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I’m pleased to see her caught unawares. And I’m equally pleased to see Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen is waiting for us when we arrive. She is without cigarette breath and without, as far as I can tell, an Hola! magazine. It’s time for me to put my plan in place.

We all make our way up to the office. The sunlight is pouring in through the windows. I instruct them both to grab a coffee and bring it through to Nidi’s office, which is just down the hallway. It is a beautiful room, tastefully decorated in soothing pale colours. Large sash picture windows overlook the bright blue sky, the not-too-distant mountains with sunlight dancing on their peaks and sharp gradients that slope gently down to a twinkling sea. It is breath-taking. The room oozes calm and serenity even though it is a veritable treasure trove of psychic and healing paraphernalia.

I have already set up what I need for our planning session this morning, on the large conferencing table. When Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen and Ava sit down, I outline the main principals of life coaching and what the benefits are to the customer.

Ava immediately wants to tell us that she has most of a business degree. ‘And I used to⁠—’

‘You used to manage over two hundred people in over ten offices, we know.’

Honestly, if she’s told us once, she’s told us fourteen million feckin’ times.

‘Regional.’ Ava looks to me then to Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen. ‘Ten regional offices,’ she repeats.

Instead of taking offence at her sulky tone, I smile brightly. ‘Of course, ten regional offices, how could I forget?’ It has the desired effect of making my sister look petty. Which she is. But it no longer bothers me. ‘It must have been so demanding.’

Twelve days she was in charge. Twelve. That’s all.

Ava brightens at this and sits up straight, puffing out her chest. She reminds me of our mother.

‘This coach trip,’ I say. ‘So far, we’ve been like the blind leading the blind. What are we going to do with the people once we have them on board? The future of the company depends on it being a success.’

Ava rolls her eyes and gives Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen a conspiring look. ‘Honey, success is my middle name.’

It isn’t.

Nidi warned me I’d need the patience of a monk. She also advised me to see through my sister’s ignorance, and to embrace it as a chance for me to enlighten her.

After ten minutes of gritting my teeth at all their wildly inappropriate suggestions, my phone buzzes with a message.

I’m here.

Immediately, I am all flustered. Heat rises in my cheeks and I pray that I am not outwardly blushing. I look up into two pairs of inquisitive eyes.

‘Yes! No! Nothing!’ I bark. ‘I will leave you two to it,’ I instruct. ‘I have a meeting to go to. I’ll be back in an hour. See if you can put some solid ideas together,’ I add, noticing that Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen is delighted to have been given a proper grown-up task to do that is unrelated to three telephone buttons.

I can hear Ava bossily taking charge, because of course she’s the world’s expert on all things marketing and being single, as I quickly race down the corridor to my own office, to check my face, my hair and my teeth.

All fine.

I have an air of excitement about me. I have not seen my face look so young and carefree for a long time. It won’t be long, I hope, before I have the tranquil manner of one who does regular yoga (now we know Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen can teach us for free!) and one who drinks wheatgrass for a living (Endless Cloud was right!). My hair seems to want to show off today too. It’s looking thick and glossy. I’ve not even had any itching scalp today. I give my lashes a quick flick of mascara to thicken them just in case they are called upon to waft slowly up and down throughout the afternoon.

In the same vein, I apply a thick coat of gloss to my lips which, I am also led to believe, will part involuntarily when looked at by the object of one’s desire. I still have much to learn about Oliver Reynolds.

Just as I am about to step out onto the street an alarming thought occurs.

Normally, at the start of the working day, I would immediately see what Ryan Reynolds has made of the previous day’s posts, and his opinions on the world, and the idiotic behaviour of some people. And yet, I have not checked up to see what Ryan thinks about any of it.

The thought did not even occur to me. Not once.

‘You look different,’ says Oliver, turning to greet me with a kiss on the cheek. ‘Happy and glowing.’

I have to stop myself preening at the compliment. Oliver is standing outside the entrance to my office block under the shade of an umbrella-shaped tree. ‘Is it me?’ he asks cheekily, while I avert my gaze from his penetrating stare.

I mean of course it is, but he’s a man, therefore he can never, ever know. He is quite ridiculously attractive. I take the opportunity to sneak a surreptitious glance at his toned arms, only to see that he flexes them into perfect round melons for my viewing pleasure.

I remain poised and keep my eyes looking to the middle distance, as if something important, beyond his understanding, is occupying my mind. I am, of course, imagining him flinging me over his shoulder like a Persian rug and rolling me out onto his bed.

‘What’s the number of the office’s landlord?’ he says, getting straight down to business. He rings the number, introduces himself in fluent Spanish as my lawyer, which is a massive turn-on, and swiftly takes the landlord to town, like he’s negotiating a Middle East ceasefire. Oliver is essentially telling him off for harassing me for something that is likely to be a banking error.