I looked around the tiny space, the narrow landing strip between the tiny beds. Why hadn’t I asked about the sleeping arrangements? But then, as it wasn’t a Brownie camp, it would never have occurred to me that I’d be sharing a room. It was bare and white, with a scratchy beige carpet. We each had a bedside cubby, but it didn’t look like there was anywhere to hang our clothes. A single light burned harshly from the centre of the low ceiling.

‘If you’re claustrophobic, this is going to be some serious aversion therapy,’ I said.

‘Amber says it’s really important,’ she said primly. ‘It’s part of the whole healing journey, sharing our space.’

‘Yeah, no, it’s great,’ I said quickly. I didn’t want her sneaking to Amber, telling her I was undermining the retreat. ‘I was only joking.’

‘This is a whole healing immersion, Rachel,’ she said, staring intently at me. She sank down on her bed. ‘I’m not ashamed of being emotional downstairs. I was honouring how deep we’ll go, the places Amber’s already taken me.’

Tremors of unease ran up and down my limbs.

‘Sure, but it’s Christmas,’ I said lamely. ‘She told me how relaxing it would be. We’ll have fun too.’

Hannah gave a slightly knowing laugh.

‘I’m really happy to be sharing with you,’ she said. ‘I felt a connection as soon as we hugged.’

A lump closed up my throat, her not Sophie-ishness almost too much to bear.

‘Yeah, me too,’ I said.

She gave an odd little namaste bow.

‘It’s an honour to spend Christmas with you, Rachel.’

I froze a second, forcing my face into submission. Then I bowed back.

‘The light in me honours the light in you,’ I said, and Hannah beamed.

‘We should go downstairs for supper,’ she said happily.

Amber was ladling a brown, sludgy concoction out of a huge saucepan.

‘I bet this is your first vegan Christmas,’ she said to me, handing me a steaming earthenware bowl.

The heat was searing, but I forced myself to hold onto the bowl. ‘Yeah, not really Mum’s scene,’ I said. Amber grinned at that. ‘Can I do anything to help?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she demurred. ‘How many times do I have to remind you that you’re a guest?’

Apart from the fact that my fingerprints were close to being burned off – a gangland hit via the medium of lentil stew – I wanted nothing more than to stay glued to Amber’s side. Instead I reluctantly retreated to the kitchen table, plonking myself down next to Marco.

‘Salute,’ he said, chinking his water glass against mine supportively, while Tim watched our little exchange.

Hannah smiled gently across the table. ‘How long have you been… not been drinking?’ she asked.