Nine Perfect Strangers

by Liane Moriarty

  ‘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 a fairground 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 realised 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 centre 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  Masha stood in the doorway of the dining room wearing a Hillary Clinton-style red pantsuit that looked ten years out of date and three sizes too big for her.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?’

  Masha’s fists were clenched. She held something tightly in her right hand. Carmel couldn’t see it what it was.

  ‘What sort of a mother are you?’ Masha asked Heather. There was a strange, powerful animosity between these two women that Carmel didn’t understand.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Napoleon.

  Yao moved across the room towards Masha, as Heather responded to her comment with a peal of scornful laughter. She said, ‘I’m a better mother than you would ever be.’

  Masha roared like an animal. She leaped at Heather, a silver dagger held high, ready to plunge into her neck.

  Napoleon jumped in front of his wife and Yao jumped in front of Masha at the exact moment Frances stood from her chair, grabbed the candelabrum from the sideboard and swung it wildly at Masha’s head.

  Masha fell instantly. She lay at Frances’s feet without moving.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Frances. The candelabrum hung in her hand. She looked up at everyone, her face filled with horror. ‘Have I killed her?’

  chapter seventy-four

  Frances

  Afterwards Frances would try to work through her decision-making process, but she never could. It was like her brain short-circuited.

  She saw the two-hundred-year-old letter opener in Masha’s hand.

  Careful. That letter opener is as sharp as a dagger. You could murder someone with that, Frances.

  She saw Masha lunge for Heather.

  She felt the unexpected heaviness of the candelabrum in her hand.

  And next thing Masha was lying at her feet, and Frances had her hands in the air like a criminal because a large policeman was pointing a gun directly at her and saying, ‘Don’t move, please!’

  The well-mannered cop was Gus, Jan the massage therapist’s boyfriend, and he was just as lovely as Frances had imagined him to be, especially once he put his gun away. Gus did not charge Frances with the murder of Masha, because Masha was not dead. After just a few terrifying moments, she sat up, a hand to the back of her head, and told Frances she was fired, effective immediately.

  Jan, wearing a summer dress, was with Gus, looking flushed and excited at the events that had transpired at her workplace. Apparently, she and Gus had been chatting (in the middle of the night; from their glances, Frances deduced it was a post-coital chat) and Gus mentioned that at the end of his shift he’d pulled over a girl who was speeding in a yellow Lamborghini. It was immediately obvious to Jan from Gus’s description that this girl could only be Delilah, and as it seemed unlikely that there could be two yellow Lamborghinis in the area, and it therefore looked like Delilah might have stolen a guest’s car, and as Jan was already suspicious about the fact that nearly all the Tranquillum House staff had been asked to leave during the middle of a retreat (which the chef told her had never happened before), she had convinced Gus to drive straight to the house with her to check things out.

  ‘She’s probably concussed,’ said Yao, after examining his boss. ‘Or it might be that she’s still tripping.’

  Gus said that he wouldn’t be charging Frances with assault because there were multiple witnesses who all confirmed that her quick actions had most likely saved Heather’s life, although Frances knew that Heather might have been Masha’s target but the only ones in danger were Napoleon, who had pushed Heather aside, and Yao, who had placed himself directly in front of Masha.

  Heather said, ‘Thank you, Frances.’ She put a hand to the side of her neck and considered the potential murder weapon. ‘That could have been quite nasty.’

  Heather refused to acknowledge Masha at all, right up until when the ambulance arrived and took Masha to the local hospital. ‘Thank you for visiting! Please remember to rate your stay with us on TripAdvisor!’ she cried out merrily, as the two blue-uniformed paramedics led her away.

  More local police officers turned up, and then, once Gus and his friends discovered the large quantities of illegal drugs on the premises, a second group arrived, and these ones had harder eyes and shinier shoes, and they weren’t quite as interested in the extraneous details as Gus was.

  Yao was taken away in a police car to make a statement.

  Before he left, he turned to them all and said simply, ‘I’m very sorry.’

&nbs
p; He looked sad and defeated and ashamed, like a teenage boy who has had a party get out of control while his parents are away.

  Ben’s Lamborghini was found in the car park of the regional airport two hours’ drive away. It was supposedly not damaged, although Ben would see about that. Delilah had not yet been located.

  There was a lot of tedious paperwork. Everyone had to give long separate statements to the police about the events that had transpired over the last week.

  It was hard sometimes to give a logical account of what happened. Frances could sense their scepticism.

  ‘So you thought you were locked up?’

  ‘We were locked up.’

  ‘But then you just opened the door and left?’

  ‘Well, you see, we’d stopped trying the handle,’ said Frances. ‘I think that was the point Masha was trying to make: that sometimes the answer is right there in front of you.’

  ‘I see,’ said the police officer. You could tell from his face that he didn’t see at all and that he sure as hell wouldn’t have got himself locked in that room. ‘And you thought there was a fire.’

  ‘There was smoke,’ said Frances, her mouth full of mango, the golden flesh as fresh and sweet as a summer morning. ‘And the sounds of a fire.’

  ‘Which in reality was a YouTube clip of a house burning down played over an intercom,’ said the cop without inflection.

  ‘It was very convincing,’ said Frances unconvincingly.

  ‘I’m sure it was,’ said the cop. You could see it was taking all his willpower not to roll his eyes. ‘You have . . .’ He pointed at her face.

  Frances wiped her sticky chin. ‘Thanks. Don’t you just love summer fruit?’

  ‘Not really a fan.’

  ‘Not a fan of fruit?’

  Lars, the only member of the group with any legal expertise, tried to ensure everyone stayed on message.

  ‘We were tricked. We had no idea there were drugs on the premises,’ he said loud enough for everyone to hear as he was led off for his interview. ‘We were not told what those smoothies contained.’

  ‘I had no idea there were drugs on the premises,’ said Frances again. ‘I was tricked. I was not told what those smoothies contained.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ said the policeman. He gave up trying and rolled his eyes. ‘None of you did.’ He closed his notebook. ‘I’ll let you get back to your mango.’

  One of the local cops recognised Tony and drove back home to get a Carlton shirt for him to sign, and got quite teary about it.

  Finally, as the long day began to draw to a close, and the drugs were removed as evidence, they were all told that they were free to leave, as long as they made themselves available for any future questioning.

  ‘We’re free to leave, but are we free to stay?’ Frances asked Gus, the last police officer there. It was too late in the day to drive six hours back home.

  Gus said he didn’t see why not, as it was no longer an active crime scene. No-one had died and the drugs were gone and they were technically still paying guests. He seemed to be working through the legalities in his mind, reassuring himself of his decision. Jan gave everyone a ten-minute mini massage to release tension. She said they might want to get themselves checked out at the local hospital but no-one felt inclined to do so, especially as that was where Masha had been taken. Tony said his shoulder was perfectly fine.

  ‘Is this what you meant when you said don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with?’ Frances asked Jan when it was her turn for a massage.

  Poor Jan was horrified. ‘I meant don’t do burpees or jumping lunges!’ she said, as her practised fingers performed their magic on Frances’s shoulders. ‘Burpees are terrible for anyone with back issues and you’ve got to have really stable knees before you do a jumping lunge.’ She shook her head. ‘If I’d suspected anything like this I would have informed the police immediately.’ She looked adoringly at Gus. ‘I would have informed Gus.’

  ‘Does he whistle?’ asked Frances, following her gaze.

  Apparently he didn’t whistle or whittle, but was still just about perfect.

  Once Gus and Jan had left, the nine of them went into the kitchen to prepare something for their dinner. They were euphoric with freedom as they flung open cupboards, and there was a moment of awed silence as they all stood in front of the massive stainless steel refrigerator and saw the abundance of food it contained: steak, chicken, fish, vegetables, eggs.

  ‘Today is my twenty-first birthday,’ announced Zoe.

  They all turned to look at her.

  ‘It’s also Zach’s birthday.’ She took a deep shaky breath. ‘It’s our birthday today.’

  Her parents moved to stand on either side of her.

  ‘I think we might need a little glass of wine with our dinner,’ said Frances.

  ‘We need music,’ said Ben.

  ‘We need a cake,’ said Carmel. She rolled up her sleeves. ‘I’m a master baker of birthday cakes.’

  ‘I can make pizza,’ said Tony. ‘If there’s flour, I can make pizza dough.’

  ‘Can you?’ said Frances.

  ‘I can,’ he said, and he smiled.

  Zoe retrieved the bottle of wine she’d smuggled in from her bedroom, and Frances searched the house until she found a goldmine of presumably uncollected contraband brought in by previous guests, including six bottles of wine, some of which looked quite good, in a small room behind the reception desk. Ben found their mobile phones, and they reconnected with the world, and discovered not all that much had happened in the last week: a sporting scandal that only Tony and Napoleon found scandalous, the break-up of a Kardashian marriage that only Jessica and Zoe found relevant, and a natural disaster where the only fatalities involved those who flagrantly ignored warnings, so, you know. Ben used his phone to play music and took on the responsibility of DJ, accepting requests across generations and genres.

  Everyone got drunk on wine and food. Jessica grilled perfect medium-rare steaks. Tony twirled pizza dough. Frances acted as sous chef to whoever needed her. Carmel made an incredible cake and became flushed and beautiful at all the praise that was heaped upon her. A surprising number of people danced and a surprising number of people cried.

  Lars could not dance. At all. It was delightful to watch.

  ‘Are you doing it on purpose?’ asked Frances.

  ‘Why do people always ask that?’ said Lars.

  Tony could dance. Very well. He told them that back in the day he and some other players had done ballet classes as part of their training. ‘Helped build up my hamstrings,’ he explained as Frances and Carmel clutched each other and giggled helplessly at the thought of Tony in a tutu. He responded by executing a perfect pirouette.

  Frances had never been in a relationship with a man who could pirouette or make pizza dough. That was just something interesting to note and not a reason to let Tony kiss her. She knew he wanted to kiss her. The feeling of being at a party with a man who wanted to kiss her, but had not yet done so, was exactly as good as the first time she experienced it, at the age of fifteen, at Natalie’s sixteenth birthday party. It heightened everything. Just like a hallucinogenic drug.

  They toasted Zoe and Zach.

  ‘I didn’t want twins,’ said Heather, holding up her glass of red wine. ‘When the doctor told me it was twins, I’m not going to lie, I said a four-letter word.’

  ‘Well, that’s a great start, Mum,’ said Zoe.

  ‘I’m a midwife,’ said Heather, ignoring her. ‘I knew the risks of a twin pregnancy. But it turned out the pregnancy didn’t give me any trouble at all. I had a natural birth. Of course, they gave me a lot of trouble once they were out in the world!’

  She looked at Napoleon. He took her hand.

  ‘Those first few months were hard, but then, I don’t know, I think we got them into a routine when they were a
bout six months old, and I remember, after I finally got a good night’s sleep, I woke up looked at them and thought, Well, you two are pretty special.

  ‘They always took it in turns to do things first. Zach was born first but Zoe walked first. Zach ran first.’ Her words faded a little. She went to take a sip of wine and then remembered she hadn’t finished her toast. ‘Zoe got her driver’s licence first, which, as you can imagine, made Zach crazy.’

  She stopped again. ‘The fights! You would not believe the fights they had! They’d be wanting to kill each other and I’d put them in separate rooms, but within five minutes they’d be back together again, playing and giggling.’

  Frances realised that Heather was giving the exact speech she would have given if Zach hadn’t died: an ordinary, proud mum speech in a backyard, with the younger generations rolling their eyes and the older generation brushing away tears.

  She held up her glass. ‘To Zoe and Zach: the smartest, funniest, most beautiful kids in the world. Your dad and I love you.’

  Everyone held up their glasses and said after her, ‘To Zoe and Zach.’

  Napoleon and Zoe didn’t do a toast.

  Instead, Napoleon lit the candles on Carmel’s cake, and they all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ and Zoe blew out the candles and no-one said, ‘Make a wish,’ because every single person in that room was wishing the same thing. Frances could see him so clearly, the boy who should have been there, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Zoe, jostling with her to blow out the candles, their lives ahead of them.

  After plates were handed around with the (excellent) cake, Zoe demanded that Ben play a song that Frances didn’t recognise, and Ben played it, and he and Jessica and Zoe danced together.

  There were promises to keep in touch. People friended and followed each other. Jessica set up a WhatsApp group on their phones and joined them all.

  Carmel was the first one to succumb to exhaustion and say, ‘Goodnight.’ Everyone was leaving for home the next morning. Those who were from interstate had changed their flights and transfers to the next day. Carmel was from Adelaide, and the Marconi family and Tony were from Melbourne. Tony was the only interstate guest who had hired a rental car, and he was going to drive Ben and Jessica to pick up their car from where it had been abandoned by Delilah. Lars and Frances, the only guests from Sydney, had declared their intentions to sleep late and have a lazy breakfast before heading off.