Лиана Мориарти - Nine Perfect Strangers

Masha shrugged moodily. “I don’t know. I am sick of them. I am sick of this industry.” She took another drag of her cigarette and brightened. “I’ve made a decision! I’m going back to FMCG.”

“FMCG?” asked Yao.

“Fast-moving consumer goods,” said Masha.

“Like toothpaste?” said Yao.

“Exactly like toothpaste. Would you like to come and work with me?”

“What? No .” He stared at her. She was still Masha, she still had that extraordinary body, still wore that extraordinary dress, and yet he could feel her power over him slipping away as he watched her morphing back into the corporate executive she’d once been. How was that possible? He felt as betrayed as if a lover had admitted infidelity. This wasn’t just a job for him, it was his life, his home, it was virtually his religion , and now she wanted to leave it all behind to go and sell toothpaste ? Wasn’t toothpaste part of the ordinary world they had turned their backs on?

She didn’t mean it. It had to be the smoothie talking. This was not an example of a transcendental insight. With her medical history, she should not have had the smoothie, but now she had, she should be lying down, with her headphones on, and then Yao could guide her psychedelic experience away from toothpaste.

But right now he had nine guests to worry about.

He looked away from her and turned off the burning house footage on the computer. He clicked onto the security program that showed the yoga and meditation studio.

There was no one there. Crumpled towels lay all over the floor of the deserted room.

“They’re out,” said Yao. “How did they escape?”

Masha sniffed. “They finally worked it out. The door has been unlocked for hours.”

73

Carmel

All the men insisted on walking ahead of the women up the stairs from the yoga and meditation studio, ready to slay lions or wellness consultants offering smoothies. It was kind and gentlemanly and Carmel appreciated it, and felt glad not to be a man, but it seemed their chivalry was unnecessary. The house was silent and empty.

Carmel still couldn’t believe there was no fire. The images in her head had been so real. She had thought she wouldn’t see her children again.

“Surely it won’t just open ,” Heather had said when they all stood at the door and Napoleon put his hand on the handle, insisting they all stay back, stay back, stay back …

It opened, as if it had never been locked at all, to reveal a steel rubbish bin sitting directly outside the door.

Napoleon tilted it forward and showed them the contents. There were burnt fragments of newspaper at the bottom and a pile of melted misshapen plastic water bottles on top. There were still a few glowing red embers left, but that was all that remained of the towering inferno they had all imagined.

They wandered as a group into the empty dining room and looked at the long table where they’d shared their silent meals. Gray morning light filled the room. Magpies warbled and a kookaburra laughed its liquid laugh. The dawn chorus had never sounded so lyrical. Life felt exquisitely ordinary.

“We should find a phone,” said Heather. “Call the police.”

“We should just leave,” said Ben. “Find our cars and get the hell out of here.”

Nobody did anything.

Carmel pulled out a chair and sat down, her elbows on the table. She felt the same shocked sense of ecstatic relief as she had just after giving birth. All that shouting of instructions. All that fear. All that fuss. Over and out.

“Do you think anyone is here in the house at all?”

“Wait. Someone is coming,” said Lars.

Footsteps approached down the hallway.

“Good morning !” It was Yao. He carried a huge platter of tropical fruit. He looked tired, but otherwise in perfect health. “Please take your seats. We have a delicious breakfast prepared for you!” He placed the platter on the table.

Wow , thought Carmel. He’s going to pretend everything is normal.

Zoe burst into tears. “We thought you were dead!”

Yao’s smile wavered. “Dead? Why would you think I was dead?”

“You looked pretty out of it, mate,” said Tony.

“We had to play a game called ‘Death Row,’” Frances told him, from an armchair by the door. She looked just like one of Carmel’s daughters telling tales about her sibling. “It was a horrible game …” Her voice trailed off.

Yao straightened a bunch of purple grapes that was slipping off the side of the platter. He frowned.

Carmel took up the slack. “We had to pretend to be lawyers.” She remembered that exhilarating moment when she’d spouted all that meaningless jargon that was nevertheless so meaningful to Masha. It had been terrifying but also wonderful. Like an amusement park ride that had flipped her upside down and then round and round. “We had to argue for a stay of execution. I defended … Zoe.”

As she spoke she realized how farcical it sounded. It was so obviously all just a game. Why had they taken it so seriously? If they told the police about it, they would surely just laugh.

“And then she never even let us complete the activity,” complained Jessica.

“Yes, I was quite looking forward to my turn,” said Frances.

“You were not,” said Heather.

Carmel took a single grape from the fruit platter, even though she didn’t feel especially hungry. She must have gone beyond hunger. She bit straight through the center of the grape. Oh my God , she thought, as the juice exploded in her mouth. She shuddered with gratitude. It was like all the cells of her body reacted to this tiny sustenance. She felt like she was close to some amazingly complex yet breathtakingly simple revelation about the true precious beauty of food. Food wasn’t the enemy. Food gave her life.

“I know some of last night’s activities might have seemed … unusual,” said Yao. He was a little hoarse but you had to admire him. He was continuing to play his violin as the Titanic sank beneath the sea. “But everything that happened was designed for your personal growth.”

“Cut the shit, Yao,” said Lars. “You must know it’s all over. We can’t let anyone else go through what we went through last night.”

“We have to close you down, mate,” said Tony.

“That boss of yours has to go straight to a secure psychiatric ward,” said Heather.

“I will not be going to any ward ,” said Masha.

Carmel’s heart leaped in her chest.

Masha stood in the doorway of the dining room wearing a Hillary Clinton–style red pantsuit that looked ten years out of date and three sizes too big for her. “I’m going back to work.”

“She’s still flying high as a kite,” said Ben.

“Masha,” said Yao despairingly. “I thought you were resting.”

“You all look so well!” Masha studied the group. “Much thinner. Much healthier. I’m sure you are all happy with your results!”

Heather made a derisive sound. “We’re thrilled, Masha, we’re just thrilled with our results. This has been so relaxing.”

Masha’s nostrils flared. “Don’t use that sarcastic tone! You report to me. I have authority to—”

“Not this again,” said Heather. “You’re my boss, are you? We all work for you? We’ve all got to do a PowerPoint presentation now or what … you execute us?” She imitated Masha’s accent.

“That’s not helpful, my love,” said Napoleon.

“I know all about you, Heather,” said Masha slowly. “I was there last night. I heard your secrets. You told me everything. You tell me I gave drugs to your daughter, I am such a terrible person to do this, even though I did it to help you and your family. Well, you tell me this: what drugs did you allow your son to take ?”