Heather became quiet and withdrawn, her limbs floppy. She went to a corner of the room, put three yoga mats on top of each other, curled up on her side and fell asleep.
Lars sang. Endlessly. He had a deep, melodic voice, but he changed from song to song as if someone was turning a dial looking for a particular radio station.
Eventually Tony said abruptly, ‘Christ Almighty, put a sock in it, mate,’ and Lars looked startled, and stopped in the middle of ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’, as if he hadn’t realised he’d been singing for all that time.
Carmel made an irregular kwock sound by clicking her tongue and Frances challenged herself to see how long she could put up with it. She was up to thirty-two kwocks when Lars said, ‘How long do you intend to keep that up for?’
Some people exercised. Jessica and Zoe practised yoga poses together. Ben did an extraordinary number of push-ups, and finally stopped, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat.
‘You should conserve your energy,’ suggested Napoleon mildly. ‘While we’re fasting.’
Fasting didn’t feel like the right word to Frances. Fasting implied an element of choice.
Napoleon didn’t speak as much as Frances would have expected. She had thought from their first meeting that he was a talker, but he was quiet and contemplative, frowning at his watch and then glancing up at the camera on the ceiling with a quizzical look, as if to say, ‘Really?’
‘What if something has happened to them?’ said Frances eventually. ‘What if they’ve all been murdered or kidnapped or fallen ill?’
‘They’ve locked us in,’ said Lars. ‘So it seems like they planned this.’
‘Maybe they did plan it, but it was just meant to be for an hour or so,’ said Frances. ‘And then something terrible happened to them.’
‘If that’s the case, we’ll be found eventually,’ said Napoleon. ‘Our friends and families will notice when we don’t return from the retreat.’
‘So we could be here for another, what, four, five days?’ said Frances.
‘We’ll be so thin,’ said Carmel.
‘I might lose my mind,’ said Ben, and his voice sounded shaky, as if it were already happening.
‘At least we have running water,’ said Napoleon. ‘And bathrooms. It could be worse.’
‘It could be better,’ said Tony. ‘Room service would help.’
‘I love room service,’ said Frances.
‘Room service and a movie,’ sighed Tony.
They locked eyes and Frances looked away first because she was accidentally imagining herself in a hotel room with him. Those tattoos on his butt as he came out of the shower. That smile.
She gave herself a mental slap across the cheek, and thought of her dad sighing, ‘You were always so crazy about the boys.’ Fifty-two years old and still no sense. Just because they both liked room service didn’t mean they were compatible. What would they talk about while they ate their room service? Football?
‘We’ll offer them money,’ said Jessica suddenly. ‘To let us out! Everyone has a price, right?’
‘How much?’ said Ben. ‘A million? Two million?’
‘Steady on,’ said Lars.
‘They’re not going to let you out on a promise,’ said Tony, but Jessica had already walked to the middle of the room and was addressing the camera.
‘We’re prepared to pay a fee to get out of here, Masha!’ She jammed her fists into her waist. ‘Money is no issue for us. We’ve got no shortage of cash. Honestly, we’re happy to pay for . . . ah . . . an upgrade. We want to skip this part of the program, thanks, and we’re happy to pay a penalty.’ She looked around the room uncomfortably. ‘For everyone, that is. We’ll cover the cost for everyone to get out.’
Nothing happened.
‘I don’t think Masha is motivated by money,’ said Napoleon quietly.
Frances thought, What does motivate her?
She remembered her counselling session and the way Masha’s eyes had lit up when she spoke of how the VCR had once been a window into another world, but presumably movies no longer interested her. She had definitely wanted Frances to know that Australia needed her brains. Approval? Admiration? Was that it?