‘There you go,’ said Heather with satisfaction.
‘Well, I feel better than I’ve ever felt in my entire life,’ said Carmel. It wasn’t entirely true, there was the teeth situation, but she did feel quite good. Her mind was filled with images she hadn’t yet had a chance to interpret, as if she’d just spent a day at some incredible immersive art exhibit.
‘I feel pretty good so far,’ admitted Frances.
‘I do have a significant headache,’ said Lars.
‘Yeah, me too,’ said Tony.
‘I feel like I might be down a dress size.’ Carmel pulled at the loose waistband of her leggings. She frowned, trying to remember some important revelation she’d come to last night about her body. It didn’t matter . . . it did matter . . . it was the only one she had? Somehow it didn’t seem quite so profound and transcendent a revelation when she tried to pin it down with ordinary words. ‘Although I’m not trying to change my body completely. I’m just here to get healthy.’
‘Healthy?!’ Heather banged her palm against her forehead. ‘This place has gone way beyond bloody dieting!’
‘Mum.’ Zoe put her hand on her mother’s knee. ‘Nobody died. We’re all still here. Just . . . please, relax.’
‘Relax?!’ Heather took Zoe’s hand in hers and shook it. ‘You could have died! Any one of us could have died! If there was anyone with underlying mental health issues that could have been exacerbated, or heart issues! Your dad has high blood pressure! He should never have been given drugs.’
‘People probably think you’re the one with mental health issues,’ murmured Zoe.
‘That’s not helping,’ said Napoleon.
‘Can’t we just pick the lock on the door?’ said Frances, and she looked hopefully at Tony.
‘Why are you looking at me? Do I look like I have a lot of break-and-enter experience?’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ said Frances. Carmel could see her point. Tony did look like someone who might have dabbled in a bit of breaking-and-entering in his youth.
‘We could try. We’d need something to pick it with,’ said Ben. He patted himself down and came up with nothing.
‘I’m sure there’s no need to panic just yet,’ said Napoleon.
‘It’s obviously a kind of problem-solving exercise and eventually she’ll realise that we can’t solve it.’ Lars yawned, then lay down on a yoga mat and shielded his eyes with his arm.
‘I think they’re watching us in here,’ said Jessica. She pointed to a corner of the ceiling. ‘Isn’t that a camera up there?’
They all looked up at the tiny security camera with a flashing red light above the blank television screen.
‘Yao told me they had some kind of security intercom system,’ said Frances.
‘Me too,’ said Carmel. ‘On the first day.’
It felt like a hundred years ago.
Heather leaped to her feet and addressed the camera. ‘You let us out immediately!’ she shrieked. ‘We did not come here to spend the anniversary of our son’s death locked in a room with strangers!’
Carmel flinched. She had forgotten the anniversary was today. The woman was allowed to snap and snarl as much as she wanted.
There was silence. Nothing happened.
Heather stamped her foot. ‘I can’t believe we’re paying for this.’
Napoleon stood and pulled Heather into his arms. ‘It doesn’t matter where we are today,’ he said.
‘It does,’ Heather cried quietly into his shirt. Suddenly she seemed diminished, all the rage gone, just a tiny, sad, traumatised mother.
‘Shhh,’ said Napoleon.
She was saying something over and over and it took a moment for Carmel to distinguish the words: ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Napoleon. ‘We’re fine. Everything is fine.’
Everyone looked away from what seemed like an unbearably private moment. Zoe avoided looking at her parents also. She went to a corner of the room, put one palm against a wall, stood on one leg and held her ankle in the other hand, doing a yoga class for one.
Carmel looked at the blank screen of the television, suddenly desperate to be far, far away from this family’s pain, which so dwarfed her own. She felt a sharp stab of homesickness. Her home was beautiful. She recalled this as if it were brand-new information. Not a mansion by any means, but a comfortable, sunshine-filled family home, even when it had been trashed by four little girls. She’d been the one to renovate it, to make it beautiful. People said she had ‘an eye’. When she got home she would remember to enjoy it.
‘I might see if I can kick that door down,’ said Tony.
‘Great idea,’ said Carmel. People were always kicking down doors in the movies. It seemed quite simple.
‘I’ll do it,’ said Ben.
‘Or I’ll ram it.’ Tony limbered up, rolling his shoulders.
‘I’ll ram it,’ said Ben.
‘The door opens inwards,’ said Lars.
There was a pause. ‘Does that matter?’ asked Frances.
‘Think about it, Frances,’ said Lars.
Tony looked deflated. ‘Let’s try to pick the lock then.’ He put his fingertips to his forehead and breathed deeply. ‘I’m starting to feel a little . . . claustrophobic. I want to get out of here.’
So did Carmel.
chapter forty-seven
Frances
They collected everything they could find that would work as a possible lock pick: one hairclip, one belt buckle, one bracelet. It was Frances’s bracelet and she had nothing else to contribute except ignorant enthusiasm, so she stayed out of the way and the lock-picking committee became Ben, Jessica, Napoleon, Tony and Carmel. They seemed to be enjoying themselves destroying her bracelet and discussing exactly what was needed: ‘teeth to push the pins out’ or some such thing.
She went instead to talk to Zoe, who sat in the corner of the room, hugging her knees.
‘You okay?’ Frances asked, sitting down next to her and putting a tentative hand on the curve of her back.
Zoe lifted her head and smiled. Her eyes were clear. She looked lovely. Not like someone who had spent the previous night tripping. ‘I’m fine. How was your . . . experience last night?’
Frances lowered her voice. ‘I don’t approve of what Masha did, outrageous et cetera, your mother is right, drugs are bad, illegal, wrong, just say no and all that . . . but I have to admit, I’m with Steve Jobs: it was one of the most fantastic experiences of my life. What about you?’
‘There were good and bad parts,’ said Zoe. ‘I saw Zach. We all saw Zach. You know . . . hallucinated him, we didn’t really see him.’
‘I thought I saw him too,’ said Frances without thinking.
Zoe turned her head.
‘I saw a boy,’ said Frances. ‘With you and your mum and dad.’
‘You saw Zach?’ Zoe’s face lit up.
‘Sorry,’ said Frances. ‘I hope you don’t think that’s disrespectful. Obviously, I never knew your brother. It was just my imagination, creating his image.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Zoe. ‘I like that you saw him. You would have liked him. He would have talked to you. He talked to anyone.’ She stopped. ‘I don’t mean that in a bad way –’
‘I know what you’re saying.’ Frances smiled.
‘He was interested in everyone,’ said Zoe. ‘He was like Dad. Chatty. He would have asked you about, I don’t know, the publishing industry. He was the biggest nerd. He liked watching documentaries. Listening to these obscure podcasts. He was fascinated by the world. That’s why . . .’ Her voice broke. ‘That’s why I could never believe he’d choose to give it up.’
She banged her chin against her propped-up knees. ‘When he died we weren’t talking. We hadn’t been talking for, like, weeks. We used to have these really big screaming arguments over . . . lots of things: the bathroom, the television, the charger. It all seems stupid now.’