Ben’s stepdad, because Ben’s stepdad was a financial planner and he’d assumed that he’d manage all their finances now that they had finances – but Ben thought his stepdad was an idiot and didn’t want him near their money, so that was awkward. Ben could have kept his opinions about his stepdad a secret forever if it wasn’t for winning the lottery.
And of course, Ben’s sister. How could they give her money? How could they not give her money? Ben and his mother had agonised over what to do. They tried to do it all the right way, the careful way. They set up a trust fund. They never gave her cash, but cash was all she wanted. When they bought her a car she sold it within two weeks. She sold anything they bought her. She screamed ugly words at poor Ben: You rich prick with your fancy car, you won’t even help out your own family. They spent thousands and thousands on expensive rehab programs that Ben’s mother had once dreamed about, assuming those exclusive programs would be the answer, if only they had the money. But once they had the money they found out that those weren’t the answer. It just went on and on. Ben kept thinking there had to be a solution. Jessica knew there was no solution. Lucy didn’t want help.
And it wasn’t just their family who thought Ben and Jessica should give them money. Every day they were contacted by long-lost relatives and friends, and friends of friends, asking for ‘loans’ or a ‘helping hand’ or wanting Ben and Jessica to support their favourite charity, their local school, their kids’ soccer club. Family members they hadn’t seen in years got in touch. Family members they didn’t know existed got in touch. The requests often had a passive-aggressive edge: ‘Ten thousand dollars is probably small change to you but it would mean a huge amount to us.’
‘Just give it to them.’ That was Ben’s constant refrain, but sometimes it got Jessica’s back up. The nerve of these people.
It was bewildering to Jessica that she and Ben fought more about money now that they had an abundance of it. It was impossible to even imagine they’d once felt so upset about the arrival of unexpected bills.
Becoming instantly wealthy was like starting a really stressful, glamorous job for which they had no qualifications or experience, but still, it was a pretty great job. It was hardly something to complain about. There was no need to ruin it, as Ben seemed intent on doing.
She sometimes wondered if Ben regretted winning the money. He told her once that he missed working. ‘Start your own business then,’ she’d said. They could do anything! But he said he couldn’t compete with Pete, his old boss. He was like his sister; he didn’t want a solution to his problems.
He said that he didn’t like their ‘snooty new neighbours’ and Jessica pointed out that they didn’t even know them and offered to invite some of them over for drinks, but Ben looked horrified at the idea. It wasn’t like they’d really known their neighbours back at the old flat. Everyone had worked full-time and kept to themselves.
He enjoyed the luxury holidays they took, but even the travel didn’t truly make him happy. Jessica remembered a night watching the sun set in Santorini. It was incredible, gorgeous, and she’d just bought a stunning bracelet for herself, and she’d looked across at Ben, who was deep in what seemed like profound thought, and she said, ‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Lucy,’ he answered. ‘I remember she used to talk about travelling to the Greek islands.’
It made her want to scream and scream because they could afford to send Lucy to Santorini and put her up at a great hotel, but that wasn’t possible because Lucy preferred to stick needles in her arms. So fine, let her ruin her own life, but why did she have to ruin their lives as well?
The car was the one thing about the lottery win that made him happy. He didn’t really care about any of the other things – not the beautiful house in the best part of Toorak, the concert tickets, the designer labels, the travel. Only the car. His dream car. God, how she hated that car.
Jessica realised with a start that people were standing, straightening their unflattering gowns, suppressing yawns.
She got to her feet and looked at the starry sky one last time, but there were no answers up there.
chapter seventeen
Frances
It was only eight in the morning and Frances was hiking.
It was going to be another hot summer’s day, but the temperature at this hour was perfect, the air silky soft on her skin. There was no sound apart from the occasional sweet piercing call of a bellbird and the cracks and rustles of sticks and rocks beneath her feet on the rocky trail.
She felt like she’d been up for hours, which in fact she had been.
Today, her first full day at Tranquillum House, had begun before dawn (before dawn!) with a firm knock at her bedroom door.
Frances had stumbled out of bed and opened the door to find the corridor empty and a silver tray on the floor, with her morning smoothie and a sealed envelope containing her ‘personalised daily schedule’.
She had got back into bed to drink the smoothie with a pillow propped up behind her back while she read her schedule with equal parts pleasure and horror:
DAILY SCHEDULE FOR FRANCES WELTY
Dawn: Tai chi class in the rose garden.
7 am: Breakfast in the dining room. (Please remember to continue to observe the silence.)
8 am: Walking meditation. Meet at the bottom of Tranquillity Hill. (This will be a slow, silent, mindful hike giving you plenty of time to stop and contemplate the magnificent views. Enjoy!)
10 am: One-on-one exercise class. Meet Delilah at the gym.
11 am: Remedial massage with Jan in the spa.
12 noon: Lunch in the dining room.
1 pm: Guided sitting meditation in the yoga and meditation studio.
2–4 pm: FREE TIME.
5 pm: Yoga class in the yoga and meditation studio.
6 pm: Dinner in the dining room.
7–9 pm: FREE TIME.
9 pm: LIGHTS OUT.
Lights out! Was that a suggestion or an order? Frances hadn’t been to bed at 9 pm since she was a child.
But then again, maybe she’d be ready for bed by then.
She’d yawned her way through the tai chi class in the rose garden with Yao, silently eaten her first breakfast in the dining room (very good, poached eggs and steamed spinach, although it felt kind of pointless without the essential accompaniment of sourdough toast and a cappuccino) and now here she was with the other guests participating in the ‘walking meditation’, which was basically a slow uphill hike on a bushland track a short distance away from the house.
The two wellness consultants, Yao and Delilah, were with them. Delilah led the group at the front and Yao was at the back. The pace, set by Delilah, was extremely slow, almost agonisingly slow, even for Frances, and if she found it difficult to walk this slowly, she suspected the Marconis – ‘exercise fanatics’, according to Zoe – were just about losing their minds.
Frances was in the middle of the group, behind Zoe, whose glossy ponytail swung as she walked behind her dad. The serial killer was directly behind Frances, which was not the ideal position for a serial killer, but at least he’d be obliged to kill her in mindful slow motion, so she’d have plenty of time to escape.
At random intervals the group came to a stop, and they then had to stand and gaze silently at some fixed point on the horizon for what felt like an extraordinary length of time.
Frances was all for a leisurely hike with lots of rests to enjoy the view, but at this rate they would never get to the top.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, they filed up the hiking trail and slowly, slowly, slowly, Frances felt her mind and body adjust to the pace.
Slow was certainly . . . slow . . . but also it was quite . . . lovely.