Jacqueline fished out her tea bag with the purple biro she always seemed to have about her person. ‘Even angel therapy?’

Tara couldn’t stop her eyes rolling. ‘Angel therapy’ was Anji’s latest offering, and proving depressingly/wonderfully popular. ‘Come on, Jacqueline. If there are such things as angels, don’t you think we should be encouraging them to sort out the Middle East? Or liaise with the crystals to eradicate flu viruses? Instead of wasting their time consoling someone from Yarrold whose cat’s gone missing?’

‘Tara!’

‘I’m sorry.’ She kicked herself; this wasn’t Emily sitting in front of her. Or Bryan. ‘I didn’t mean that to sound dismissive. My aim’s exactly the same as everyone else’s here – engaging clients in positive thought and helping them to create strategies for a happier life. Via whichever route works best for them.’

‘I’m not saying I agree or disagree with you, but you have to take a different stance when you’re representing everyone.’ Jacqueline looked over the edge of her mug. ‘It’s not just you; I’ve noticed there’s a bit of what we used to call playground division going on. Hence my new strategies to foster a bit more team spirit.’

Tara’s heart sank. They’d been here before. The last ‘team spirit’ challenge had involved the various therapists drawing each other in charcoal. Emily hadn’t spoken to Kemi, Anji or Kasia for six months, and a hurt Bryan had gone on a juice cleanse that had had unpleasant side effects for everyone.

‘Besides,’ Jacqueline added, ‘everyone benefits from having their belief systems challenged from time to time. You can get stuck in your own rut. This peppermint tea, for example – it’s made a real difference to my IBS.’

Tara noticed the jagged chunk of rose quartz dangling over Jacqueline’s bosom. She wondered which crystal was best for IBS. Apache tears? Wasn’t that about protecting voids?

‘So, anyway, have a think. I haven’t mentioned this to anyone else, and I’d be grateful if you could keep my stepping back between ourselves. There’ll be an announcement in the next fortnight or so.’ Jacqueline gave her a stagy wink. ‘But I wanted to give you the heads-up. Perhaps have a think about how you might, ah, jumble things up a bit.’

‘Of course,’ said Tara, but her mind was already doing sums.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tara hadn’t intended to join the official committee set-up in the aftermath of the flooding, but somehow the group WhatsApp of lead volunteers had morphed into a formal arrangement once money started flowing in from various sources, and here she was, at ten past six on a Wednesday night, back in the meeting room of Longhampton town hall with a cup of lukewarm tea and a council-branded notepad in front of her.