She might even – and here she felt a burst of childlike anticipation, as if for Christmas Day – be able to zip that amazing Zimmermann dress all the way up again, the one that used to guarantee her compliments (often from other people’s husbands, which was always so pleasing).
Perhaps her transformed self would go home and write a thriller or an old-fashioned murder mystery featuring a cast of colourful characters with secrets and a delightfully improbable villain. It might be fun to murder someone with a candlestick or a cup of poisoned tea. She could set it at a health resort! The murder weapon could be one of those stretchy green elastic bands she’d seen in the gym. Or she could make it more of a historical health resort where everyone wafted about looking pale and interesting as they recovered from tuberculosis. She could surely throw in a romantic subplot. Who didn’t like a romantic subplot?
‘There will be surprises on this journey,’ said Masha. ‘Each morning at dawn you will receive your daily schedule, but there will be unexpected detours and plans that change. I know this will be difficult for some of you who hold your lives with tight fists.’
She held up her fists to demonstrate her point and smiled. It was a stunning smile: warm and radiant and sensual. Frances found herself smiling back and looked around the room to see if everyone else was similarly affected. Yes, indeed. Even the serial killer smiled at Masha, although it seemed as if his lips had been forced up only temporarily without his consent, and the moment he got control back he was once again slack-jawed and sullen, pulling at a piece of thread on the fraying edge of his t-shirt.
‘Imagine you are a leaf in a stream,’ said Masha. ‘Relax and enjoy the journey. The stream will carry you this way and that, but it will carry you forward to where you need to go.’
Napoleon nodded thoughtfully.
Frances studied the still, straight backs of Ben and Jessica in front of her, somehow vulnerable in their slim youthfulness, which didn’t make sense because they probably didn’t say ‘oof’ each time they stood up from a chair.
Ben turned towards Jessica and opened his mouth as if he were about to break the silence, but he didn’t. Jessica moved her hand and the light bounced off an enormous diamond on her finger. Good Lord. How many carats was that thing?
‘Before we begin our first guided meditation, I have a story to share,’ said Masha. ‘Ten years ago, I died.’
Well, that was unexpected. Frances sat a little straighter.
Masha’s face became oddly jovial. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask Yao!’
Frances looked across at Yao, who seemed to be trying not to smile.
‘I went into cardiac arrest and I was clinically dead.’ Masha’s green eyes shone with crazy joy, as if she were describing the best day of her life.
Frances frowned. Wait, why did you mention Yao? Was he there? Keep your narrative on track, Masha.
‘They call my experience a “near-death experience”,’ said Masha. ‘But I feel that is the wrong terminology because I wasn’t just near death, I was dead. I experienced death, a privilege for which I am eternally grateful. My experience, my so-called “near-death experience”, was ultimately life-changing.’
There were no coughs, no movement in the room. Were people rigid with embarrassment or still with awe?
Here comes the tunnel of light, thought Frances. Hadn’t they proved there was a scientific reason for that phenomenon? Yet even as she scoffed, she felt a tingle of goosebumps.
‘That day, ten years ago, I temporarily left my body,’ said Masha. She said this with casual conviction, as if she didn’t expect to be doubted.
Her eyes swept the room. ‘There may be doubters among you. You may be thinking, Did she really die? Let me tell you, Yao was one of the paramedics who took care of me that day.’
She nodded at Yao, who nodded back.
‘Yao can confirm that my heart did indeed stop. We later developed a friendship and a mutual interest in wellness.’
Yao nodded even more vigorously. Did Frances imagine it, or did the other wellness consultant roll her eyes at that? Professional jealousy? What was her name again? Delilah.
What happened to Delilah after she cut off Samson’s hair? Frances longed to Google it. How was she going to cope for ten days without instant answers to idle questions?
Masha continued to speak. ‘I wish I could tell you much more about my near-death experience, but it is so hard to find the right words, and I’ll tell you why – it is simply beyond human comprehension. I don’t have the vocabulary for it.’
At least give it a shot. Frances scratched irritably at her forearm, which she understood from a clickbait article to be a symptom of Alzheimer’s, although she couldn’t be one hundred per cent sure because she couldn’t goddamn Google it.
‘I can tell you this,’ said Masha. ‘There is another reality that sits alongside the physical reality. I now know that death is not to be feared.’
Although still best avoided, thought Frances. The more earnest people got, the more flippant she became. It was a flaw.
‘Death is simply a matter of leaving behind our earthly bodies.’ Masha moved her own earthly body with unearthly grace. She seemed to be demonstrating how one shrugged off a body. ‘It is a natural progression, like walking into another room, like leaving the womb.’
She stopped. There was movement at the back of the studio.
Frances turned and saw the youngest person there, Zoe, stand from her cross-legged position in one fluid movement.
‘Sorry,’ she said in a low mumble.
Frances noticed Zoe’s ears were studded with a multitude of earrings in unusual spots Frances didn’t even know it was possible to pierce. Her face was pale. She was so exquisite and heartbreaking, just because she was young, or maybe just because Frances was old.
‘Excuse me.’
Both her parents looked up at her in alarm, their hands outstretched as if to grab her. Zoe shook her head violently at them.
‘Bathrooms are just over there,’ said Masha.
‘I just need a little . . . air,’ said Zoe.
Heather got to her feet. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Mum, no, I’m fine,’ said Zoe. ‘Please, just let me . . .’ She indicated the door.
Everyone watched to see who would prevail.
‘I’m sure she is fine,’ said Masha decisively. ‘Come back when you are ready, Zoe. You are tired after your long journey, that’s all.’
Heather surrendered with obvious reluctance and sat back down.
Everyone watched Zoe leave.
The room felt unsettled now, as if Zoe’s departure had put things out of balance. Masha breathed in deeply through her nostrils and out through her mouth.
Someone spoke.
‘Listen, now this, ah . . . noble silence . . . has been broken, could I ask a question?’
It was the serial killer. He spoke belligerently, just like a serial killer, his mouth barely open, so that his words came out in pellets. He was clearly very upset.
Frances saw Masha’s eyes widen ever so slightly at this infraction. ‘If you feel it’s important right now.’
He jutted his chin. ‘Did someone go through our bags?’
chapter twelve
Zoe
Zoe stood at the bottom of the stairs outside the heavy oak door of the meditation room, bent double, her hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath.
Lately she’d been having the occasional mini panic attack. Not proper panic attacks, which she understood to be awful and had people calling for ambulances, just these mini episodes where suddenly out of nowhere she felt like she’d spiked her heart rate in a spin class. It was fine to be puffing and panting when she was doing a spin class, but not when she was sitting cross-legged on the floor doing nothing except listening to a mad woman talk about death.
She wondered if this was how it was for Zach. He used to say that asthma felt like someone had placed ten bricks on his chest.