’m sure I remember them mentioning her.

Maybe I’m wrong but I think they were actually quite close!

They’ve moved back to the UK now. But they were out here for a week and I’m sure that if Celine was there, they’d have seen her. Maybe you could speak to them.”’

‘Shit,’ I say. ‘What about the camping gear? Did she remember that?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Guy says. ‘She left nothing out. “Guy borrowed our camping gear,” she told them. “He was planning a trip to the desert.”’

I realise that I’m shaking. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Well, I think it’s a matter of time – and maybe not long – till we get a visit from the police here.’

‘Really? Do they communicate like that between countries?’

‘I should imagine so, if there’s a Brit involved.’

‘So we need to plan what we’re going to say if and when that happens?’

‘And stick with it,’ Guy says. ‘Are we all in?’

‘All in,’ I say.