Page 68 of You Lied First

‘M argot!’ Guy bellows as he blasts into Margot’s studio. It’s the first word he’s spoken to her since he threatened her over leaving him and she’s been walking on eggshells around him ever since.

‘We need to talk to Sara,’ Guy says. ‘I’ve arranged to meet her on Cleeve Hill in half an hour.’

‘Why?’ she asks, grateful for once for his ability to compartmentalise his life. It’s as if he’s told her not to leave him, so she won’t. Job done. Move on.

‘Margot! Get with the programme! The police have launched a murder hunt! We’ve told them we were there.

The net is closing in. We need to make doubly, triply sure we’re all on the same page.

Ensure that no one is going to the police.

And that we’re all on board with what we need to say if the police come knocking. As they very well may.’

It’s a bright day and the wind buffets the car as Guy floors it up the single-track road far faster than Margot thinks is safe or necessary.

Her grip on her handbag is as tight as the silence between the two of them is tense.

Margot wonders what’ll happen up on the hill.

Might Guy actually confess? When they pull into the car park by the radio masts, there’s just one car there and, inside it, Margot can make out Sara’s profile.

She’s staring pensively straight ahead and Margot’s heart aches for the pain that her husband’s putting this innocent woman through.

Guy cuts the engine and sits with his head bowed and his eyes closed for a moment, then he takes a deep breath.

‘Ready?’

‘Yep.’

‘Okay, let’s go.’

They get out and Sara nods hello to them, the strained formality of the greeting many times removed from the familiarity they’d had in the warmth of the Omani sunshine.

Even in her leggings, boots and a big, padded jacket, Sara looks thin and grey.

Her bony knees protrude from legs thin as sparrows; the hollows of her face are pronounced, her skin tight on the bones; and the weak smile that she offers the Forrests is brittle.

She’s lost a lot of weight since the holiday and all of their tans have faded.

None of them look good in the cold, flat light of the British winter.

‘So,’ Sara says. ‘Here we all are.’

‘Indeed,’ Guy says grimly. He nods towards the path that leads to the fields beyond. ‘Shall we?’

They set off, manoeuvring their way through the gate onto the common, then walking in single file with Guy in front.

Margot focuses on the path ahead, not wanting to slip and sprain an ankle, or worse.

This is not her natural habitat, not by a long shot.

The icy wind bites into her cheeks and wails a ghostly song as it tears through the radio masts.

‘Let’s not go too far,’ she calls, only now wondering if her husband’s brought them up here to silence her and Sara once and for all.

There’s no one around, not even a dog-walker, although hoofprints show that horses sometimes come this way.

Perhaps it isn’t the smartest idea to be somewhere so isolated with him.

Maybe she should have told Flynn where they were going.

They walk in silence a little further until they reach a plateau.

Guy stops and they all stand and look at each other.

Guy takes out his phone and switches it off.

After a moment’s pause, Margot and Sara do the same.

Guy nods and rubs his hands together. The wind bites through the layers of Margot’s clothes, cutting straight to her bones.

Not usually much of a smoker, she’s suddenly desperate for a cigarette but it’s too windy to light one.

‘I just wanted to get you here today to warn you that, at any point, we could find ourselves answering difficult questions and I want to make sure that we’re all prepared for that.

We all saw the news that the police are looking at tourists as well as residents, and I’ve heard from several people that Adele – remember that woman from school?

– has been joyously telling everyone that we were in Oman over Christmas, so it’s not something we can hide.

’ Guy breathes in, his jaw tight. ‘I know, right. But anyway, it’s no secret that we were in Oman at the time, and we’ve even told the police here that ourselves – if they bother to pass that on to the Omani police.

So I don’t think we have anything to worry about but the fact remains that it’s possible they might well question us, and I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page.

That we know what we’re going to say when they ask us. ’

‘I thought they came for me yesterday,’ Sara says. ‘I came home and there was a police car parked outside my house. I nearly died.’

‘What did they want?’ Margot says.

Sara’s hand’s on her chest and her knees wilt like warm spinach as she talks about the relief she felt when she realised they were only there to ask about a stolen car.

‘I drove away! But then I realised I had to go back at some point,’ Sara says. ‘If they want to talk to me, they’ll find me, no matter what. Right?’

‘Exactly,’ Guy says. ‘Best to have an answer prepped. So, let’s recap.

We stayed in a villa in the compound that we – Margot and me – used to live in quite a few years ago.

We now know Celine was still living there, but we hadn’t been in touch and she wasn’t there while we were there.

Everyone was away. We never saw her. It’s as simple as that.

You don’t need to say anything else. Just that.

Okay? And Sara, you don’t even know Celine, okay? You’ve never met her. So that’s easy.’

Sara nods and holds up two sets of crossed fingers, almost blue with cold.

Guy’s gaze scans from Sara to Margot. ‘Funny to think that one of us did it.’

Margot looks at Sara. She’s got to give it a try.

‘I was wondering if the person who did it should hand themselves in to the police with a story that doesn’t implicate the others,’ she says, and a shard of hope glimmers within her at the thought that Guy might actually do this.

That would solve all of her problems. ‘It might be a way to put an end to all this so the others can get on with their lives.’

Sara looks at the ground, then back up. The wind lashes her hair across her face and she turns her body slightly to let it whip the other way. Her teeth are chattering. She looks utterly haunted.

‘It’s taking a toll on us all,’ Margot adds.

Sara shivers and starts to say something, but the wind snatches her words and Guy interrupts her.

‘No!’ he says. ‘Absolutely not. Out of the question. And, furthermore, I don’t think we, ourselves, need to know who did it.

Am I right? Us knowing who did it doesn’t change a thing.

In fact, it makes it harder if we’re questioned.

Best we don’t know. So let’s just carry on as before.

No one needs to confess to anything to anyone.

We just keep going as we are. The police might come sniffing around but we’ve covered our tracks.

They have nothing on us. It’ll all blow over. Eventually.’

‘We hope,’ Margot says.

Guy gives her a sharp look. ‘The last thing we want to do is start pointing fingers.’ He swivels his gaze from Margot to Sara.

‘So, that’s it. We’re none the wiser and I think it should stay that way.

Sorry to have dragged you up here on such a cold day.

I thought it would be a nice walk but I swear that fucking wind is from Siberia. Let’s go.’

‘Wait,’ Sara says. She sucks air in through gritted teeth. Her eyes are watery, from the wind that tears at her hair, sending it wild above her head.

‘No. Come on! We’re done. This is ridiculous.

I’m freezing my bollocks off. Let’s agree to keep quiet and just say a prayer that whoever did it doesn’t turn into a serial killer.

’ His laugh is hollow. Back at the cars, Guy gives Sara a hug, then beeps the car open.

He accelerates away before Margot’s sorted her seat belt.

‘I think that went well. Don’t you?’ he says.

‘Hmm?’ Margot says absently. She’s checking her emails. Her courier delivery’s finally arrived at the collection point.