Page 67 of You Lied First

B efore I have time to think, instinct takes over.

Fight or flight. I check my mirrors and reverse carefully back out of the street.

Then I drive forward again, smartly past the end of my street and, like a machine, to the car park behind Sainsbury’s, where I collapse onto the steering wheel with my head in my hands.

What would I say to the police? Would they come right out and accuse me?

Or would they ask all those clever questions designed to trip me up and confuse me until I make an error?

I’ve watched crime shows. I know how they operate.

Will I be able to carry on with the lies, or will they smell the stench of guilt oozing out of me?

Will it look worse if I try to cover it up but then break?

It’s four o’clock; Liv will be on her way to Michael’s.

Is there a police car waiting there, too?

Should I warn her? Should I warn the Forrests?

I get out of the car and walk numbly down the narrow lane towards the shops, passing on my way the usual population – the elderly shuffling along on their daily errands; harassed mothers; kids just out from school, people walking their dogs – people who haven’t killed anyone.

I walk among them , I think. Little do they know how closely they’re mingling with a killer.

I stand on the street corner and take in the familiar shopfronts – the baker’s, the Cancer Research shop with its bright display of dresses pointing optimistically to spring, the Post Office with its piles of stationery supplies and the Co-op with a golden spaniel waiting patiently outside.

I wander into the Co-op intending to look in the bakery baskets for a psychological pick-me-up, but my eye’s drawn to the display of newspapers.

Who killed this woman? the headline screams, with a headshot of Celine laughing, her long hair blown back by the wind.

The words are nothing more than black ink on white paper, but the pattern they’re in is one that threatens to see me incarcerated.

I can’t help myself. I pick up the paper and turn to the story.

The police are trawling through the social media accounts of those Celine had known, looking for clues as to who she could have been with.

In addition to the house calls in Muscat, they’re considering that the killer might have been a tourist. They’re examining entry and exit records at the airport and talking to travel agents about people who’d booked hotels in Muscat the week Celine went missing.

The Oman police are determined to find who did it.

My hands shake so much that the paper trembles. I put it back. I don’t need anything more to worry about. The message is clear. The police aren’t giving up on this. What will be will be and I have to go home at some point. I head back to the car.

The police might not even be looking for me, I tell myself as I start the engine.

It could just be a coincidence. But, as I turn back into my road, the squad car is still there, and I can make out the shape of two officers through the back window.

I drive slowly down the road and pull into the vacant space in front of the police car.

Then I take a deep breath in, get out of the car, and throw what I hope is a vaguely bemused look in the direction of the police car as I walk up my front path. Hand me that Oscar right now.

They catch me before I’ve unlocked the door.

‘Good afternoon, madam.’

I spin around to find the two officers, one male and one female, standing behind me on the garden path. I smile and try to look surprised.

‘Oh, hello. Can I help you?’

‘I see that you’ve just arrived home but, if you can spare us two minutes of your time, we just have a few questions we’d like to ask.’

Now I try to look quizzical. ‘Can you say what it’s regarding?’

The female officer nods over her shoulder. ‘A car was stolen from across the road in the early hours of this morning. We see you have a smart doorbell and we wondered if we can check the footage as it looks like it might have caught something?’

‘A stolen car?’ I say weakly. ‘Across the road? How awful. Yes, yes, come in.’

I usher the police into the hallway where the doorbell monitor sits.

‘This is it. Do you know how to use it? Just – I think that button rewinds but I’m not sure as I’ve had no need to look at it,’ I say. I sink onto the stairs and hug my knees while they poke buttons and peer at the screen.

They aren’t here for me at all. But I could really make their careers by telling them some different information.

My mouth twitches with the absurdity of it.

Bubbles of what I know would be hysterical laughter start to gather inside me.

I hug my knees tighter and hide my face against them willing my mouth to stay straight.

It takes the police a few minutes to establish that, while my view of the road would have been perfect, my system isn’t set to record, only to show in real time who’s out there, so there’s nothing to see.

‘Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,’ I say as they leave.