Frances
It was nearly 3 pm as Frances made her way, with some eagerness, downstairs to the meditation studio for the breaking of the silence. She hadn’t eaten anything solid since the night before and she was very hungry. When the breakfast and midday bells had rung today, Frances had gone to the dining room to find a row of smoothies set out on the sideboard, labelled by name. Frances had found hers, and tried to drink it slowly and mindfully, but it was gone before she knew it, and her stomach had begun to rumble, loudly and embarrassingly.
She was not really starving, but she was yearning; not so much for food, but for the ritual of food. Maybe if she’d been at home, running around doing errands, it would be easy to skip a few meals (not that she ever did, she’d always had difficulty comprehending the phrase ‘I forgot to eat lunch’), but here, especially during the silence, meals were crucial to break up the day.
She’d tried to distract herself by reading in the hammock but her book had taken an outlandish turn which she couldn’t handle on an empty stomach.
Her spirits lifted when she walked into the studio. The lights had been turned off and the room was illuminated by clusters of flickering candles. It was cool down here, some sort of essential oil burner was pumping out a heady mist, and spine-tingling music was being piped through invisible speakers.
Frances always appreciated a little effort when it came to ambience. She noted low camp-like beds had been set out around the sides of the room, with blankets and pillows. Headphones and eye masks were laid out on the pillows, with water bottles alongside, like business-class seats thoughtfully arranged for a long-haul flight.
Masha, Yao and Delilah sat cross-legged in the middle of the room, along with the three members of the Marconi family and the tall, dark and handsome man.
‘Welcome, please join the circle,’ Masha said as more people filed into the room behind Frances.
Masha wore a long, white, sleeveless satin and lace dress somewhere between a wedding dress and a nightgown. She’d made up her eyes so that they were even more prominent. Yao and Delilah, extremely attractive young people, looked almost ordinary and washed-out next to this celestial being.
Within a few moments, everyone was there. Frances was seated with Heather on one side, and young Ben on the other. She wondered how Ben was feeling. Probably missing his car. She studied his tanned, hairy leg in the candlelight – not in a sexual way, thank the Lord, just in a kind of fascinated way, because all this silent mindful meditating over the last few days made everything fascinating. Each individual hair on Ben’s leg was like a tiny tree in a dear little forest –
Ben cleared his throat and shifted his leg. Frances straightened and met the eyes of the tall, dark and handsome man seated on the opposite side of the circle. He sat straight-backed and solemn, yet somehow in a manner that conveyed he wasn’t taking any of this too seriously. She automatically went to look away but he held her gaze and winked. Frances winked back and he looked startled. She was a terrible winker; she found it hard to close only one eye and had been told that her attempt looked like an extraordinary facial spasm.
‘And so we come to the end of our noble silence,’ said Masha. She grinned and punched the air. ‘We did it!’
Nobody said a word, but there was a gentle murmur of sound: exhalations, the shifting of bodies and half-chuckles of acknowledgement.
‘I’d like us to now slowly reintroduce conversation and eye contact,’ said Masha. ‘We shall each take a turn to introduce ourselves and speak for just a few moments about whatever comes to mind: perhaps why you chose to come to Tranquillum House, what you’re enjoying most about your experience so far and what you’ve found most challenging. Are you dying for a cappuccino or glass of sauvignon blanc? I get it! Share your pain with the group! Are you missing a loved one? Tell us about that! Or maybe you’d just prefer to deliver straight-up facts: your age, your occupation, your hobbies, your star sign.’
Masha smiled her extraordinary smile and everyone smiled back.
‘Or recite a line of poetry, if you like,’ she continued. ‘It doesn’t matter what you say. Simply enjoy the experience of speaking, connecting, and making eye contact with your fellow guests.’
People cleared their throats, adjusted their posture and stroked their hair in preparation for public speaking.
‘While we get to know each other, Yao and Delilah will distribute your afternoon smoothies,’ said Masha.
Such was Masha’s charismatic charm that Frances hadn’t even noticed Yao and Delilah stand up. Now they began to glide about the room distributing tall glasses. This afternoon’s smoothies were all the same emerald-green colour. Spinach? thought Frances with alarm, but when she took hers and had a sip she tasted apple, honeydew melon and pear, with undertones of moss and bark. It brought to mind a walk by a babbling brook in a dappled green forest. She tossed it back like tequila.
‘Why don’t you go first, Frances?’ said Masha.
‘Oh. Okay. Well, I’m Frances. Hi.’ She put down her empty glass, dipped her head and licked her teeth for lipstick. She realised she was automatically adopting her professional public-speaking persona: warm, humble, gracious, but a little stand-offish in order to repel any huggers in the signing line.
‘I came to Tranquillum House because I was kind of in a bad way: my health, my personal life, my career.’ She allowed her gaze to travel the circle. It felt strangely intimate, looking everyone in the eye again. ‘I write romance books for a living and my last one got rejected. I also got badly burned in an internet romance scam. So.’
Why was she telling them all about the scam? Blab, blab, blab.
Tony looked steadily back at her. He had more stubble than before, and his face seemed more defined. Men always lost weight so easily, the fuckers. She faltered a little. Was he sneering again? Or was he just . . . looking at her?
‘So the first five days have been good!’ All at once she was desperate to talk. She didn’t care if she gave them ‘too much information’. The words spilled from her mouth. It was like that greedy feeling of sitting down to an excellent meal when you were very hungry and after the first mouthful you were suddenly shovelling food into your mouth like a machine.
‘I enjoyed the silence more than I thought I would, it did seem to calm my thoughts. In addition to being rejected I was very upset about this really very nasty review, I was thinking about it obsessively in the beginning, but I’m not even thinking about it at all now, so that’s good, and, well, I miss coffee and champagne and the internet and . . .’ Shut up, Frances. ‘And, you know, all the normal luxuries of normal life.’
She sat back, her face warm.
‘I’ll go next,’ said the tall, dark and handsome man. ‘I’m Lars. I’m a health-retreat junkie. I indulge and atone, indulge and atone. It works for me.’
Frances looked at his chiselled cheekbones and golden-toned skin. It certainly does work for you, lovely Lars.
‘I’m a family lawyer, so I need to drink a lot of wine after work.’ He paused as if to allow time for his audience to laugh, but no-one did.
‘I always do a retreat in January because February is my busiest time of year. The phone starts ringing the day the new school year starts. You know, Mum and Dad realise they can’t spend another summer together.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Napoleon sombrely.
‘As for Tranquillum House, I love the food, love the location and I’m doing fine. I don’t miss anything much except for my Netflix account.’ He lifted his smoothie glass as if it were a cocktail and toasted the room.
Flustered Glasses lady spoke up next, although she was noticeably less flustered than she had been the first day.
‘I’m Carmel. I’m here to lose weight. Obviously.’
Frances sighed. What did she mean, obviously? Carmel was thinner than her.
‘I love everything about this place,’ said Carmel. ‘Everything.’ She looked at Masha with a degree of intensity that was unsettling. She lifted her smoothie glass and drank deeply.
Jessica spoke up next, eagerly, as if she couldn’t wait for her turn. ‘So, my name is Jessica.’
She sat cross-legged, her hands placed on her knees like a kid in a school photo, and Frances could see the cute little girl she had been not all that long ago, before she succumbed to the temptation of all those cosmetic procedures.
‘We came here because we’ve been having really very serious troubles with our marriage.’
‘We don’t need to tell everyone that,’ muttered Ben into his chest.
‘No but, babe, you know what? You were right when you said I’m too obsessed with appearances.’ She turned to look at him intently. ‘You were right, babe!’ Her voice skidded up to an uncomfortably high pitch.
‘Yeah, but . . . Okay, Jesus.’ Ben subsided. Frances could see the back of his neck turning red.
‘We were heading for a divorce,’ continued Jessica, with touching earnestness, as if the word ‘divorce’ would be shocking to all.
‘I can give you my card,’ said Lars.
Jessica ignored him. ‘This noble silence has been really good for me, really great, really clarifying.’ She turned to Masha. ‘It’s, like, I had so much noise in my head before I came here. I was, like, obsessed with social media, I admit it. I just had this constant chitchat going on.’ She opened and closed her hand next to her ear to demonstrate. ‘And now I see everything more clearly. It all started with the money. We won the lottery, you see, and everything changed and it really fucked us up.’
‘You won the lottery?’ said Carmel. ‘I’ve never known anybody who won the lottery.’
‘We were actually going to keep that kind of . . . shush shush,’ said Jessica. She pressed her fingertip to her lips. ‘But we changed our mind.’
‘Did we?’ said Ben.
‘How much did you win?’ asked Lars, and then he immediately held up his palm. ‘Inappropriate! Don’t answer that! None of my business.’
‘How did you find out you’d won?’ asked Frances. ‘Tell us the story.’ She wanted the story of the moment their lives changed forever.
‘I’m so glad to hear that the silence has given you clarity, Jessica,’ Masha interrupted before the conversation could take a turn towards this exit. She had a remarkable ability to ignore what didn’t interest her. ‘Who else?’
Ben spoke up. ‘Yeah. I’m Ben. Jessica’s husband. Jessica covered why we’re here. I’m fine. The silence has been fine. The food is better than I expected. I’m not sure what we’re achieving, but it’s all good. I guess I miss my new car.’
‘What sort of car, mate?’ asked Tony.
‘Lamborghini,’ said Ben, tender-eyed, as if he’d been asked the name of his newborn son.
Tony smiled. It was the first time Frances had seen him smile and it was the most unexpected, apple-cheeked smile. It entirely transformed his face. It was like a baby’s smile. His eyes disappeared into a mass of wrinkles. ‘No wonder you miss it,’ he said.
‘If I won the lottery I always thought I’d get a Bugatti,’ mused Lars.
Ben shook his head. ‘Overrated.’
‘Overrated he says! The most stunning car in the world is overrated!’
‘If I ever won the lottery I’d get a cute little red Ferrari,’ offered Zoe.
‘Yeah, well the Ferrari is –’
Masha cut off the sports car conversation. ‘Who haven’t we heard from yet? Tony?’
‘You all know me as the desperado who tried to bring in the contraband,’ said Tony. He smiled again. ‘Here for weight loss. I miss beer, pizza, ribs with plum sauce, wedges with sour cream, family-sized chocolate bars – you get the picture.’ His initial enthusiasm waned and he lowered his eyes, clearly keen for everyone to stop looking at him.
‘Thank you,’ he said formally, to the floor.
Frances didn’t believe him. There was more to his decision to come here than just weight loss.
Napoleon raised his hand.
‘Go ahead, Napoleon,’ said Masha.
He lifted his chin and recited. ‘It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.’ His eyes gleamed in the shadows from the candlelight. ‘That’s, ah, from Nelson Mandela’s favourite poem, “Invictus”.’ He looked uncertain for a moment. ‘You said we could recite poetry.’
‘Absolutely I did,’ said Masha warmly. ‘I love the sentiment.’
‘Yes, well, it just came into my head. I’m a high-school teacher. The kids like to hear that they are masters of their own fates, although . . .’ He laughed a strange sort of a laugh. Heather, who sat next to him, placed a gentle hand over his jiggling kneecap. He didn’t seem to notice it. ‘Tomorrow is the third anniversary of our son’s death. That’s why we’re here. He took his own life, so that’s how my kid chose to be master of his own fate.’
The room became very still, as if, for just a moment, they all held their breath. The tiny gold flames on the candles trembled.
Frances compressed her lips so no words would escape. She felt as if all feelings were too big and unwieldy for her body, as if she might burst into tears or burst out laughing, as if she might say something overly sentimental or intimate. It was like she’d drunk too much in an inappropriate setting, a business meeting with publishing executives.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Napoleon,’ said Masha and she reached out her hand as if she wanted to touch Napoleon, but he was too far away. ‘So very sorry.’
‘Why thank you, Masha,’ said Napoleon chattily.
If Frances didn’t know better she would have thought he was drunk. Had he got stuck into Zoe’s smuggled wine? Was he having a nervous breakdown? Or was this just a natural response to the breaking of the silence?
Zoe looked at her father, her forehead creased like that of an elderly woman, and Frances tried to imagine the missing boy who should have been sitting next to her. Oh, Zoe, thought Frances. She had suspected it might have been suicide when Zoe didn’t say how he died. Her friend Lily, who used to write beautiful historical romances, had lost her husband ten years ago and all she had told people was that ‘Neil died unexpectedly’ and everyone understood what that meant. Lily hadn’t written since.
‘Who else would like –’
But Napoleon interrupted Masha. ‘Got it!’ he cried. ‘I know who you are!’ he said to Tony. ‘It’s been driving me mad. Heather, darling, do you see who it is?’ Napoleon turned to his wife.
Heather looked up from the empty smoothie glass she’d been studying. ‘No.’
‘I know who he is,’ said Lars proudly. ‘I worked it out on the very first day.’
Frances looked at Tony, who was looking awkwardly down at his glass with an expression of discomfort, but not confusion, as if he knew what they were all talking about. Who was he? A famous serial killer?
‘Heather!’ cried Napoleon. ‘You know him! I promise you know him!’
‘From . . . school? Work?’ Heather shook her head. ‘I don’t . . .’
‘I’ll give you a clue.’ Napoleon chanted, ‘We are the Navy Blues!’
Heather studied Tony. Her face cleared. ‘Smiley Hogburn!’
Napoleon pointed at Heather as if she’d correctly guessed his charade. ‘Exactly! It’s Smiley Hogburn!’ Then he seemed to doubt himself. ‘Aren’t you?’
Tony looked strained. ‘Years ago I was,’ he said. ‘Thirty kilos ago.’
‘But Smiley Hogburn played for Carlton,’ said Jessica. ‘I’m a Carlton supporter! Aren’t you, like, a total legend?’ She said it like there must have been a mix-up.
‘It was probably before you were born,’ said Tony.
‘Carlton is a football team, right?’ whispered Frances to Ben. She was very ignorant of anything to do with sport; a friend once told her it was like she’d lived her whole life in a bunker.
‘Yep,’ said Ben. ‘Aussie Rules.’
‘That’s the jumping one?’
Ben chortled. ‘They do jump, yeah.’
Smiley Hogburn, thought Frances. There was something blurrily familiar about that name. She felt her perception of Tony shift. He was a man who used to be someone, like Frances used to be someone. They had that in common. Although Frances’s career was slowly fading away, whereas presumably Tony’s had ended officially, probably with an injury of some sort – all that jumping! – and he was no longer leaping about the football field.
‘I knew you were Smiley Hogburn!’ said Lars again. He seemed to be looking for some sort of recognition that he wasn’t getting. ‘I’m not normally good with faces but I worked out who you were straight away.’
‘Did you have to finish up playing because of a sporting injury?’ asked Frances. She felt that was quite a knowledgeable, empathetic question to ask a sportsperson. It was probably something to do with ligaments.
Tony looked mildly amused. ‘I had multiple injuries.’
‘Oh,’ said Frances. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Two knee reconstructions, hip replacement . . .’ Tony seemed to be doing a sad assessment of his body. He sighed. ‘Chronic ankle issues.’
‘Were you called Smiley Hogburn because you did smile a lot, or because you didn’t?’ asked Zoe.
‘Because I did smile a lot,’ said Tony, unsmilingly. ‘I was kind of a simple guy back then. Happy-go-lucky.’
‘Were you?’ said Frances, unable to hide her surprise.
‘I was,’ said Tony. He smiled at her. He seemed to find her funny.
‘Weren’t you the one with the smiley face tattoos on your butt?’ said Lars.
‘I’ve seen them!’ cried Frances before she could help herself.
‘Have you now?’ said Lars suggestively.
‘Frances,’ said Tony, and he put a finger to his lips as if they had something to hide. Wait! Was he flirting with her?
‘Oh no, not in that way,’ said Frances. She looked nervously at Masha. ‘I saw them accidentally.’
‘My brother used to have your poster in his bedroom!’ It was Delilah, breaking ranks and speaking like a human being. ‘The one where you’re jumping six feet in the air and the other player is pulling down your shorts and you can see your tattoos! Hilarious!’
‘Fancy that. We have a famous athlete in our midst.’ There was an edge to Masha’s voice. Maybe she wanted to be the only athlete in their midst.
‘Former athlete,’ Tony corrected her. ‘It was a long time ago.’
‘So . . . who haven’t we heard from yet?’ said Masha, clearly keen to change the subject.
‘Post-sport depression,’ said Napoleon. ‘Is that what you’ve got? I’ve read about it. It affects a lot of elite sportspeople. You’ve got to focus on your mental health, Tony . . . Smiley . . . Tony – I hope you don’t mind if I call you Smiley – you really do, because depression is an insidious –’
‘Who’s next?’ interrupted Masha.
‘I’ll go next,’ said Zoe. ‘I’m Zoe.’
She seemed to gather her thoughts. Or was she nervous? Oh, sweetheart.
‘As Dad already said, we decided to come to Tranquillum House because we can’t stand to be at home in January, because that’s where my brother hung himself.’
Masha made a strange startled sound and pressed her hand to her mouth. It was the first time Frances had observed Masha show any sign of weakness. Even when she spoke about her father, for whom she clearly grieved, she’d still been controlled.
Frances watched Masha swallow convulsively for a few seconds, as if she were choking, but then she regained her composure and carried on listening to Zoe, although her eyes looked a little watery, as if she really had just choked on something.
Zoe looked at the ceiling. The circle of people seemed to tilt towards her with the weight of their useless sympathy.
‘Oh wait, Dad probably didn’t say that Zach hung himself, but if you were wondering, like, what was his method of choice, that was it! It’s popular.’
She smiled and rocked in tiny circles. The silver studs along her ears gleamed.
‘One of his friends said that was so “brave” of Zach – to choose that way to kill himself. Instead of pills. Like he’d been bungee jumping. God!’ She blew out a puff of air and her hair lifted from her forehead.
‘Anyway, once we became, like, total experts on suicide, we stopped telling people how he did it. Because of suicide contagion. Suicide is really contagious. My parents were terrified I’d catch it too. Like chicken pox. Ha ha. I never caught it though.’
‘Zoe?’ said Napoleon. ‘Darling, maybe that’s enough.’
‘We weren’t close,’ said Zoe to the group. She looked at her hands and said it again. ‘Like, sometimes people think because we were twins we were really close, but we went to different schools. We had different interests. Different values.’
‘Zoe,’ said her mother. ‘Maybe now is not the –’
‘He got up really early that morning.’ Zoe ignored her mother. She fiddled with one of the many earrings in her earlobe. Her empty smoothie glass lay on its side against her thigh. ‘He hardly ever got up early. He took out the recycling bin, because it was his turn, and then he went back upstairs and killed himself.’ She sighed, as if she were bored. ‘We took it in turns to take out the bins. I don’t know if he was making some kind of point by doing that. It really pissed me off. Like, thanks so much for that, Zach, good on you, that makes up for you killing yourself.’
‘Zoe?’ said Heather sharply.
Zoe turned in her mother’s direction, but very slowly, as if she had a stiff back. ‘What?’
Heather took the smoothie glass and placed it upright on the floor, out of the way. She leaned towards her daughter and brushed a lock of hair out of Zoe’s eyes.
‘Something is not quite . . .’ Heather’s gaze travelled around the circle of people. ‘Not quite right.’
She turned to Masha. She said, ‘Have you been medicating us?’