But she IS right. The rain made me feel refreshed and the sweet took away the nausea and Mr C Eckler took away my suitcase and Mrs C Eckler led me down into The Beanstalk. I like it in here. Everything’s clean and white: the plates, the cups, the tables, the walls. Everything’s gleaming. And though it’s raining outside, the sun streams through all the glass, making everything sparkle. Light rain mixed with sunlight isn’t drizzle, it’s drazzle.

I sit eating a roll with some white paste in the middle. I’m not sure what it is, but I eat it anyway. The coconut water is heavenly. Big Ben’s still doing his chanting and running when Season comes to sit with us.

‘Feeling any better now?’

She smells of freshly baked bread. She has small hands with sparkly white nail polish. I remember her kneading bread in the film.

‘Are you going to teach us to make bread?’

She smiles. ‘I hope so. It’s my . . . speciality.’

I like the way she emphasises the word ‘speciality’ by pausing before it. That’s called a meaningful pause. I wonder if bread is her specialist subject.

‘Are you autistic?’

‘Yes, Elle. I’m a supertaster cook and call myself Autie-Auto at the car club.’

I LOVE her nickname and that she’s into cars like Big Ben. She has the blackest, silveriest, shiniest hair imaginable, better than in the video, like a black-silver glass skyscraper on top of her head. She turns to Mrs C Eckler, who’s sitting next to me in case I projectile vomit again.

‘He’s quite a character,’ meaning Big Ben.

‘He’s car mad,’ I say, and Season laughs. Her laugh sounds as glittery as her fingernails. Then she says something surprising.

‘It’s mine. If he’s good this week, I can take him out for a . . .’

She’s the opposite of Big Ben. He pauses before he speaks; Season pauses at the end of sentences. But I guess she was going to say ‘ride’. Big Ben would love that. But I’m trying to get my head round what she said.

‘How did you afford such an expensive car? I mean, you’re a cook, you can’t make much money.’

Mrs C Eckler brings her eyebrows down to her eyes, even though she told me she used to say rude things all the time when she was young. But Season isn’t cross.

‘My brother and I used to run a garage. When I decided to become a cook, we traded everything in for the Ferrari.’

Big Ben stops in his tracks and turns to our table. ‘Whatisit? What is it?’

‘A Ferrari Forever,’ says Season. ‘The most eco-friendly supercar. A wind-rain hybrid. We get a lot of both.’ As if it heard her, the wind outside starts howling, lashing rain onto the glass roof of the café. Big Ben does his three-second pause.

‘0 to 60?’