‘Oh he’s great thank you – and our kids are just entering their twenties now. Scary, really, how quickly they grow! What about you Olive – husband, any kids?’

‘Um …’ I pause. ‘Yes! Yes, both.’ I do a big smile.

‘Oh how lovely! How old are they?’

‘I have a daughter, she’s two. She’s perfect,’ I say.

‘How lovely. So happy for you. The best thing ever, isn’t it? Being a mum. Take care. Safe onward travels.’

‘Bye Mrs Rudd … Rachael,’ I say flatly, with an attempt at a smile. I don’t feel in control of my words. Why did I lie? What was I saying? I know that was a weird thing to do, but I just couldn’t bear for my teacher to see me fifteen years after leaving school, with hardly any major changes in my life.

Feeling distinctly unsettled, I reach a gorgeous house at the end of the street. It’s painted white with ivy trailing the walls and windows; the blue dot on my Google map matches with the destination. I look up at the green door. Yes, this is it. Seal’s abode. I knock, and a woman with a thick grey plait over one shoulder quickly opens the curtains at the front window and peeks out to see who it is. Then I hear her undoing about four different metal bolts on the door before opening it.

‘Olive, is it?’ Seal asks, looking me up and down.

I look down at her scrawny bare feet painted intricately in henna patterns. ‘That’s me,’ I reply, stepping inside and wiping my shoes on her doormat.

‘Lovely to meet you, Olive. Please remove your shoes and come on through.’ I follow her down her carpeted hallway and into a small room opposite her living room. The appointment room has a huge bookshelf and in front of it is a portable massage table covered in towels.

‘The toilet is here, if you need it,’ she says, pointing to a box room further down the corridor.

‘I’m OK, thanks,’ I reply, nervously.

‘Now if you just lie down on the bed, under the top towel, I’ll be back in a moment,’ she says.

I lie on the table layered with navy towels that smell of lavender. Seal comes back in carrying some chamomile floral extract in a glass of water and asks me to drink it as it will relax me. I hope she isn’t drugging me. I look around the room: there are faux candles flickering, jars of multicoloured sand everywhere and a large twinkling chandelier over my head. Her bare scrawny feet are lightly tapping the wooden floor as she walks, her long plait swaying from side to side. She is wearing khaki harem pants and has a large pastel-pink flower in her hair. Yes, I think I like Seal. She has a very relaxing accent – a hint of Spanish, I think.

She tells me gently that she’s going to put on some calming music and suddenly Sade’s ‘Smooth Operator’ booms from the speakers above me and I jump out of my skin.