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?’
chapter thirty
Masha
Focus. Only. On your breathing. Focus. Only. On your breathing.
Masha was fine, perfectly fine, she was under control. For a moment there, when Zoe said what she said, Masha had very nearly lost her focus completely; time slipped. But now she was back, her breathing steady, she was in control.
This information about the brother should have come out in her one-on-one counselling sessions with the Marconi family. They had all freely said they were here for the anniversary of his death, but none had mentioned he took his own life. Masha should have seen through their evasive behaviour. It was not like her to miss this. She was extremely perceptive. They had deliberately misled her and as a result she had been unprepared. She had felt blindsided.
And now this question from Heather: ‘Have you been medicating us?’
Before Heather spoke, Masha had been observing the group, watching their mannerisms become freer, their pupils dilate and tongues loosen. They were clearly losing their inhibitions, speaking fluidly, with refreshing honesty. Some, like Napoleon, fidgeted, whereas others, like Frances, were very still. Some were flushed, others pale.
Right now, Heather was both: pasty white with hectic spots of colour on her cheeks.
‘Have you?’ she demanded. ‘Have you been medicating us?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Masha calmly.
Heather’s question was not ideal and not anticipated, although perhaps it should have been, because Heather was a midwife, the only one of the guests, as far as Masha knew, with any medical expertise. But Masha would handle this.
‘What do you mean, “in a manner of speaking”?’
Masha did not like Heather’s tone. Snappy. Disrespectful.
‘Well, medicating implies . . .’ Masha searched for the right words. ‘A dulling of the senses. What we’re doing here is heightening the senses.’
‘You need to tell us exactly what you’ve been giving us! Right now!’ Heather moved up onto her knees, as if she were ready to leap to her feet. Masha was reminded of a ferocious little dog. One she’d quite like to kick.
‘Hang on, what’s going on here?’ said Napoleon to Heather.
Masha flashed a look at Yao and Delilah: Be ready if needed. They gave her barely perceptible nods, both gripping the discreet medical pouches they had clipped around their waists.
This was not how it was supposed to go.
chapter thirty-one
Lars
In his long history of health resorts Lars had experienced some bizarre and unusual practices, but this was a first. It was ironic because one of the side benefits of coming here was to cut down on his recreational drug use.
‘It’s called micro-dosing and it’s perfectly safe,’ said their esteemed leader, who, as always, sat cross-legged and straight-backed, her incredible long white legs so entwined that sometimes Lars got distracted trying to work out where each leg started and ended.
‘There are multiple benefits: higher levels of creativity, increased focus, heightened spiritual awareness, improved relationships – I could go on and on. Basically, you function just a little better than a normal person. The doses are about a tenth of a normal dose of LSD.’
‘Wait . . . what?’ asked Frances. She laughed uncertainly, as if she’d heard a joke she didn’t quite get. Lars liked her already. ‘Sorry. You’re not saying that we’ve been taking LSD?’
Lars saw most of his fellow guests were staring at Masha with dull incomprehension. This was surely too conservative a crowd to cope with a revelation about drugs, even taking into account the popularity of cocaine in the suburbs. Lars himself dabbled with coke, ecstasy and pot, but never LSD.
‘As I said, it’s called micro-dosing,’ said Masha.