The only thing is, it’s a bit awkward having Jeff in the kitchen at breakfast. He just sits there at the side of the room and looks unsmilingly at everyone, and mutters things into his headset. But we’ll have to get used to it, now we’re a celebrity family.

There’s still no word from Dad, beyond a text he sent Mum late yesterday, saying:

Landed fine in LA. Have some things to take care of.

Remember to water the roses. Graham xxx

Remember to water the roses. I mean, honestly. Mum nearly had a fit. I’ve already spoken to her today on the phone, and I’ve got lots of messages to pass on to Dad, should I see him. (Most would result in instant divorce, so I think I might forget about those.) I just hope he’s OK. I mean, I know he’s a grown man, but I can’t help worrying. What ‘things’ is he taking care of? Why hasn’t he told Mum? What’s the big secret?

I pour myself some coffee, and offer the coffee pot to Tarquin, but he doesn’t notice. He’s munching a piece of toast and listening to his iPod, which is his new thing. He says he has to start the day with an hour of guided meditation, and it drives Suze mad.

‘Tarkie!’ She pokes him. ‘I said, I might meet my agent this afternoon. Can you pick the children up?’

Tarkie gives her a blank look and takes another bite of toast. He looks so different these days. He’s tanned, and his hair is cropped really close to his head (Suze hates that too) and he’s wearing a soft grey T-shirt with a logo of the sun on it. I’ve seen them in the gift shop at Golden Peace. There’s a special course called Turn to the Sun, and lots of merchandise to go with it, only I don’t know what it’s all about, because I never did it.

It has to be said, I’m just a tad less into Golden Peace than I was. I think I’ve grown out of it. It’s a natural process: you gain everything you can from a place and then you move on. I mean, I’m totally cured of shopping now, so what’s the point of going back? (Plus the gift shop is online, so if I need anything from it I can just log on.)

‘Tarkie!’ Suze rips an earbud out of Tarkie’s ear, and he flinches in irritation.

‘Suze, I need to concentrate,’ he says, and pushes his chair back with a scraping sound.

‘You don’t! What does that thing say anyway? “Stop listening to your wife”? “Stop engaging with the real world”?’

Tarkie glares at her. ‘It’s a tailor-made meditation recorded by Bryce. He says my psyche is battered by the world and I need to retreat.’

‘I’ll batter him,’ mutters Suze.

‘Why are you so negative?’ Tarkie clutches his head. ‘Suze, you’re toxic. Finally I’m getting my head together and you have to … to … to sabotage me.’