‘I’m not sabotaging you!’ Suze yells. ‘Don’t you dare call me toxic! Who brought you to LA in the first place? Who said you needed a break? Me!’

Tarkie isn’t paying any attention to her, I realize. He’s focusing on a far corner of the kitchen, breathing deeply.

‘Tarkie?’ Suze waves a hand in front of his face. ‘Tar-quin.’

‘Bryce said this would happen,’ he says as though to himself. ‘People outside the method are afraid of it.’

‘What method?’ expostulates Suze.

‘You need to strip yourself bare to build yourself back up again,’ says Tarquin, as though the very fact of having to explain it pains him. ‘You need to strip away every level. Do you know how many levels we all have?’ He rounds on Suze. ‘Do you realize how much work I still have to do?’

‘You’ve done enough work,’ says Suze savagely.

‘No I haven’t! You’re obstructing me!’ He sweeps the whole kitchen with his gaze. ‘You’re all obstructing me!’ He shoves his earbud back in his ear, swivels on his heel and stalks out of the room.

I’m open-mouthed in astonishment. I’ve never seen Tarkie so antagonistic. He was practically snarling at Suze. I mean, in some ways it’s great, because for a long time I’ve felt he was too timid. On the other hand, Suze looks like she wants to murder him. No, correction: she now looks like she wants to murder me.

She turns on me. ‘This is all your fault.’

‘My fault?’

‘You introduced him to that place! You introduced him to Bryce! Now he’s calling me “toxic”! His own wife! He won’t talk to me, he won’t listen, he just moons around with that wretched iPod, God knows what it’s saying to him …’

‘It’s probably just saying really positive, helpful stuff,’ I say defensively. ‘I mean, I went to zillions of classes at Golden Peace and I’m fine.’

‘You’re not vulnerable like Tarkie!’ snaps Suze. ‘Honestly, Bex, I could kill you!’

Instantly Jeff is on his feet.

‘Are we having some trouble here?’ He advances on Suze, reaching for his holster thing. (It’s not a gun. It’s a baton.)

Suze stares at him in disbelief.

‘Are you threatening me? Bex, is this for real?’

‘Just checking we don’t have any trouble, ma’am,’ says Jeff implacably. ‘Rebecca, are you OK?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ I say, embarrassed. ‘It’s OK, Jeff.’

As he takes his seat again, Ernie, Clementine and Wilfie come running into the kitchen. They adore the new bodyguard team. They’ve been following Mitchell around the garden and now they come to a halt in front of Jeff. Ernest is leading the way and Clementine is hanging back a little, her thumb in her mouth.

‘Where’s your dog?’ says Wilfie to Jeff.

‘Jeff doesn’t have a dog,’ I explain.

‘Sarabande at school has got a bodyguard all the time,’ says Ernest importantly. ‘Her father’s a billionaire. Her bodyguard is called Tyrell and he can do magic tricks.’

‘Well,’ says Suze tightly. ‘Lucky Sarabande.’