The Lazarus Hotel by Jo Bannister

five men by turns.
    â€˜Is anything missing?’
    The thick black hair danced as Sheelagh shook her head. ‘No. But I know how I left them and they’ve been moved. And it’s not the first time.’ She told of the nightdress she put under her pillow not once but twice. ‘Jesus, I knew there were going to be some weirdos here, but I didn’t expect them to be sick !’
    Tariq circled the company with his gaze, his face passive. ‘I wasn’t going to mention this, but my belongings have been disturbed too. I doubt anyone was interested in my underwear but my briefcase was opened. God knows why, there’s nothing of interest in it except to me and a few clients. Nothing valuable, nothing sensitive – must have been quite a disappointment. If somebody wants to say what they were looking for I’ll be happy to help.’
    The silence could have been cut with something much blunter than a knife. Richard felt a change in the air like a pressure wave crossing the room as people who had come here tense and had then begun to relax, to enjoy one another’s company and start getting something out of the experience, were suddenly reminded how far from home, mentally and emotionally, they had strayed. They snapped back into themselves like overstretched elastic, suddenly wary of opening their hearts and souls to strangers whose motives they could not know and whose reliability they had no way of judging. Whoever rifled Sheelagh’s clothes and Tariq’s papers left them all feeling tampered with.
    â€˜All right,’ said Miriam with ominous calm, ‘who’s playing silly buggers? Poking through each other’s personal property is an intrusion.’ The silence persisting, she looked at Tariq again. ‘When did you notice your briefcase had been opened?’
    â€˜Five minutes ago. I went for a pen.’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t say anything because I thought it was you.’
    â€˜Me?’ The psychologist’s eyebrows disappeared into her pudding-basin fringe.
    â€˜That’s how fortune-tellers do it: they have someone palm your wallet, then impress the hell out of you by knowing your bank account’s overdrawn and your mum’s on holiday in Bognor.’
    Miriam didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Is that what you think? That what I do is some kind of conjuring trick?’
    â€˜Excuse me,’ Sheelagh interrupted acidly, ‘but can we stick to the point? Somebody’s way out of line, and I want to know who and I want it stopped.’
    â€˜Yes, of course,’ agreed Miriam contritely. ‘For the record, it wasn’t me. There’s nothing I can learn from your underwear or his papers that’s half as useful as talking to you. That means, I’m afraid, that it was one of you.’
    It was interesting, she thought then, to see where each of them instinctively looked: Richard at Will, Will at Larry, Joe at her Tariq and Sheelagh at one another. Tessa was carefully looking nowhere, back in her safe neutrality.
    Richard voiced what most of them were thinking. ‘Why? We’re strangers – what motive could we have to spy on each other?’
    Miriam cleared her throat. ‘Let’s be charitable and suppose it was a joke. But it wasn’t funny, and if it happens again there’ll be trouble. Everyone here is out on an emotional limb. It takes courage to do this: to parade your problems in front of strangers. It’s difficult, it’s embarrassing, but it’s worth it for the support you can give one another. If somebody’s going to undermine that they’d better hope I never find out who.’
    She had another exercise for them. ‘Who was your best friend at school?’
    â€˜A fat boy called Charles,’ remembered Will. ‘He was no good at games either.’
    â€˜My best friend was called Cathy,’ said Sheelagh. ‘We were both terrific at