‘Of course not!’ the woman replied, flicking her bottom-length plait over her shoulder. ‘That would be far too restrictive. I eat seeds and all types of nut.’

‘Well, seeds are in fruit, so…’ Yasmin said.

‘Did you know that tomatoes are a fruit?’ Jaxx asked.

‘Yes, I eat tomatoes.’

‘So.’ His eyes gleamed like a tiger moving in on its prey. ‘How about a tomato substitute? Cheaper, healthier, better for the environment… contains virtually no meat or fish products.’

The woman reeled back in disgust. ‘No. Definitely not.’

‘It’s ninety-one per cent natural.’ Jaxx sounded like someone tempting a baby to eat their mushed carrot.

‘Welcome to the group,’ Trev interjected. ‘This is Yasmin, Jaxx, Ollie and I’m Trev. Do have a seat.’

‘Thank you but I brought my own. I’m plastic-free.’ The woman unhooked from her rucksack a tiny folding stool, constructed of wood and rough material that I suspected she’d woven herself. Mum would have choked on her coffee at the terrible craftsmanship, but I supposed it was aiming for function over form.

‘Oh, and I’m Kate.’

‘Really?’ Jaxx looked disappointed. I think he’d been expecting a name like Aurora or Rainbow.

Kate peered at him. ‘Have we met before?’

Jaxx squinted back. ‘Are you Tyler’s mum?’

‘Jack Watson?’

Jack turned a startling shade of scarlet. ‘It’s Jaxx, now.’

‘Why?’

‘Um… well… it’s branding, innit…’

‘Tyler just graduated from Bristol University with a second-class honours degree in engineering. He has an internship lined up with Siemens.’

‘Only a second?’ Jaxx asked, his composure recovered.

‘Would you like to tell us about your business idea?’ I asked, moving things along.

‘I design and produce handcrafted, home-sourced, biodegradable fruitarian-friendly products.’

It was possibly a good thing that before anyone had a chance to respond, more potential Business Builders burst through the library door. For a second I think all of us had to check our eyes weren’t playing tricks on us, as three completely identical young men walked in perfect sync over to the table, as though striding onstage ready for a big number.

They were wearing white satin shorts (the emphasis here on short), bright blue running tops and matching blue socks pulled to mid-calf. Each of them had black hair, shaved at the sides and sticking straight up on top like a shoe brush. They also had a large blue tattoo of the letter K on their scrawny upper arms. Which didn’t strike me as problematic until they reached the table and stood sideways on in a tight line, so that their arms were nearly touching, tattoos facing out. I mean, perhaps young people weren’t as aware of the connotations of those letters together. But, well, in that case somebody needed to tell them…

‘Hiiii!’ they sang in unison.

Everyone offered a slightly perturbed welcome, and Trev fetched three cappuccinos with extra chocolate sprinkles, his eyes unable to stray from those arms.