‘What’s tapping?’

‘Oh, it’s brilliant,’ I say enthusiastically. ‘You tap your face and chin and stuff, and you say mantras, and it frees your meridians and cures you.’

‘What?’ Suze stares at me.

‘It’s true!’

Tapping is almost my favourite class. Plus, I think it must be very good for toning the facial muscles, tapping your chin the whole time. I put my basket down and turn to demonstrate.

‘You tap your forehead and you say, “I know I have bought too much but I deeply and completely accept myself.” See?’ I beam at her. ‘Easy.’ I tap my chest for good measure, and the top of my head.

‘Bex …’ Suze seems perplexed.

‘What?’

‘Are you sure you’re doing it right?’

‘Of course I’m doing it right!’

The trouble with Suze is, she hasn’t had her mind opened, like I have. She hasn’t been exposed to the wealth of mind–spirit enhancement that’s out there.

‘You’ll learn the ways of Golden Peace after you’ve been here a bit,’ I say kindly. ‘Now, let’s try on T-shirts!’

GOLDEN PEACE GIFT STORE

Customer invoice

Ms Rebecca Brandon

Membership No: 1658

TEN

I would have thought Suze would be more impressed by Golden Peace. I think she’s got a mental block. She’s prejudiced, that’s what it is. She hasn’t signed up for a single class, and she didn’t even buy a T-shirt. All she keeps saying is, she thinks it’s all really expensive, and what’s the point?

The point? Hasn’t she noticed how transformed I am?

Luckily Tarkie is on my side. He thinks Golden Peace is great, and he’s really bonded with Bryce.

‘We both think exactly the same way about light pollution,’ he’s saying now. It’s breakfast time the next day, and we’re all gathered in the kitchen. ‘Light pollution is a modern evil, but politicians simply won’t listen.’

I can see Suze rolling her eyes, and give her a little smile. Tarkie is so obsessed about light pollution, he goes around Letherby Hall all the time, switching off lights, and Suze creeps after him, switching them back on.

‘Right!’ I approach the table triumphantly, holding a plate. ‘Here’s our healthy LA breakfast. It’s a steamed egg-white omelette, made with kale.’

There’s silence around the table. Everyone is looking at the plate in horror.

OK, I admit it doesn’t look exactly like an omelette. It’s kind of white and shapeless, and the kale has turned grey-green. But it’s healthy.

‘A steamed omelette?’ says Suze, at last.

‘I did it in the microwave, in a Ziploc bag,’ I explain. ‘It’s fat-free. Who’d like the first one?’

There’s another silence.

‘Ahm … It looks delicious, I must say.’ Tarquin plunges in. ‘But you don’t have any kippers, do you?’

‘No, I don’t have any kippers!’ I say, a bit rattled. ‘This isn’t Scotland, it’s LA, and everyone eats steamed omelettes.’

Luke finally looks up from the letter he’s been reading. ‘What’s that?’ he says in horror, then sees my face and adjusts his expression. ‘I mean … what’s that?’