Page 52 of You Lied First

I ’m on pins and needles for the next few days, waiting for the screech of a police car, a bang on the door – waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Mentally, I prepare to be arrested. Will I resist?

Or will I figuratively roll over and admit it all on the spot?

And then something else hits me: what if it’s not the police who come?

What if it’s Celine herself? In my mind’s eye, I see her, risen from her grave and covered in sand, tapping on my window with her orange-red nails.

The image haunts me, night and day. I might not be in jail physically, but the places my mind goes are far worse than any jail cell.

But, almost unbelievably, nothing happens.

The comment is deleted from the Facebook page and I carry on seeing my IRL clients.

A stay-at-home mum with a gambling addiction, a woman who doesn’t get on with her mother-in-law, a father of four hiding financial problems from his wife, marital issues – the same problems over and over.

The day that Liv and I are to go to dinner with the Forrests finally rolls around.

As I get ready, I wonder what it will be like, we adults with the biggest secret in the world acting normal in front of our innocent kids who suspect nothing.

To disguise my torment, I pretend to Liv, who’s getting ready at my house, that my angst is about what to wear.

‘It’s not that deep,’ she says languidly as I parade choices in front of her while she paints her nails.

‘But I want to get it right,’ I say. ‘I need my outfit to say: casual, didn’t make an effort, classy … does this need a necklace?’

‘You’re really overthinking it. Just be you. Wear something that makes you comfortable.’

I plump, in the end, for wide-leg trousers and a forgiving top with a chunky necklace and earrings. Liv throws on a sheer mini dress with scruffy trainers and then we’re in the cab, on our way, with me clutching the bouquet of flowers and the wine I bought at Waitrose, as if my life depends on it.

‘Looking forward to tonight?’ I ask Liv when I feel as if I might actually throw up.

She doesn’t respond so I jab her with my elbow, and she pulls an AirPod out of her ear with an irritated expression on her face.

‘What?’

‘I’m talking to you. Are you excited?’

She gives me a funny look. ‘It’s only the Forrests?’

‘Yes, but – you know? It’s the first time we’ve gone to their house for dinner.’

‘We spent a week living with them.’ She rolls her eyes.

It takes under fifteen minutes for us to get there, then another couple to buzz at the gates and drive up the gravelled driveway that I ran up, so distraught, the last time I was here.

The cab comes to a halt and, before I’ve had a chance to gather myself, Liv’s rung the bell, Guy’s opening the door and I’m stepping over the threshold while hoping Celine isn’t lurking in the shrubbery ready to blackmail us all.

‘Sara! Liv! Welcome, welcome. If you just leave your shoes here. Shall I take those?’ Guy mwa-mwas me as I struggle with the flowers and wine.

I brandish both at him while I have a full out-of-body experience trying to act normal when things couldn’t be less normal.

Guy thanks me, Liv disappears up the stairs and I’m ushered through to the kitchen, in the midst of which, with a chef’s apron wrapped around her waist and a wine glass in her hand, is Margot.

She sways over to me and I realise she’s already had a few.

‘Sara! Welcome!’ She gives me a hug and an air kiss, and whispers in my ear, ‘You okay?’

‘Mmm,’ I nod, and she squeezes my arm. I don’t think either of us is okay.

‘Sara brought these,’ Guy says, placing the flowers and the wine on the island.

Margot examines the flowers as if she’s really noticing them. ‘Thanks very much, Sara. So thoughtful.’ She makes no move to touch them and I see the glassiness of her eyes.

‘What can I get you to drink?’ Guy asks.

‘Whatever you’re having,’ I say. Guy pulls a bottle of champagne out of a wine fridge, along with three chilled champagne saucers. He pops the cork, fills the saucers and hands each of us a glass.

‘Cheers,’ he says with an affable smile. ‘To friendship, and all it entails.’

‘And all it entails,’ I echo.

‘Cheers,’ Margot says. ‘Mmm, that’s going to go down well.’

Somehow, we get through the dinner. The Forrests are impeccable hosts.

The police don’t storm the place and Celine doesn’t bang on the window – so I begin to relax.

Maybe it can be like this going forward, I think.

I’m bound with the Forrests now; even if Liv and Flynn split up, we’ll always have this thing between us, keeping us in each other’s orbits.

I’m staring into space thinking this over my mint tea when Liv and Flynn burst into the orangery.

‘They’ve found a body,’ Flynn says without any introduction. Liv’s behind him, her face pale and eyes wide.

‘In Oman,’ she says. ‘It’s breaking news . What if it’s Celine?’

Margot and I look at each other with panicky eyes. Guy shrugs calmly.

‘Who knows? Have they said anything more? Is it male, female? Where was it found?’

‘Nothing further at this point,’ Flynn says. ‘But, oh my God. What if it’s her?’ He flicks on the television and mutes the sound.

‘If it’s her, then she’s definitely dead,’ I say bluntly before I can stop myself. I rearrange my face. ‘How awful. Let’s hope it’s not.’

Liv sinks onto the sofa next to me and snivels. ‘I’ll feel so bad if it’s her.’

‘You’ve nothing to feel bad about,’ I say.

But she sniffles again into her hand. ‘I didn’t like her. I asked the universe to make her leave us alone. What if this is how the universe granted my wish?’ she wails. ‘Oh my God, how will I ever get over this if it’s her?’

‘Wait! Look!’ Flynn says, pointing at the television. ‘It’s the desert!’

On the screen behind the newscaster is an image taken at the site where the body was found.

I don’t need to stare at it to know it’s the view that’s forever imprinted on my psyche: the familiar copse of trees where we camped; the big dune in the distance.

Now there’s crime scene tape around it. As Liv turns up the volume, I’m transported back into the desert; to the sun, the heat, the dazzling morning light bouncing on desert sand.

‘… about a hundred and eighty kilometres outside Muscat in a spot popular with residents for camping and driving on the dunes,’ the newscaster is saying.

‘That’s where we were!’ Flynn exclaims. ‘Look! The trees!’

‘Could be any trees,’ Guy says. ‘It all looks the same.’

Behind the tape, I can see where they’ve been digging; mounds of dark sand lying on top of dry, golden sand.

I can smell the perfume of the yellow flowers that had been on the trees at the time; I can feel the burn of the rising sun on my bare arms, and the tickle of sweat running down my temple as Margot and I had frantically dug the hole.

‘The body is reported to have been found by members of the public unrelated to the search, whose dog came upon the remains,’ the newscaster is saying.

‘Royal Oman Police have not released any information about the identity of the body but an unconfirmed source said it was female. Should it prove to be that of missing expat Celine Cremorne, it raises more questions than it answers. What was she doing in the desert? Who was she with? And, way more crucially, who buried her?’

Guy clicks off the television once the report ends. ‘Blimey.’

‘I’m sure that’s where we were,’ Flynn says.

‘Yeah,’ Liv says. ‘I remember those trees.’

‘Desert’s desert,’ Guy says. ‘Trees are trees. It all looks the same. Trust me, I’ve seen enough of it.’

‘I wouldn’t be able to identify one bit of sand from another,’ I say, looking at the floor.

‘Anyway,’ Guy says, ‘she came back with us. If it’s her – and that’s a big if – she must have gone back later.’

A frown puckers Liv’s face and I know what she’s thinking before she says it.

‘Did she really come back with you? She wasn’t up when we left,’ she says, as I will her, with every ounce of my maternal strength, to shut up. ‘We left early to go to the hospital with your dad, right, babe? Remember? And she was still sleeping. Was she okay, Mum?’

‘Yes,’ I manage, trying to throw in a nonchalant shrug. ‘Hungover like we all were, but fine. Wasn’t she, Margot?’

‘Mmm-hmm,’ Margot nods. ‘She re-inflated the tyres.’

‘It’s probably not her,’ Guy says. ‘As I said, if it’s her, maybe she liked where we camped and went back after we left.

With friends for New Year or something. I mean, it was the perfect camping spot – easy to find, not far from the road.

I sincerely doubt we’re the only ones ever to have chosen that spot. ’

‘Exactly,’ I say, and my dinner churns in my stomach.