‘Invite her where? Here?’ Suze’s eyes widen. ‘Are you sure, Bex?’

‘If I write a letter, he’ll just ignore it. I need the two of them together. I’m going to stage an intervention,’ I say with a flourish.

We were talking about interventions at Golden Peace the other day, and I was the only one who hadn’t been in one. I felt quite left out.

Suze looks doubtful. ‘Aren’t they for drug addicts?’

‘And family disputes,’ I say authoritatively.

I don’t actually know if this is true. But I can always start my own kind of intervention, can’t I? I have a vision of myself, dressed in flowing white clothes, talking in a low melodious voice and bringing harmony to the fractured souls of Luke and Elinor.

Maybe I’ll buy some healing crystals for the occasion. And some scented candles, and a CD of soothing chants. I’ll come up with my own special cocktail of techniques, and I won’t let Luke or Elinor leave until they’ve achieved some sort of resolution.

‘Shouldn’t you get someone specially trained?’ Suze is still looking dubious. ‘I mean, what do you know about it?’

‘Loads,’ I say, a bit offended. ‘I’ve picked up a lot from Golden Peace, you know, Suze. I’ve done conflict resolution, and everything. “To understand everything is to forgive everything,”’ I can’t resist quoting. ‘Buddha.’

‘OK, if you’re such an expert, sort out this conflict.’ Suze points at Wilfie and Clemmie, who are fighting desperately over some tiny plastic animal.

‘Er … hey, Wilfie! Clemmie!’ I call out. ‘Who wants a sweetie?’

Both children instantly stop tussling and hold out their hands.

‘There!’ I say smugly.

‘Is that how you’re going to sort out Luke and Elinor?’ scoffs Suze. ‘Offer them sweeties?’

‘Of course not,’ I say with dignity. ‘I’ll use a variety of techniques.’

‘Well, I still think it’s risky.’ She shakes her head. ‘Very risky.’

‘“One cannot refuse to eat simply because there is a risk of being choked,”’ I say wisely. ‘Chinese proverb.’

‘Bex, stop talking like a bloody T-shirt!’ Suze suddenly flips out. ‘I hate this stupid Golden Peace place! Talk about something normal. What are you going to wear for the benefit? And don’t say something stupid like, “Clothes are a metaphor for the soul.”’

‘I wasn’t going to!’ I retort.

Actually, that’s quite good. I might drop that into a class at Golden Peace. Clothes are a metaphor for the soul.

Maybe I’ll get it printed on canvas and give it to Suze for Christmas.

‘Why are you smiling?’ says Suze suspiciously.

‘No reason!’ I force my mouth straight. ‘So. What are you going to wear to the benefit?’

ELEVEN

Suze can talk about shopping. She can talk about shopping!

Not only has she bought a new dress for the benefit, she’s bought new shoes, a new necklace and new hair. New hair. She didn’t even tell me she was doing it. One moment she was ‘popping out to the hairdresser’, and the next she was walking back in the door with the most luscious, glossy extensions I’ve ever seen. They stream down to her waist in a blonde river, and what with that and the tanned legs she looks like a movie star herself.