Nine Perfect Strangers

Frances pinched Gillian on the arm.

‘Ouch!’ said Gillian.

‘Sorry. I didn’t think it would hurt. It’s not like any of this is real,’ said Frances. ‘It’s just a story I’m making up as I go along.’

‘Speaking of which, I always thought your plots could be better structured,’ said Gillian. ‘The same goes for your life. All this chopping and changing of husbands. Maybe you could think about planning ahead for the final chapters. I never had the courage to say that when I was alive.’

‘You actually did say that when you were alive,’ said Frances. ‘More than once, as a matter of fact.’

‘You’re always acting like you’re the heroine of one of your own novels. You just fall into the arms of the next man the narrator puts in front of you.’

‘You told me that too!’

‘Did I?’ said Gillian. ‘That was impolite of me.’

‘I always thought so,’ said Frances.

‘I could have been kinder,’ said Gillian. ‘I may have been on the spectrum.’

‘Don’t think you’re getting any more character development now you’re dead,’ said Frances. ‘You’re done. Let’s focus on my character development.’

‘You’re easy: you’re the princess,’ said Gillian. ‘The passive princess waiting for yet another prince.’

‘I could kill the emu,’ said Frances.

‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we, Frances? We’ll see if you can kill the emu.’

‘Maybe.’ Frances watched the emu, alive again, but still incapable of flight, run across the star-studded sky. ‘I really miss you, Gillian.’

‘Thanks,’ said Gillian. ‘I would say I missed you too, but that would not strictly be true as I’m actually in a constant state of bliss.’

‘I’m not surprised. It’s so beautiful,’ said Frances. ‘It’s kind of like the northern lights, isn’t it?’

‘It’s always there,’ said Gillian.

‘What is? The northern lights? They are not always there. Ellen paid a fortune and didn’t see a thing.’

‘This, Frances. This beauty. Just on the other side. You just have to be quiet. Stay still. Stop talking. Stop wanting. Just be. You’ll hear it, or feel it. Close your eyes and you’ll see it.’

‘Interesting,’ said Frances. ‘Did I tell you about my review?’

‘Frances, forget the review!’

Gosh. Gillian sounded quite cranky for someone who didn’t have anything to do except lie back and enjoy the exquisite beauty of the afterlife.

chapter thirty-four

Yao

‘Where are you now, Frances?’ asked Yao.

He sat on the floor next to her stretcher, and removed her headphones so she could hear him.

‘I’m in a story, Yao,’ said Frances. He couldn’t see her eyes because of the mask, but her face was animated. ‘I’m writing the story and I’m in the story. It’s quite a nice story. I’ve got a kind of magic realism vibe going, which is new for me. I like it! Nothing needs to make sense.’

‘Okay,’ said Yao. ‘Who else is in the story with you?’

‘My friend Gillian. She died. In her sleep, when she was forty-nine. It’s called Sudden Adult Death Syndrome. I thought it was just for babies. I didn’t even know it was possible.’