Nine Perfect Strangers

Masha didn’t break eye contact.

‘As I’m sure you know, I did have some banned items in my luggage,’ said Frances. She was happy with her cool tone, but her face was hot.

‘Yes,’ said Masha. ‘I am aware of that.’

‘And I’m still reading,’ said Frances defiantly.

‘Are you?’ said Masha.

‘Yes,’ said Frances.

‘Anything good?’ Masha replaced the letter opener on her desk.

Frances thought about this. The book was meant to be another murder mystery but the author had introduced far too many characters too early, and so far everyone was still alive and kicking. The pace had slowed. Come on now. Hurry up and kill someone. ‘It’s quite good,’ she told Masha.

‘Tell me, Frances,’ said Masha. ‘Do you want to be a different person when you leave here?’

‘Well,’ said Frances. She picked up a coloured glass ball from Masha’s desk. It felt vaguely bad-mannered – you didn’t pick up other people’s belongings – and yet she couldn’t help it. She wanted to feel the cool weight of it in her hand. ‘I guess I do.’

‘I don’t think you do,’ said Masha. ‘I think you are here for a little rest, and you are quite happy with the way you are now. I think this is all a little bit of joke to you. You prefer not to take things too seriously in your life, yes?’ Her accent had deepened.

Frances reminded herself that this woman had no authority over her.

‘Does it matter if I’m just here for a “little rest”?’ Frances put the glass ball back down and pushed it away from her, causing a moment’s panic when it began to roll. She stopped it with her fingertips and placed her hands in her lap. This was ridiculous. Why did she feel ashamed? Like a teenager? This was a health resort.

Masha didn’t answer her question. ‘I wonder, do you feel that you’ve ever been truly tested in your life?’

Frances shifted in her seat. ‘I’ve suffered losses,’ she said defensively.

Masha flicked her hand. ‘Of course you have,’ she said. ‘You are fifty-two years old. That is not my question.’

‘I’ve been lucky,’ said Frances. ‘I know I have been very lucky.’

‘And you live in the “lucky country”.’ Masha lifted her arms to encompass the countryside that surrounded them.

‘Well, that phrase about us being the lucky country, it’s kind of misused.’ Frances heard a pedantic tone creep into her voice and she wondered why she was parroting her first husband, Sol, who always felt the need to point this out smugly when someone referred to Australia as being the lucky country. ‘The author who wrote that phrase meant to imply that we hadn’t earned our prosperity.’

‘So Australia is not so lucky?’

‘Well, no, we are, but . . .’ Frances stopped. Was that exactly the point that Masha was trying to make? That Frances hadn’t earned her prosperity?

‘You never had children,’ said Masha, referring to an open file on the desk in front of her. Frances found herself craning to look, as if her file would reveal a secret. Masha only knew she didn’t have children because Frances had indicated that when she filled in the booking form. ‘Was that decision made by choice? Or was it forced upon you by circumstance?’

‘Choice,’ said Frances. This is none of your business, lady.

She thought of Ari and the PlayStation games he was going to show her when she got to America. Where was Ari now? Or the boy who pretended to be Ari? Was he on the phone to some other woman?

‘I see,’ said Masha.

Did Masha think she was selfish for not wanting children? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d heard that accusation. It had never especially bothered her.

‘Do you have children?’ Frances asked Masha. She was allowed to ask questions. This woman was not her therapist. She probably had no qualifications whatsoever! She leaned forward, curious to know. ‘Are you in a relationship?’

‘I am not in a relationship and I do not have children,’ said Masha. She had become very still. She looked very steadily at Frances – so steadily that Frances couldn’t help but wonder if she was lying, although it was impossible to imagine Masha in a relationship. She could never be half of any relationship.

‘You mentioned losses,’ said Masha. ‘Tell me about those losses.’

‘My father died when I was very young,’ said Frances.