Nine Perfect Strangers

‘That’s enough questions!’ screamed Masha so loudly that Carmel took a step back and landed quite hard on Frances’s toe.

‘This is totally ludic–’ began Heather. Napoleon grabbed her arm.

‘We’re all going to take part in the exercise, Masha,’ he said loudly. ‘It sounds very . . . stimulating.’

Masha nodded graciously. ‘Good. You’re going to find it transformative, Napoleon. You really are. Now, I must give you light for this enlightening exercise!’ She reached out her hand and the lights came back on, causing everyone to blink and stare dazedly at each other.

‘Once we’ve defended our “clients”, will you let us out?’ asked Carmel, rubbing her eyes, her voice hoarse.

‘You’re asking the wrong questions, Carmel,’ said Masha. ‘Only you can set yourself free. Remember, I talked to you just a few days ago about impermanence. Nothing lasts forever. Do not cling to happiness or suffering.’

‘I just really want to go home right now,’ said Carmel.

Masha clucked sympathetically. ‘Spiritual awakenings are rarely easy, Carmel.’

Frances raised a hand. ‘I need a pen. I can’t prepare a presentation if I can’t write it down!’ She patted the empty pockets of her sweatpants. ‘I have nothing to write with!’

Masha behaved as if Frances hadn’t spoken. ‘Now, my sweetie pies, I wish you the best of luck. I shall be back at dawn. Remember to focus your thoughts. Ask the right questions of your clients, and listen with your heart. Convince me why each of you deserves to live.’

She looked fondly at Yao if he were her sleeping child, patted his head and then looked back at the screen. ‘Let me leave you with these words: “Ardently do today what must be done. Who knows? Tomorrow death comes.” The Buddha.’ She put her hands together in prayer and lowered her head. ‘Namaste.’

chapter sixty-three

Lars

The guests of Tranquillum House stood in a huddled, whispering group in the centre of the studio, their heads bent, like a cluster of banished smokers outside their office on a chilly day. Lars could smell acrid sweat and stale breath. Ben and Jessica held hands. Carmel and Frances both chewed at their fingernails. Tony tugged aggressively at his bottom lip, as if he could somehow contort his mouth into providing the correct answers, while Zoe kneaded her stomach and studied her feet and her parents both studied her.

‘I’m sure Yao is fine, don’t you think? And Delilah? There is no way Masha would really hurt anyone,’ said Frances. ‘No way in the world. She sees herself as a healer.’

Lars could tell Frances was trying to convince herself. The longer they were in here the more stripped back she got. Her red lipstick was gone and her blonde hair, which had been in a bouncy circa 1995 ponytail, was now slicked back against her head. Lars liked Frances, but she wasn’t the lawyer he would have retained, given a choice, if he were on death row. He didn’t know who he would have chosen out of this motley lot. He wasn’t sure how much it really mattered. Masha was going to do what she was going to do.

‘We just need to make it look as if we’re going along with the madness,’ he said to the group.

‘I agree,’ said Napoleon. ‘We have to play along and take the first opportunity we can to find a way out of here.’

‘I believed in her,’ said Carmel sadly. ‘I believed in this.’ She indicated her surroundings. ‘I thought I was being transformed.’

‘So I’m representing you,’ said Frances to Lars anxiously. ‘We need to talk. God, I would do anything for a pen.’

‘Well, supposedly I’m representing you, Frances, in this grotesque . . . game,’ sighed Heather. ‘So I guess we need to talk too.’

‘Okay, yes, yes, but just let me talk

to my client first,’ said Frances, breathing fast. She put a hand to her chest to try to calm herself. Lars smiled at her. She would be the sort to play a game of charades with endearing seriousness and little skill, as if it were a matter of life and death, and now that it truly might be a matter of life and death (surely not!), she was in danger of hyperventilating.

‘Let’s go have a chat, Frances,’ said Lars soothingly. ‘And then you can go convince Heather why you should live.’

‘This is pathetic,’ said Heather as they split up into pairs.

‘We’re an odd number,’ said Napoleon. ‘I’ll wait for my turn.’ He lowered his voice even further. ‘I’ll just keep looking around for a way out of here.’ He wandered off, his hands shoved in the pockets of his dad shorts.

Lars and Frances went to sit in a corner.

‘Right.’ Frances sat cross-legged in front of Lars. She frowned intensely. ‘Tell me everything about your life, your relationships, your family.’

‘Tell her I’m a philanthropist, I do a lot of things for the community, volunteer work . . .’

‘Do you?’ interrupted Frances.