She edges away from him, to break the tension, then shifts the conversation to the reason she signed up for the retreat. ‘I wanted to talk to you about the advice you gave me. I talked to my mum, as you suggested, but it really didn’t—’

‘Tom. Jenna. Everything okay?’ Kate strolls towards them, her dark hair twisted into a messy bun at the nape of her neck, a notebook clutched in her right hand. She doesn’t wait for a reply. ‘Tom, we need to go over the itinerary again. I’m not sure whether the timings of the activities on day two quite work with—’

‘We were talking,’ Jenna says, irritated by the interruption.

Kate places a territorial hand on Tom’s arm. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that during the week. You have a one-to-one scheduled for …’ She opens her notebook and runs a red fingernail down the page. ‘For Wednesday.’ She smiles brightly. ‘We have lots of wonderful things planned between now and then. It’s going to be a transformative experience, Jenna. Okay, Tom?’ She pulls on his arm. ‘Shall we?’

He turns back to Jenna and leans in, his breath warm in her ear. ‘When we get to the hotel meet me at the entrance at seven o’clock, wear a swimsuit under your clothes and bring a dressing gown.’

Before she can reply he’s gone, marched back to his seat by Kate. Sighing, she makes her way back down the aisle, forcing herself not to glance at Tom as she passes his row. She’s two rows away from her seat when she stops abruptly. Someone just touched her on the leg.

‘You okay, Jenna?’ A man around her age with black hair, shaved around the sides with the top pulled back into a walnut sized bun on the back of his head, smiles up at her. On the tray in front of him is an open can of beer and several empties.

‘Fine.’ She smiles apprehensively. She only met a handful of people during the one day seminar in London and she’s forgotten almost all of the names of the people she shook hands with in the airport. Kate had collected the group into a corner of the departure lounge and suggested they introduce themselves to each other.

‘Damian.’

She shakes his hand and is about to tell him her name when she realises he’s already said it.

‘Flight okay?’ he asks, and she catches a slight slur to his soft Scottish burr. ‘Who are you sitting next to?’

‘Erica.’

He frowns, not recognising the name.

‘Blonde, beautiful, thin,’ she prompts.

Damian shrugs, unperturbed. ‘Do you think she’d swap?’

Jenna laughs. ‘I doubt it. I’m her emotional support person. I had to hold her hand on take-off.’