‘I also wonder why you did not begin with a basic analysis of strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats? It’s not rocket science, people! And visual aids! I see no visual aids! A simple PowerPoint slideshow would have helped support your arguments.’
Heather made eye contact with Napoleon: What do we do? She saw the confusion and fear on his face and that made her panic grow, because if Napoleon had no answers, they were in trouble. She thought of those times in hospital emergency waiting rooms with Zach when they realised they were dealing with a numbskull of a triage nurse, how they would exchange looks over Zach’s head, and how they both knew exactly what to do and say to act as advocates for their child. But they had never dealt with this dizzying lack of logic.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Tony humbly. ‘Obviously, PowerPoint would have helped support my argument. Yes.’
‘Sorry doesn’t cut it!’ snarled Masha.
‘Could I go next?’ A loud voice cut unexpectedly through Masha’s.
Heather saw with a start that it was Carmel, her chin lifted, her eyes unflinching.
‘I’ve prepared a strategic analysis on behalf of Zoe Marconi, and what we should be doing, ah, going forward, and I’d really like your buy-in on this, Masha.’
Masha’s face smoothed. She lifted a hand. ‘Go ahead, Carmel.’
Carmel strode to the centre of the room and straightened an imaginary suit jacket, even though she was wearing leggings and a pink singlet top emblazoned with the sequinned word hawaii. ‘I know you wanted me to really drill down on this, Masha, and think outside the box.’
It was hard to reconcile this woman of such confidence with the Carmel who had just a few hours earlier begged so pathetically to go home. Now you could practically see her power suit. Was she an actress? Or was she calling on the memory of a previous profession? Whatever it was, it was impressive.
‘Absolutely.’ Masha made a brisk chopping motion with the side of her hand. ‘This is more like it. We need to push the envelope. This is very impressive, Carmel.’
It could almost be amusing if it weren’t so terrifying.
‘The way I see it, we’ve got a real window of opportunity here to leverage Zoe’s core competencies,’ said Carmel, ‘and achieve, ah . . . best-practice solutions.’
‘Oh well done,’ whispered Frances.
‘That’s right.’ Masha nodded. ‘We should always be aiming for best practice.’
It was bizarre to see how well she responded to this meaningless corporate-speak, like a baby responds to the sound of its mother’s voice.
‘The question is this,’ said Masha shrewdly. ‘Does it align with our corporate values?’
‘Exactly,’ said Carmel. ‘And once we have all our ducks in a row, we need to ask this: is it scalable?’
‘Is it?’ said Masha.
‘Exactly,’ said Carmel. ‘So what we’re looking for is . . .’ She faltered.
‘Synergies,’ murmured Lars.
‘Synergies!’ said Carmel with relief.
‘Synergies,’ repeated Masha dreamily, as if she were saying, ‘Paris in spring.’
‘So to sum up, we need a synergistic solution that dovetails –’
‘I’ve heard all I need to hear,’ said Masha briskly. ‘Action that please, Carmel.’
‘Will do,’ said Carmel.
Masha stubbed out her cigarette on the windowsill behind her. She leaned back against the window. ‘Welcome to Tranquillum House.’
Oh dear God, thought Heather. We’ve lost her again.
Masha smiled. No-one smiled back. Heather saw that every face in the room was slack with exhaustion and despair, like the face of a woman who has innocently prepared a ‘natural birth plan’, created a playlist, and who, after thirty hours of labour, is told that she must now have an emergency caesarean.
Masha said, ‘I promise you this: in ten days, you will not be the person you are now.’
‘Fuck,’ said Jessica. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’
‘It’s just the drugs,’ said Lars. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s saying.’
‘That’s not the problem,’ said Ben. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing.’
Masha lowered her head and put her fingertips to the neckline of her dress.
‘We will all do push-ups now,’ she said. ‘Push-ups are the perfect functional integrated resistance exercise. It’s the only exercise that works every single muscle in your body. Twenty push-ups! Now!’
No-one moved.
‘Why do you ignore me?’ Masha jabbed a finger at the screen. ‘Push-ups! Now! Or I will be forced to take action!’
What action could she possibly take? But they didn’t wait to find out. They dropped to the floor like soldiers.
Heather tried to lift and lower her tired, hungry body in a parallel line as Masha counted out loud, ‘One, two, three! Drop those hips! No Harbour Bridges!’
Was she still in her hallucinogenic state, where she seemingly believed they all worked for her? Did she plan to kill them all? Heather felt a sudden wild panic. She’d brought her daughter to this place. Zoe’s life could rest in the hands of this mad, drug-affected woman.
She looked around her. Frances did girl push-ups on her knees. Jessica cried as she, too, gave up and went from her toes to her knees. Tony, the former athlete, dripped sweat as he did perfect form push-ups at twice the speed of almost everyone else, in spite of having just popped his shoulder. Heather noted that her own darling husband kept pace.
‘Eighteen, nineteen, twenty! Relax! Excellent!’
Heather collapsed onto her stomach and looked up. Masha had pressed her face so close to the screen that all they could see was a magnified image of her nose, mouth and chin.
‘I’m just wondering,’ said the disembodied mouth. ‘Can you smell it yet?’
It was Napoleon who answered in the calm, gentle voice he would use for a toddler. ‘Smell what, Masha?’
‘The smoke.’
chapter sixty-eight
Tony
The screen turned to static but Masha’s voice continued to ring through the room.
‘Deep transformation is possible but you must detach from your beliefs and assumptions!’
‘I can smell smoke,’ said Zoe, her face white.
‘That’s right, Zoe, you can smell smoke, for this house, my house, is burning to the ground as we speak,’ said Masha. ‘Possessions mean nothing! Will you rise from the ashes? Remember, Buddha says, “No-one saves us but ourselves”!’
‘Look,’ whispered Frances.
Wisps of black smoke drifted sinuously beneath the locked heavy oak door.
‘Let us out!’ Jessica screamed so loudly her voice turned hoarse. ‘Can you hear me, Masha? You let us out right now!’
The screen turned black.
Masha’s absence was now as terrifying as her presence had been.
‘We need to block that doorway,’ said Tony, but Heather and Napoleon were way ahead of him, returning from the bathrooms carrying dripping wet towels that they were rolling into tight cylinders, as if this was their job, as if they’d been expecting exactly this situation.
As they got to the door the volume of smoke increased suddenly and frighteningly, pouring into the room like water. People began to cough. Tony’s chest tightened.
‘Everybody get back!’ shouted Napoleon, as he and Heather shoved the rolled-up towels between the door and the floor, forming a tight seal.
The low level of claustrophobia Tony had been experiencing ever since they first discovered the locked door threatened to turn into full-blown panic. He felt his breathing become ragged. Oh God, he was going to lose it in front of all these people. He had no job to do. He couldn’t even put the towels at the door because Heather and Napoleon were already doing it. He couldn’t help. He couldn’t kick down that door because it opened inwards. He couldn’t fight anyone. He couldn’t do a damned thing.
He coughed so violently his eyes filled with tears.
Frances grabbed his hand and pulled. ‘Get away from the door.’
He let her pull him back. She didn’t let go of his hand. He didn’t let go of hers.
Everyone huddled at the point in the room furthest away from the door.
Napoleon and Heather came and stood with them, their eyes already bloodshot from smoke. Napoleon pulled Zoe close to him and she buried her face in his shirt. ‘The door didn’t feel hot,’ he said. ‘That’s a good sign.’