Nine Perfect Strangers

She ushered him into her office and motioned to a chair on the opposite side of a coffee table with a book about English gardens and a box of aloe vera scented tissues.

Napoleon didn’t wait for the n

iceties. He had no time to lose.

He told her about Zach. He told her about the drugs he was given at Tranquillum House and how, ever since then, he’d been struggling with what he believed to be depression. He told her that his GP had offered him antidepressants, and he probably did need antidepressants, but he knew sometimes it was hard to get the dosage right, it wasn’t an exact science, he understood and appreciated this, he had done the research, he knew all the brand names, all the side effects, he’d put together his own spreadsheet if she was interested in taking a look, and he knew that sometimes, during that initial period, patients didn’t get better, they got worse, they suffered suicidal thoughts, and he knew this because he knew people who had lost family members in that way, and he also knew that he overreacted to drugs, he knew this about himself, and maybe his son had the same sensitivity, he didn’t know, and he was sure that those people at that health resort meant well, and maybe this depression had been going to happen anyway, but he felt that he was possibly the one person in that room who should never, ever have been given that smoothie.

And then, limp with exhaustion, he said, ‘Allison, I am terrified that I will . . .’

She didn’t ask him to finish the sentence.

She reached across the coffee table and put her hand on his arm. ‘We’re a team now, Napoleon. You and me, we’re a team, and we’re going to work out a strategy and we are going to beat this, okay?’

She looked at him with all the passion and intensity of his old football coach. ‘We’re going to beat it. We’re going to win.’

Two months later

Frances and Tony were taking a walk, nine hundred kilometres apart, in different states.

They’d got into the habit of keeping each other company as they went for walks around their respective neighbourhoods.

At first they’d walked with their mobile phones pressed to their ears, but then Tony’s daughter, Mimi, had said they should use headphones, and now their ears no longer ached when they finished and they could walk for even longer.

‘Are you on your steep bit yet?’ asked Tony.

‘I am,’ said Frances. ‘But listen to my breathing! I’m not puffing at all.’

‘You’re an elite athlete,’ said Tony. ‘Have you murdered anyone yet?’

‘Yep,’ said Frances. ‘Did it yesterday. Murdered my first character ever. He totally deserved it.’

‘Did you enjoy it? Hello, Bear.’

Bear was a chocolate labrador that Tony often passed on his walks. Tony didn’t know Bear’s owner’s name, but he always said hello to Bear.

Tony told her about his upcoming trip to Holland to see his son and grandchildren.

‘I’ve never been to Holland,’ said Frances.

‘Haven’t you?’ said Tony. ‘I’ve only been once. I’m hoping it’s not going to be as cold as last time I went.’

‘I’ve never been to Holland,’ said Frances again.

There was a long pause. Frances stopped on the side of the street and smiled at a lady wearing a straw hat, watering her garden.

Tony said, ‘Would you like to come to Holland with me, Frances?’

‘Yes,’ said Frances. ‘Yes, I would.’

Their first kiss was in the Qantas lounge.

Three months later

Heather sat on the end of her bed and rubbed lotion into her dry legs, as Napoleon set the alarm on his phone for the next day.

He’d been seeing a psychiatrist, and he seemed to be doing well, but he didn’t talk much about what went on in those sessions.

She watched as he put the phone on the bedside table.