Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty
‘I’m hopeless at birthdays,’ said Heather. In reality she was hopeless at friends, and after Zach died she could see no point to them at all. Friends were an indulgence.
Frances winced. ‘I did totally forget a good friend’s birthday this year, but that was because I was caught up in this internet scam and I was so distracted that day, and then it got to midnight, and I thought, Oh my God, Monica! but it was too late to text, so –’
‘What about your family?’ Heather interrupted, before she heard this Monica’s life story. She found Frances to be quite flaky. ‘Do you have family?’
Heather looked over Frances’s shoulder at her own family. Zoe was sitting with Jessica, their heads bowed close, as if they were two friends sharing secrets. Napoleon and Ben walked as they talked, Ben listening intently and nodding respectfully like he was one of Napoleon’s best students. She didn’t know what was going on with Napoleon right now. It was like an imposter was doing an excellent job performing the role of Napoleon. He was saying and doing all the right things and nearly getting away with it, but there was something just not quite right.
‘Yes,’ said Frances. ‘I have family.’ She looked uncertain. ‘I guess I’m not that close to my immediate family. My father died and my mother remarried and moved overseas. The south of France. I have a sister, but she has a lot on her plate. Their day-to-day lives wouldn’t be impacted that much if I was gone.’
‘Of course their lives would be impacted,’ said Heather.
‘Well . . .’ Frances gave the blank screen a nervous look. ‘I’m not saying they’d dance on my grave.’
Heather looked at her, surprised. The woman looked genuinely frightened. ‘You do know you’re not really on death row, don’t you? This is just a stupid power game for that maniac.’
‘Shhh,’ hissed Frances. ‘She could be listening.’
‘I don’t care,’ said Heather recklessly. ‘I’m not scared of her.’
‘I kind of think you should be.’ Frances shot another uneasy look at the screen.
‘It’s fine, I’m going to play along,’ said Heather, to comfort the poor woman. ‘I don’t think you should be executed.’
‘Thanks so much,’ said Frances.
‘So what else should I say?’
‘Appeal to her ego,’ said Frances. ‘Start out by saying that it’s true that Frances’s life didn’t mean all that much until this point, but now she has done this retreat, she has been rehabilitated.’
‘Rehabilitated,’ said Heather.
‘That’s right.’ Frances was as jittery as a junkie. ‘Make sure you use the word “rehabilitated”. I think she’ll like that. Make it clear that I’ve seen the error of my self-indulgent ways. I’m going to exercise. Eat clean. No more preservatives. I’m going to set goals.’
‘Good morning, my sweetie pies!’
Masha’s voice boomed through the room as her image flickered to life once more on the screen.
Frances gasped and swore, clutching Heather’s arm.
‘It is time!’ cried Masha. She took a long, deep drag of a cigarette and blew the smoke out the side of her mouth. ‘It is time to play Death Sentence. Wait. We’re not calling it that, are we? It is time to play Death Row. A much better name! Who thought of that name?’
‘But it’s not time yet!’ Napoleon looked at his watch.
Heather stared at the screen. Masha was smoking. She didn’t know why she was so surprised after everything else that had happened, but it was shocking and distressing, like seeing a nun lifting her habit to reveal suspenders.
‘You’re smoking!’ accused Jessica.
Masha laughed and took another deep drag. ‘I am smoking, Jessica. Occasionally, in times of stress, I smoke.’
‘You’re high,’ said Ben tiredly, sadly, and Heather could hear in his voice the years of resigned disappointment suffered by an addict’s relative. Ben was right. Masha’s eyes were glassy, and her posture was strange and stiff, as if her head wasn’t attached to her body and she was worried it would roll off.
Masha held up an empty smoothie glass. ‘I have taken steps to reach a higher level of consciousness.’
‘Is Yao okay?’ asked Heather. She tried to keep her tone respectful, even though her throat burned with hatred. ‘Could we please see Yao?’
The screen of the camera seemed to be angled differently from the previous time. Masha stood in front of a window in what looked like her office, although it was dark outside, so it was impossible to tell for sure.
‘He is not your concern right now,’ said Masha. ‘It is time for you to present your cases for your clients. Will they live? Will they die? This is such a stimulating and thought-provoking exercise, I think.’
‘It’s only 3 am, Masha!’ Napoleon tapped the face of his watch. ‘It’s not dawn. You said we’d do this at dawn.’
Masha lunged at the screen and pointed her cigarette at him. ‘Guests should not wear watches during retreats!’
Napoleon reeled back. He held up his wrist. ‘I’ve been wearing it the whole time. Nobody said I couldn’t wear a watch.’
‘The watch should have been handed in with the other devices! Who was your wellness consultant?’
‘It’s my fault, Masha. I take responsibility for this.’ He unbuckled his watch.
‘It was Yao, wasn’t it?’ screamed Masha. She looked demonic. Her scream reverberated through the room. Flecks of her saliva dotted the screen.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Tony quietly.
Zoe came to stand next to Heather and took her hand, something she hadn’t done since she was a very little girl. It felt like no-one breathed.
Heather squeezed Zoe’s hand and, for the first time since they’d been trapped down here, she experienced true dread.
She thought of those times throughout her working life when the atmosphere in a labour ward went from focused to hyper-focused, because a mother’s or a baby’s life hung in the balance and every member of staff in that room knew the next decision made had to be the right one. Except in this case she had no training or experience to fall back upon. She longed to act, but she was impotent, and the overwhelming powerlessness reminded her of those nightmarish moments when she found Zach, her fingers looking for a pulse she already knew she wouldn’t find.
‘I am very disappointed in Yao!’ raged Masha. ‘That was an unacceptable mistake! I shall make sure HR knows! A note will go on his file. He will receive a formal letter of warning.’
Napoleon held up his watch by the strap and showed it to Masha. ‘I’m taking it off.’
Zoe squeezed Heather’s hand convulsively.
‘I’m sorry. It was my fault,’ said Napoleon in the slow careful tone of someone placating a crazed gunman. ‘I’m going to destroy it.’ He dropped the watch to the ground and went to put his foot over it.
Masha switched tone. ‘Oh, stop being so dramatic, Napoleon, you could cut your foot!’ She waved her cigarette about gaily, as if she were in animated conversation at a party, a glass of wine in the other hand.
Heather heard Zoe take a shaky breath and the thought of her daughter’s fear made her want to hurt this madwoman.
‘I am not the sort to become too obsessive about bureaucratic rules. I am flexible! I am big picture!’ Masha took a long drag of her cigarette. ‘On the Myers-Briggs personality test I am the Commander! I think you will not be surprised to hear that.’
‘This is not good.’ Lars peered up at the screen through splayed fingertips.
‘She’s off with the fairies,’ murmured Tony.
‘Nothing is forever,’ said Masha irrelevantly. ‘Remember that. It’s important. Now, who will be presenting first?’ She looked around as if searching for something. ‘Does everyone have coffee? Not yet? Don’t worry. Delilah will have it all under control.’
She smiled and held out her arms
Heather shuddered with a sudden sense of overwhelming fear. She’s hallucinating.
At that moment Masha’s attention was caught by the cigarette between her fingers. Minutes passed and she continued to stare at the cigarette.
‘What’s she doing?’ whispered Carmel.
‘It’s the LSD,’ said Lars in a low voice. ‘She can’t believe she’s never noticed the innate beauty of the cigarette.’
Finally, Masha looked up. ‘Who is presenting first?’ she asked calmly. She flicked the ash from her cigarette onto a windowsill.
‘I will,’ said Tony.
‘Tony! Excellent,’ said Masha. ‘Who are you defending?’
‘Carmel,’ said Tony. He gestured at Carmel, who made a strange, awkward movement, as if she couldn’t decide whether to curtsey or hide behind Lars.
‘Go ahead, Tony.’
Tony cleared his throat. He stood with his hands clasped and looked respectfully up at the screen. ‘I’m representing Carmel Schneider today. Carmel is thirty-nine years old, divorced, with four young daughters. She is their primary caregiver. She is also very close to her older sister, Vanessa, and her parents, Mary and Raymond.’
Masha looked bored. She sniffed.
Tony’s voice trembled. ‘Carmel’s mother, Mary, is not in good health and Carmel normally takes her to her doctors’ appointments. Carmel says that she’s just an ordinary person, doing the best she can, but I think anyone bringing up four little girls on her own is pretty special.’ He pulled nervously at the collar of his t-shirt as if he were adjusting a tie. ‘Carmel also volunteers at her local library teaching English to refugees. She does this once a week. She’s been doing this since she was eighteen, which I think is very impressive.’ He clasped his hands in front of him. ‘Thank you.’
Masha yawned theatrically. ‘Is that it?’
Tony lost his temper. ‘For Christ’s sake, she’s a young mother! What else do you want to hear? Obviously she doesn’t deserve to die.’
‘But where is your USP?’ said Masha.
‘USP?’ asked Tony blankly.
‘You’ve forgotten the basics, Tony! What is your unique selling proposition? What makes Carmel unique and special?’
‘Well,’ said Tony desperately, ‘she is very special because . . .’
‘I also wonder why you did not begin with a basic analysis of strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats? It’s not rocket science, people! And visual aids! I see no visual aids! A simple PowerPoint slideshow would have helped support your arguments.’
Heather made eye contact with Napoleon: What do we do? She saw the confusion and fear on his face and that made her panic grow, because if Napoleon had no answers, they were in trouble. She thought of those times in hospital emergency waiting rooms with Zach when they realised they were dealing with a numbskull of a triage nurse, how they would exchange looks over Zach’s head, and how they both knew exactly what to do and say to act as advocates for their child. But they had never dealt with this dizzying lack of logic.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tony humbly. ‘Obviously, PowerPoint would have helped support my argument. Yes.’
‘Sorry doesn’t cut it!’ snarled Masha.
‘Could I go next?’ A loud voice cut unexpectedly through Masha’s.
Heather saw with a start that it was Carmel, her chin lifted, her eyes unflinching.
‘I’ve prepared a strategic analysis on behalf of Zoe Marconi, and what we should be doing, ah, going forward, and I’d really like your buy-in on this, Masha.’
Masha’s face smoothed. She lifted a hand. ‘Go ahead, Carmel.’
Carmel strode to the centre of the room and straightened an imaginary suit jacket, even though she was wearing leggings and a pink singlet top emblazoned with the sequinned word hawaii. ‘I know you wanted me to really drill down on this, Masha, and think outside the box.’
It was hard to reconcile this woman of such confidence with the Carmel who had just a few hours earlier begged so pathetically to go home. Now you could practically see her power suit. Was she an actress? Or was she calling on the memory of a previous profession? Whatever it was, it was impressive.
‘Absolutely.’ Masha made a brisk chopping motion with the side of her hand. ‘This is more like it. We need to push the envelope. This is very impressive, Carmel.’
It could almost be amusing if it weren’t so terrifying.
‘The way I see it, we’ve got a real window of opportunity here to leverage Zoe’s core competencies,’ said Carmel, ‘and achieve, ah . . . best-practice solutions.’
‘Oh well done,’ whispered Frances.
‘That’s right.’ Masha nodded. ‘We should always be aiming for best practice.’
It was bizarre to see how well she responded to this meaningless corporate-speak, like a baby responds to the sound of its mother’s voice.
‘The question is this,’ said Masha shrewdly. ‘Does it align with our corporate values?’
‘Exactly,’ said Carmel. ‘And once we have all our ducks in a row, we need to ask this: is it scalable?’
‘Is it?’ said Masha.
‘Exactly,’ said Carmel. ‘So what we’re looking for is . . .’ She faltered.
‘Synergies,’ murmured Lars.
‘Synergies!’ said Carmel with relief.
‘Synergies,’ repeated Masha dreamily, as if she were saying, ‘Paris in spring.’
‘So to sum up, we need a synergistic solution that dovetails –’
‘I’ve heard all I need to hear,’ said Masha briskly. ‘Action that please, Carmel.’
‘Will do,’ said Carmel.
Masha stubbed out her cigarette on the windowsill behind her. She leaned back against the window. ‘Welcome to Tranquillum House.’
Oh dear God, thought Heather. We’ve lost her again.
Masha smiled. No-one smiled back. Heather saw that every face in the room was slack with exhaustion and despair, like the face of a woman who has innocently prepared a ‘natural birth plan’, created a playlist, and who, after thirty hours of labour, is told that she must now have an emergency caesarean.
Masha said, ‘I promise you this: in ten days, you will not be the person you are now.’
‘Fuck,’ said Jessica. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
‘It’s just the drugs,’ said Lars. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’
‘That’s not the problem,’ said Ben. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing.’
Masha lowered her head and put her fingertips to the neckline of her dress.
‘We will all do push-ups now,’ she said. ‘Push-ups are the perfect functional integrated resistance exercise. It’s the only exercise that works every single muscle in your body. Twenty push-ups! Now!’
No-one moved.
‘Why do you ignore me?’ Masha jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘Push-ups! Now! Or I will be forced to take action!’
What action could she possibly take? But they didn’t wait to find out. They dropped to the floor like soldiers.
Heather tried to lift and lower her tired, hungry body in a parallel line as Masha counted out loud, ‘One, two, three! Drop those hips! No Harbour Bridges!’
Was she still in her hallucinogenic state, where she seemingly believed they all worked for her? Did she plan to kill them all? Heather felt a sudden wild panic. She’d brought her daughter to this place. Zoe’s life could rest in the hands of this mad, drug-affected woman.
She looked around her. Frances did girl push-ups on her knees. Jessica cried as she, too, gave up and went from her toes to her knees. Tony, the former athlete, dripped sweat as he did perfect form push-ups at twice the speed of almost everyone else, in spite of having just popped his shoulder. Heather noted that her own darling husband kept pace.
<
Heather collapsed onto her stomach and looked up. Masha had pressed her face so close to the screen that all they could see was a magnified image of her nose, mouth and chin.
‘I’m just wondering,’ said the disembodied mouth. ‘Can you smell it yet?’
It was Napoleon who answered in the calm, gentle voice he would use for a toddler. ‘Smell what, Masha?’
‘The smoke.’
chapter sixty-eight
Tony
The screen turned to static but Masha’s voice continued to ring through the room.
‘Deep transformation is possible but you must detach from your beliefs and assumptions!’
‘I can smell smoke,’ said Zoe, her face white.
‘That’s right, Zoe, you can smell smoke, for this house, my house, is burning to the ground as we speak,’ said Masha. ‘Possessions mean nothing! Will you rise from the ashes? Remember, Buddha says, “No-one saves us but ourselves”!’
‘Look,’ whispered Frances.
Wisps of black smoke drifted sinuously beneath the locked heavy oak door.
‘Let us out!’ Jessica screamed so loudly her voice turned hoarse. ‘Can you hear me, Masha? You let us out right now!’
The screen turned black.
Masha’s absence was now as terrifying as her presence had been.
‘We need to block that doorway,’ said Tony, but Heather and Napoleon were way ahead of him, returning from the bathrooms carrying dripping wet towels that they were rolling into tight cylinders, as if this was their job, as if they’d been expecting exactly this situation.
As they got to the door the volume of smoke increased suddenly and frighteningly, pouring into the room like water. People began to cough. Tony’s chest tightened.
‘Everybody get back!’ shouted Napoleon, as he and Heather shoved the rolled-up towels between the door and the floor, forming a tight seal.
The low level of claustrophobia Tony had been experiencing ever since they first discovered the locked door threatened to turn into full-blown panic. He felt his breathing become ragged. Oh God, he was going to lose it in front of all these people. He had no job to do. He couldn’t even put the towels at the door because Heather and Napoleon were already doing it. He couldn’t help. He couldn’t kick down that door because it opened inwards. He couldn’t fight anyone. He couldn’t do a damned thing.