I'd never seen Sasha look so scared. I set down my toothbrush to give her my full attention.

'I say I want people to get to know the real me, but who is that? I don't know. I don't even know if she's worth getting to know.

'Oh Sasha, don't be crazy!' I rallied her.

'I know I p.i.s.s you off, going on about this-'

'No, you don't,' I a.s.sured her. 'I just get frustrated that you can't see all your other qualities. All the reasons we love you.'

'I just feel like I don't fit in anywhere,' she quavered.

'You just haven't found your groove, that's all.'

'What if I haven't got one?'

'Everybody's got one. Everybody's got something that they were born to do.'

Not everyone gets to find it of course, but I don't want to labor that point. Instead I said, 'Some people find theirs later in life.'

And straight away I thought: Other people take theirs for granted. Look at me years of practicing my home-styling skills in antic.i.p.ation of transforming the B&B and now the groove I thought I was gradually growing into is gone. Was I wrong? Is there something else for me out there? I was so sure.

'Maybe I should have just stuck with modeling.' Sasha sounded defeated as she pulled on her stripy pyjama bottoms.

'You hated it,' I reminded her.

'I know, but at least I was good at it.'

'If you hated it, it wasn't your groove,' I confirmed. 'It was just a red herring something you needed to get out of your system.'

Sasha shrugged then suddenly changed the subject. 'Have you seen the shutters above the bath? They open out on to the ocean...'

I knew she wasn't really done but I didn't want to push it. It wasn't a conversation that could lead to an easy resolution and at that point I thought a good night's sleep would probably serve her better than a pep talk from me. I guess now it's time for Plan B.

As I get closer to her I see a tear trickle from her eye, so I slow down and then casually slide on to the seat beside her and stare deliberately out to sea, trying to give the sun a chance to dry the streak so I don't have to comment on it and thus put her on the spot. But when I finally turn to offer her a slice of breakfast pineapple, her face is flooded.

'Sasha, what is it?' I'm shocked and put my arms around her, ready to catch her if she falls.

'I'm so lost, Lara,' she wails. 'I wonder if I should just go home.'

'What?' I gasp. 'We haven't even been here twenty-four hours!'

'I just don't think I can do it.'

'Do what?' What on earth is going on in her head?

'Have fun. j.a.pe around. I mean, where does Zo get the energy to go to Mexico of an evening?'

'I don't know,' I marvel. I'm still fighting visions of her dancing on a table, a small Mexican man between her teeth.

Sasha sniffs. 'When I was at home thinking about this trip I imagined myself laughing in the sunshine, but now I'm here I feel just as bad as I did then. Worse even, because I look at you all having fun and I feel such a killjoy and I hate myself for not being able to loosen up and join in.'

I'd hardly say I've been a barrel of laughs since we arrived but it never crossed my mind to turn around and go back home.

'It's early days, Sasha, you said yourself jet lag can be a downer for some people.'

'I know but-'

I'm not done. 'If you went home, how would that make you feel?' I turn her to face me.

Her eyes remain downcast.

'Miserable ... defeated ... a failure ...' She sinks lower. 'But that's okay you're supposed to be miserable living in London. Everyone is. I can blame the tubes and strikes and the weather, but here it's blue skies and golden sands and swaying palms and I can't stand it!' Sasha covers her face with her hands. 'I mean, if I can't be happy here there's no hope for me. I might as well-' she halts herself with a choking sob.

I blink, stunned. She's even worse than I thought. As I try and think what to say next, Sasha uncovers her eyes and takes in the look on my face.

'You see? This is exactly why I have to go. I'm just going to ruin it for everyone else.'

'You wouldn't ... you couldn't ...' I begin.

'I just ...' Her eyes flick around searching for the words, something to make sense. Then in a small voice, she says, 'I don't like being me any more. I don't know if I ever did.'

'I'll swap!' I suggest with a faint smile.

'Do you want to feel like this?' Sasha looks me in the eye.

I shake my head. Because I already have.

'Maybe this is the worst bit,' I suggest. 'If you've been really depressed then you're not going to get happy overnight, there'll be some resistance. Your body is probably addicted to all these negative pheromones or whatever they are, and at first it's going to reject any happy beans, but soon you'll be addicted to them instead.' I'm sure there must have been a better way to phrase that.

'But I don't even want to try. How lame is that?'

My heart goes out to her. That's just how I felt when I first heard about the B&B. It scared me too much to care so I opted for apathy. But that only provides a temporary numbing, as I am beginning to find out.

I take Sasha's hand and try and be tactful. 'It's not like we're expecting you to be the life and soul of the party.'

'Why would you? I never have been, have I? What exactly do I bring to the party?'

'You bring Sasha!' I cry, exasperated.

Before I can list her lovely calming qualities she says, 'Admit it. It would be easier if I wasn't here.'

'I don't know why you'd say that,' I frown, peeling back the strands of hair that have become stuck to her face with tears. 'You haven't done anything to bring us down. Of course we all want you along.'

'Not like this.'

'Whatever state you come in, we want you here,' I insist. 'If you want to slump in the back of the car while we're driving round, or build sandcastles on the beach and fill the moat with your own tears, that's fine. If you want to go to bed early, or not get up at all, that's fine. If you want to wander off and have some alone time fine you don't have to be what you think we want you to be. You don't have to be fake cheerful. You're ent.i.tled to your feelings. We'll be more than happy to have a laugh with you when you feel like joining in, and if you don't that's okay too. If this is your hour of need, do you think we're going to turn away?'

My eyes well up with emotion. I mustn't cry. If we both lose the plot, who'll save us? I take a breath and wait for the tightening in my throat to subside. Gradually the furrows in Sasha's brow soften and for a moment she seems to take comfort, but still she hesitates: 'I don't want to be a downer for everyone.'

I take her hand. 'It would only be a strain if we spent all our time trying to cheer you up. If you say it's okay that we just let you be, it'll work out fine.' I try and sound matter-of-fact, as if there's simply no way I'm letting her go. I'm holding tight. I can do this.

'Anyway, we don't even know where we're going to be tomorrow, let alone how we're going to feel,' I remind her. 'Aren't you at least curious to find out what Helen has planned?'

'I suppose,' Sasha concedes.

'Oh come on, it must be good or she wouldn't keep us in suspense all this time. She's on to something, you can tell by looking at her. Do you really want to miss out on a chance of experiencing the kind of joy she's br.i.m.m.i.n.g with?'

Sasha shakes her head.

'I know I don't!' I answer my own question. 'I want to know her secret.'

I think it's working. Sasha's juddering breaths are beginning to even out.

'Is that papaya?' She eyes the mini fruit platter.

I smile. She's back in the game. 'It's all yours,' I tell her. Then I look at my watch. 'And you've got exactly sixty seconds to eat it.'

'Is it time?' Sasha looks up, mid-mouthful, eyes wide.

My heart pounds as I nod a yes. 'Come on, let's go!' and together we race up to the lobby. Two dented spirits in search of some hope.

Chapter 9.

'Your party awaits you in La Sala,' The receptionist seems to know exactly who we are and why we're here. 'Please come through.'

She guides us down a tier of terracotta tiles into a lounge softened with ornately-woven rugs in hues of coral and sea green. A trio of black wrought-iron chandeliers bear down on us from above as we pa.s.s through a series of arched beams, hand-painted with Moroccan-inspired patterns in rich rusts and golds.

'Wow!'

Straight ahead, dominating the room, is a magnificent floor-to-ceiling window. The glimmering sea entirely fills the frame, with just one gangly palm tree in the foreground. It's like desert island wallpaper, but for real.

Elliot is sunk deep into a smooshy leather armchair, deeper still when Elise dumps herself on to his lap. Now from certain angles you can't see him at all. We take the gleaming teal velvet sofa, Sasha and I, sitting either side of Zo, who grips our hands with ever firmer fervor. Meanwhile Helen inhales a nerve-quelling breath and leaves little smudgy fingerprints on the highly polished wood of the piano as she positions herself with her back to the window, eyes trained beyond us on reception.

'That's all of us!' Elliot prompts her.

'We're just waiting for ...' Her face lights up. 'Here he is!'

We turn back and see a man advancing in a sleek navy suit, sharp white shirt and sky blue silk tie. His thirtysomething face is tanned, his hair stylishly groomed and there's a tiny diamond stud winking from his left earlobe.

Zo's nails are now so deeply embedded in my palms I think they'll probably stay there even when she finally releases her grip.

As he pa.s.ses us, he acknowledges our 'Who he?' glances with a courteous nod and takes his position beside Helen, clearly a man on a mission.

a.s.sured of our full attention, he breaks into a disarming smile and says, 'Welcome to your first meeting of The California Club!'

There's a buzz of antic.i.p.ation and a speedy exchange of 'This is it!' looks.

I can't believe we're so out in the open! Surely we should have traveled blindfold in the trunk of a car to some mystery location? At the very least I would have expected an underground bunker and the speaker to be lit by a flickering match. Instead he's flooded with sunlight and standing before a panoramic backdrop in a 'All of this could be yours' kind of way. Maybe that's the intention. Or maybe only official members get to go to CC HQ.

'I've got tingles!' Zo squeaks with excitement. She's scooted so far forward with eagerness that her bottom is only making the most token contact with the sofa. Any second now I expect her to drop to the floor adopting the 'on your marks' position, c.o.c.king her ear for the starter pistol. She's so ready for this.

'My name is Alex Daniels and I'm the Club President. Helen has asked me here today as she would very much like you to share in the rewards she has experienced as a direct result from joining our cult, er-'

'What?' There's a gasp of horror from his audience. Even Zo flinches.

He looks stricken at his mistake. 'Er, club!' he corrects himself. And then breaks into a giant grin. 'Just fooling!'

'There's a wobbly sense of relief in the room.

'I realize some of you may have reservations about our organization but The California Club has no intention of turning you into identikit zombies. Quite the opposite. Our aim is to wake you up to the thrill and fulfillment of being the best possible you.' He takes a breath. 'So my first question is this: Are you ready to change your lives?'

'Yes!' hoots a lone voice.

He steps towards it. 'I'm guessing you're Zo?'

She nods wide-eyed, as if he just told her she was the Chosen One.

He extends his hand. 'Good to meet you.'

She shakes it with ligament-dislocating vigor.

He laughs, 'I can see we're going to have some fun channeling that energy of yours!'

She has no idea what he means but looks enthralled.

'You must be Sasha.' He moves on.

She nods shyly, staring at his Italian leather shoes. He continues to hold her hand until she looks up into his dark blue eyes.

'You're going to be fine,' he a.s.sures her. 'More than fine.'

Sasha looks doubtful.

'Try to believe me. If you go with this you could be the biggest surprise of the group.'

Sasha looks ruffled and turns away, eyes glossing with tears as she attempts to control the sea-swell of emotions within.

I'm next. Surrept.i.tiously I wipe my clammy palm in antic.i.p.ation of the handshake but he switches direction and moves towards Elise. Oh no! I've been deliberately overlooked. Why?

'Elise?' He stands before her.