In a room with shouting, Keera’s stomach swoops into a tight knot. That’s why drugs and booze helped so much.
This tall man does not give off angry energy, though. He feels safe to be around.
Keera watches him surreptitiously, pretending to be arranging her notebook and pens on the polished table.
He’s sad and confused, she decides.
Maybe this might be OK. If the people on the island retreat are also messed up, Keera can cope. If they’re all uber sorted out, then she’s not going to enjoy it.
Behind him is another woman, not much older than Keera: very pretty with huge blue eyes, a smile on her face and wearing a floaty amber chiffon dress that looks as though it came from a 1930s film. She has long, slender legs that end in narrow elegant feet, which Keera would love instead of her solid feet with the ginormous big toes.
Her eyes are beautifully made-up with inky black lashes, and a fat silken peony in a combination of pinks holds her stunning hair back. It’s the same glossy red of the fox-fur jacket Keera’s mother picked up second-hand and insisted on wearing all last year.
‘It’s dead already,’ Dr Bobbi pointed out whenever Keera objected to the coat on animal rights grounds.
Keera bites her bottom lip. She has to get her mother out of her head. If only removing people’s reproving voices was as easy as uninstalling computer programs.
Delete Mama voice: 1 minute.
Install Rehab Life Tools: 2 minutes.
Perhaps Rose has a mantra for that.
Rose watches the guests arrive on the terrace from her vantage point in her bedroom. A tall man with olive skin, unruly dark hair and a high-boned face that speaks of Eastern-European ancestry is now standing at the breakfast buffet in front of the fruit, seemingly unable to decide between the slices of watermelon or the figs sitting beside blue pottery bowls of local yogurt swirled with honey.
He’s in old denims with leather sandals on long feet and wears a ragged-looking band T-shirt that should have been thrown out with the clothes recycling years ago. A man unused to taking care of himself, perhaps?
He certainly appears uncomfortable, out of his comfort zone.
The scientist.
Dr Dan Talbot from Bristol, who has been at the forefront of some breakthrough in genetic research only for it to falter at one of the last hurdles, or so it had said in her quick research of him.
Rose pictures Dan in a lab coat, staring at mice, wondering, was this batch going to cure disease?
Did they use mice? Would someone at his level of research be at the mice stage?
She had no idea.
It’s not that Rose’s life has been without science, but her involvement has been more at the cutting-edge connection between neuroscience and therapy. She used to talk on the show about how therapy works with the brain to help hardwire recovery.
Listen to yourself, Rose: you’re sounding a bit like your old self.
The trickle of self-belief begins to swell in Rose.
She was always good at this. For a while, she lost confidence, that’s all.
Next, Rose watches the arrival of a tall, slim red-head with an exquisitely cut bias frock dancing around skinny ankles. India.
A beautiful boho girl with a history of lots of jobs and a very happy Instagram feed full of fun holidays, pictures of vintage clothes finds and quotes on happiness – according to Adriana.
India smiles at the other two, folds herself into a chair and sets up lovely pens and a big notebook in front of her.
Beside her is Keera, the American singer, clad in jeans and definitely the youngest of the group. Keera also has lovely pens.
Rose, who has to keep her stationery habit under control, grins to herself and flicks a glance at her watch.
Five to ten now. The last three are skating on thin ice time-wise.
