Pillows are arranged into another circle. I sit cross-legged again and start biting my nails. Out comes a large conch shell, a feather and a clear quartz crystal. Bonnie lights an aromatherapy oil candle.

My father sits down next to me in the circle, and I shift away slightly. He tries to sit cross-legged but ends up kneeling awkwardly, a pillow wedged between his heels and bum. Melody is on my other side and Autumn next to her.

The feeling circle has strict rules, Bonnie explains. Number one: this is a safe place to share. Two: if you’re going to talk, you need to hold one of the three objects. She lifts each one up to show us. We must pick the one that speaks to us most. No talking while someone else is. Three: we begin with the words, I’m feeling. And four: we are united together with the purpose of truth, equality, justice and freedom for women.

‘And for you too.’ She looks at Adam. ‘Just for today.’

She sounds a gong and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

Everyone sits silently for a minute as the sound from the gong reverberates before fading out, then Bonnie looks at me. No. There’s no way I’m going to talk.

‘I’m feeling gratitude.’ A dark-skinned woman with dreadlocks has picked up the crystal to speak. ‘Grateful to the higher power, the Goddess, that I am here today. That I’m healthy again, that I beat the disease.’

She puts down the crystal. More silence.

Another woman picks up the feather. ‘I’m feeling a lot of grief. But I’m sitting with it, today. Welcoming it.’ She wipes her eyes and places the feather back down carefully.

A few more women share, one angry at her boyfriend, another free for the first time in her life. Autumn says she’s grateful to the universe they found me in time.

Then my father reaches for the feather.

Oh no.

‘I’m feeling sad,’ he says, turning to face me, ‘because I know you’re upset with me, Sky. But, please, please try to be open-minded. Not everyone has the same views as you and, as you get older, you realise people are different. That’s part of the beauty of the world, don’t you think?’

‘True, that.’ The grieving woman sniffs. ‘Diversity is life.’

‘Shhh!’ Bonnie puts her finger to her lips.

‘I’m feeling …’ I pick up the shell, already breaking my no-talking rule, ‘surprised to learn killing animals is beautiful. Is that the dictionary definition?’ My anger is rising fast. ‘How beautifully diverse we are that some people kill innocent creatures, and others like to be kind and compassionate. How kind. Bang.’ I shoot him in the head with my finger as my face boils.

Melody nudges me and mouths, Give him a chance.