Tony saw the white goalposts rise like skyscrapers above him.
He lifted his foot, made contact. The ball sailed in a perfect arc across a clear blue sky. He knew immediately it was good. That rollercoaster feeling in his stomach. There was nothing better. Better than sex. It had been so long.
The crowd roared as the ball went straight through the middle of the goalposts and the euphoria blasted like rocket fuel through his body as he leaped high in the sky, one fist raised like a superhero.
chapter thirty-six
Carmel
Carmel sat on a plush velvet couch in a snooty fashion shop specialising in the latest designer bodies.
Carmel wasn’t wearing a body. It was so wonderful and relaxing not wearing a body. No thighs. No stomach. No bum. No biceps. No triceps. No cellulite. No crow’s feet. No frown marks. No caesarean scar. No sun damage. No fine lines. No seven signs of ageing. No dry hair. No frizzy hair. No grey hair. Nothing to wax or colour or condition. Nothing to lengthen or flatten, conceal or disguise.
She was just Carmel, without her body.
Show me your original face, the one you had before your parents were born.
Her little girls sat either side of her on the couch, waiting for her to choose a new body. They were all quietly reading age-appropriate quality chapter books and eating freshly cut fruit. No devices. No sugary snacks. No arguing. Carmel was the best mother in the history of mothering.
‘Let’s find you a divine new body for your divine new life,’ said Masha, who was the manager of the shop. She was dressed as a Disney princess.
Masha ran her finger along a rack filled with different bodies on hangers. ‘No, no, maybe . . . oh, now this one is nice!’ She draped the body over one arm. ‘This would look lovely on you. It’s very fashionable, and such a flattering shape!’
It was Sonia’s body. Her sleek blonde hair. Her trim waist.
‘I don’t like the ankles,’ said Carmel. ‘I prefer a more finely tapered ankle. Also, my husband’s new girlfriend has that exact same body.’
‘We don’t want that one then!’ said Masha. She hung it back up and selected another one from the rack. ‘How about this one? So striking. You’ll turn heads wearing this one.’
It was Masha’s body.
‘It’s amazing, but honestly, I don’t think I can carry it off,’ said Carmel. ‘It’s kind of too dramatic for me.’
Her daughter Lulu put down her book. She had peach smeared around her mouth. Carmel went to wipe it away but then she remembered she had no fingers. Fingers were useful.
‘That’s your body there, Mummy,’ said Lulu, and she pointed at Carmel’s body sagging on a doorhandle, without even a hanger.
‘That’s my old body, darling,’ said Carmel. ‘Mummy needs a new one.’
‘It’s yours.’ Lulu was implacable as always.
Masha held up Carmel’s old body. ‘It does look very comfortable,’ she said.
‘Could we at least take it in a few inches?’ said Carmel.
‘Of course we can.’ Masha smiled at her. ‘We’ll make it beautiful. Here. Try it on.’
Carmel sighed and put back on her old body.
‘It really suits you,’ said Masha. ‘Just some minor adjustments.’
‘I quite like the ankles,’ admitted Carmel. ‘What do you think, girls?’
Her daughters threw themselves at her. Carmel marvelled at the blue veins in her hands as she cupped her daughters’ heads, the thump of her heart and the strength of her arms as she hefted a little girl on each hip.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said.
‘You’re going to love your body,’ said Masha.
chapter thirty-seven Masha
My God, it is all going incredibly well, thought Masha. The therapy was working exactly as the research said it would. Carmel Schneider had just made a breakthrough in relation to her body-image issues. There had been a moment where for some reason she kept trying to take her clothes off, but Masha had put a stop to that and she’d just had a very good conversation with her about body acceptance.
The triumph was as tangible as a trophy, solid and gleaming gold in Masha’s hands.
chapter thirty-eight
Napoleon
Napoleon sat with his back against a wall of the studio, watching the floor breathe in and out with the rapid, heartbreaking vulnerability of a sleeping baby.
This happened last time, he reminded himself. It was just an optical illusion. Walls and floors did not breathe. And so what if they did breathe? What was so bad about that?
The walls of that seedy smoky club had breathed too, and he’d become convinced he was trapped within an amoeba hurtling through space. It had made perfect sense at the time. The amoeba had swallowed him whole like the whale swallowed Jonah and he was stuck in that amoeba for a thousand years.
Twenty years old and he was so sure his brain had been fried, and he took such pride in his brain, and the only way to comfort himself in the bleak days that followed was by chanting: Never again, never again, never again.
And yet here he was, trapped once more.
I’m not in an amoeba, he told himself. I’m at a health resort. They have given me drugs without my permission and I’m just going to have to wait this out.
At least he was in this very pleasant, nice-smelling, candlelit studio, not that packed bar with all those looming faces.
He held hands with his girls. Heather’s hand in his left. Zoe’s in his right. Napoleon had refused to lie down on one of those stretchers or put on the mask and headphones. He knew the only way to keep a good firm grip of his mind was to sit upright with his eyes open.
Masha pretended she was fine with that, but Napoleon knew she was annoyed that they weren’t following the correct procedure for ‘optimum results’.
Napoleon recognised the moment she made the decision not to push the issue. It was like he could read her mind. Pick your battles, she thought. Napoleon had to pick his battles with his students. He was good at picking his battles. He used to do the same with the kids.
‘Pick your battles,’ he said softly. ‘Pick them carefully.’
‘I know which battle I’m picking – I will not rest until that woman is behind bars,’ said Heather. She was watching Masha move about the room, chatting to her guests, placing the back of her hand against their foreheads.
‘Look at her, sashaying about as if she’s fucking Florence Nightingale,’ said Heather. ‘Psychedelic therapy, my foot.’
Napoleon wondered if there was some sort of professional jealousy going on here.
‘Can you see the walls breathing?’ he asked, to take her mind off things.
‘It’s just the effects of the drugs,’ said Heather.
‘Well, I know that, darling,’ said Napoleon. ‘I just wondered if you were experiencing the same effects.’
‘I can see the walls breathing, Dad,’ said Zoe. ‘They look like fish. It’s awesome. Are you seeing the colours?’ She glided her hands back and forth as if through water.
‘I am!’ marvelled Napoleon. ‘It’s like phosphorescence.’
‘Great. A nice druggy dad-and-daughter bonding experience,’ said Heather.
Napoleon noted that she was in a very bad mood.
‘Zach would think this was hilarious,’ said Zoe. ‘All of us getting high together.’
‘He’s here actually,’ said Napoleon. ‘Hi, Zach.’
‘Hey, Dad.’ It didn’t even seem that remarkable that Zach was sitting right in front of him, wearing shorts and no shirt. The kid never wore a shirt. It just felt like everything was right again, the way it used to feel, the four of them hanging out together, taking each other’s existences for granted, just being a family, a run-of-the-mill family.
‘Do you see him?’ said Napoleon.
‘Yes,’ said Zoe.
‘I see him too,’ said Heather, her voice full of tears.
‘Your turn to take out the recycling, Zach,’ said Zoe.
Zach gave his sister the finger and Napoleon laughed out loud.
chapter thirty-nine Frances