‘No but, babe, you know what? You were right when you said I’m too obsessed with appearances.’ She turned to look at him intently. ‘You were right, babe!’ Her voice skidded up to an uncomfortably high pitch.
‘Yeah, b
ut . . . Okay, Jesus.’ Ben subsided. Frances could see the back of his neck turning red.
‘We were heading for a divorce,’ continued Jessica, with touching earnestness, as if the word ‘divorce’ would be shocking to all.
‘I can give you my card,’ said Lars.
Jessica ignored him. ‘This noble silence has been really good for me, really great, really clarifying.’ She turned to Masha. ‘It’s, like, I had so much noise in my head before I came here. I was, like, obsessed with social media, I admit it. I just had this constant chitchat going on.’ She opened and closed her hand next to her ear to demonstrate. ‘And now I see everything more clearly. It all started with the money. We won the lottery, you see, and everything changed and it really fucked us up.’
‘You won the lottery?’ said Carmel. ‘I’ve never known anybody who won the lottery.’
‘We were actually going to keep that kind of . . . shush shush,’ said Jessica. She pressed her fingertip to her lips. ‘But we changed our mind.’
‘Did we?’ said Ben.
‘How much did you win?’ asked Lars, and then he immediately held up his palm. ‘Inappropriate! Don’t answer that! None of my business.’
‘How did you find out you’d won?’ asked Frances. ‘Tell us the story.’ She wanted the story of the moment their lives changed forever.
‘I’m so glad to hear that the silence has given you clarity, Jessica,’ Masha interrupted before the conversation could take a turn towards this exit. She had a remarkable ability to ignore what didn’t interest her. ‘Who else?’
Ben spoke up. ‘Yeah. I’m Ben. Jessica’s husband. Jessica covered why we’re here. I’m fine. The silence has been fine. The food is better than I expected. I’m not sure what we’re achieving, but it’s all good. I guess I miss my new car.’
‘What sort of car, mate?’ asked Tony.
‘Lamborghini,’ said Ben, tender-eyed, as if he’d been asked the name of his newborn son.
Tony smiled. It was the first time Frances had seen him smile and it was the most unexpected, apple-cheeked smile. It entirely transformed his face. It was like a baby’s smile. His eyes disappeared into a mass of wrinkles. ‘No wonder you miss it,’ he said.
‘If I won the lottery I always thought I’d get a Bugatti,’ mused Lars.
Ben shook his head. ‘Overrated.’
‘Overrated he says! The most stunning car in the world is overrated!’
‘If I ever won the lottery I’d get a cute little red Ferrari,’ offered Zoe.
‘Yeah, well the Ferrari is –’
Masha cut off the sports car conversation. ‘Who haven’t we heard from yet? Tony?’
‘You all know me as the desperado who tried to bring in the contraband,’ said Tony. He smiled again. ‘Here for weight loss. I miss beer, pizza, ribs with plum sauce, wedges with sour cream, family-sized chocolate bars – you get the picture.’ His initial enthusiasm waned and he lowered his eyes, clearly keen for everyone to stop looking at him.
‘Thank you,’ he said formally, to the floor.
Frances didn’t believe him. There was more to his decision to come here than just weight loss.
Napoleon raised his hand.
‘Go ahead, Napoleon,’ said Masha.
He lifted his chin and recited. ‘It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.’ His eyes gleamed in the shadows from the candlelight. ‘That’s, ah, from Nelson Mandela’s favourite poem, “Invictus”.’ He looked uncertain for a moment. ‘You said we could recite poetry.’
‘Absolutely I did,’ said Masha warmly. ‘I love the sentiment.’
‘Yes, well, it just came into my head. I’m a high-school teacher. The kids like to hear that they are masters of their own fates, although . . .’ He laughed a strange sort of a laugh. Heather, who sat next to him, placed a gentle hand over his jiggling kneecap. He didn’t seem to notice it. ‘Tomorrow is the third anniversary of our son’s death. That’s why we’re here. He took his own life, so that’s how my kid chose to be master of his own fate.’