Page 50 of You Lied First

S o, it finally happened. Someone found Celine’s phone – whether at the petrol station, the car-hire company or anywhere in between – and turned it on.

I can’t believe I was so careless. I can’t believe I didn’t take out the SIM.

Why didn’t I do that the moment we got into the car?

Why didn’t I take out the SIM and hurl the stupid phone into the mountains?

It’s not clear from the news report if the police have the phone or if someone else has found it, but her parents clearly feel positive because they release another video appeal that’s suddenly all over the news.

I click on the story and see the Cremornes sitting behind a table at a press conference.

Then the strangled voice of Celine’s father spills out of my phone.

‘The last few weeks have been the worst days of our lives. As you may know, after Christmas, our beloved daughter, Celine, disappeared from her home in Muscat, Oman, where she’s lived for the past four years.

We’ve been suffering sleepless nights, wondering if our girl is being held against her will, if she is being harmed.

Or if she is lying injured somewhere and unable to get back home.

’ He pauses and looks directly at the camera.

‘Activity was detected on Celine’s mobile phone earlier today.

Obviously, that’s given us some cause for hope. ’

Howard Cremorne’s voice breaks and Philippa Cremorne then speaks, choking back tears: ‘Not knowing where our daughter is is unbearable. Celine – baby girl – if you’re watching this, there’s no judgement and no questions. Please just let us know that you’re safe. We love you.’

The hope on their faces makes my eyes well. I sit back with my arms hugging myself. I get it: I’m a parent, too. I know the pain of being separated from your child, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone – yet we’ve inflicted that on another couple. And like Liv, Celine is an only child.

I’m pulled from my thoughts by the doorbell. Guy’s stepping from foot to foot at my front door in an agitated way.

‘Oh!’ I say. ‘Guy!’

‘Can I come in?’

He glances up and down the street before stepping inside, then motions that we should both turn off our phones.

‘I guess you heard about Celine’s phone?’ he says when we’ve done that.

‘Uh,’ I say. ‘Can I get you anything? Cup of tea?’

But Guy doesn’t move from the hallway.

‘Is it true that you lost it?’ he demands. ‘Before you took the SIM card out? Because I can’t fucking believe what Margot’s just told me. Please tell me she’s wrong.’

‘I did reset it,’ I say, but my voice falters. ‘I restored it to factory settings. But—’

Guy throws both hands in the air. ‘But you didn’t take the fucking SIM card out?

And then you lost the phone? Jesus Christ, Sara!

A child could have done better! Why didn’t you throw it in the sea when you realised you still had it?

You should have taken out the SIM card and chucked it in the fucking sea!

Even an imbecile would have known that!’

He’s looming over me, his face red with anger and I’m suddenly aware of his size, his bulk. I back away.

‘I … I just … Guy! For God’s sake! We’d just dug a grave and buried a body. We weren’t at our best, okay? Maybe you should have been the one to stay and help if you didn’t trust me and Margot! Instead of pissing off out of there as fast as you could and leaving us to clear up the mess!’

I storm into the living room and he follows.

‘You know why I did what I did?’ he says and now his voice is all the more terrifying for being quietly controlled.

A vein is pulsing in his neck. ‘I did it to spare our kids – your daughter and my son! You could have taken the kids back to Muscat yourself and left me and Margot to clear up. I told you several times you were insured to drive the car, but you refused. Google Maps would have got you back, but no. Scaredy Sara’s not driving in a foreign country!

So don’t blame me before you take a good look at yourself. All right?’

I stare at him, for the first time feeling afraid.

He’s filling up too much space in my living room, making me feel nervous in my own home.

I hold my hands out, palms facing him, partly to keep him away from me; partly to try and calm him.

My eyes seek an escape route past him to the door, if it should come to it.

I speak slowly, controlling my anger and my fear.

‘Guy. I wiped the phone. When we realised we had it, we planned to throw it in the sea in Muscat rather than dump it in the desert where it might lead people to the site. To do that, we needed to drive back to Muscat because, guess what? There is no fucking sea in the desert. All right? We thought that was the right thing to do. I’m sorry I lost it.

I was distracted. Upset. We stopped to put air in the tyres.

You were telling me to rebook my flights.

I was on my phone. I must have dropped it.

I hold my hand up for stuffing up and I apologise for not being perfect under the most extreme stress I’ve ever been under.

But you weren’t there, and we did our best.’

We stare at each other and I realise that I’m panting.

But something comes over him, as if he sees a reflection of himself in my eyes.

His face softens and the breath goes out of him.

He runs his hands through his hair then takes two strides across the living room towards me.

I edge backwards but he holds his hands out to me.

‘Sara,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me. Still friends?’ He holds out a hand, as if he wants me to shake it.

I hesitate but then, gingerly, I reach out, keeping my torso as far from him as possible. He takes my hand and squeezes it. ‘I’m truly sorry. I’ve had a really shit day and now this. I’m stressed. I feel like I’m holding it together for all of us. I didn’t mean to snap.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say.

He pulls me into his arms, then holds me tighter, pressing in a way that’s not right between friends.

Thoughts ricochet around my head like missiles: the way Guy had sometimes looked at me on the holiday; Celine’s warning that I was on Margot’s radar; the way he appreciated the things I did.

But I can’t do this. I jerk away and Guy takes a shuddering breath and collapses onto the sofa, his head in his hands.

‘I’m stuffing everything up today, aren’t I?’

‘What’s going on? This isn’t like you.’

He looks at me and I notice pink spider lines in his eyes, the depth of the bags under them, and the lines etched deeper than I remember. He doesn’t look like a man who’s sleeping well.

‘You think my life’s a rodeo? All sunshine and fun?’ He scoffs. ‘I can tell you it’s not what you see on Instagram. You think Margot and I are happy, don’t you? Did we fool you in Oman? My God, Sara, you have no idea. Sit down. Let me tell you the truth behind the idyll of Margot’s Mansions.’

I look at him warily. ‘Hang on. Have you finished intimidating me in my own home now? Because that wasn’t very nice, Guy, and I don’t appreciate it.’

He bites his lip. ‘I didn’t mean … I’m just so stressed right now. It won’t happen again, I promise. Come and sit with me.’

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I can trust him, but then I sit a little sideways to him and he begins to speak.

What he tells me is the age-old story of a marriage that’s run its course; of lovers turned friends turned flatmates until he and Margot are – apparently – nothing more than co-parents and business associates.

‘She doesn’t love me,’ he says when he’s finished. ‘It’s a marriage only in name.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say, although I’m not sure I believe him entirely.

I’ve been around the block enough to know an excuse for an affair when I hear it.

It’s probably what he told Celine, back when they lived in Oman.

And she probably fell for it. ‘Guy, listen, I’m just going to spell this out now so there’s no misunderstanding.

I can’t and I won’t do anything to hurt or embarrass Margot, no matter how things are between you.

So this …’ I wave my hand between him and me, ‘… is a non-starter. Understood?’

He sighs. ‘“Sara Says” no.’ He gives an ironic chuckle and shakes his head. ‘You’re such a good person. I don’t know how you do it. I bow in admiration to your morals.’

We lapse into silence for a minute before I remember what it was that brought him here. ‘So, back to the phone, if we can talk about that without you exploding again. Do you think resetting it will have been enough?’

He clucks his tongue. ‘I honestly don’t know. But it will take time for them to recover anything else. I don’t know what she would have had on it anyway. Did you ever message her?’

‘No.’

‘Good. And I know Margot won’t have messaged her.

So that’s something,’ Guy says, leaving me staring at the elephant in the room: was there a train of messages from Guy on Celine’s phone?

Incriminating photos? After his outburst, I’m not going to prod him.

If there was something going on between him and Celine, he probably would have had a burner phone that I sincerely hoped he chucked into the sea.

‘So we’re all good?’ I ask.

My biggest fear is that, for some reason, the Forrests break ranks; that they decide to shop me in and save themselves.

I’ve seen how ruthless Guy can be. I wonder now if rejecting him was a smart thing to do; if it would have been wiser to lead him on a little bit, let him enjoy a flirtation, keep him hooked.

I need Guy not to blame me for being the weakest link. I can’t believe I lost the phone.

But Guy smiles. ‘We’re as good as we can be.’

After he leaves, I go to the Facebook appeal page and watch the parents’ video again; it’s like a scar I can’t stop picking.

Maybe I’m hoping that exposing myself to it enough will harden me to their pain.

But then I see the comments. The top one – the one getting the most traction with shocked emojis racking up by the second – is from a poster with the profile ‘Celine Cremorne’.

Hi, it’s me. You left me for dead. You know who you are … Did you really think you’d get away with it?