Shopaholic to the Stars

NINE

All I can say is … wow. I mean, Namaste. Or maybe Satnam? (I’ve been learning lots of spiritual, yoga-ish words and trying to use them in conversation. Except that ‘Satnam’ always makes me think of ‘sat nav’.)

Why have I never got into Mind Body Spirit before? Why did I never do wellbeing classes in England? Or Navigate Your Inner Terrain? Or Sound Healing for Childhood Damage? I’ve been attending Golden Peace for two weeks now, and it’s transformed my life. It’s just amazing!

For a start, the place is fantastic. It’s a huge site on the coast, just south of LA. It used to be a golf club, but now it’s all low sandy-coloured buildings and koi lakes and a running track, which I’m totally intending to use sometime. Plus they sell fresh juices, and healthy meals, and there’s free yoga at lunchtime on the beach, and in the evenings they show inspirational movies outside while everyone lolls on beanbags. Basically, you don’t ever want to leave.

I’m sitting in a room with a dark wooden floor and billowing white curtains at the windows and a softly fragranced air. All the rooms at Golden Peace smell the same – it’s their signature scent of ylang ylang and cedar and … some other really healthy thing. You can buy the scented candles at the gift shop. I’ve already bought eight, because they’ll make perfect Christmas presents.

All the spending-addiction programmes were full when I phoned up, but that doesn’t matter, because this really nice girl, Izola, recommended a whole programme of general wellbeing classes for me. The point is, everyone can work on their soul and inner being, because the spiritual muscle needs exercise like any other. (I read that in the brochure.)

I do self-esteem group on Mondays, Compassionate Communication on Tuesdays, The Transitive Self on Wednesdays, and this brilliant class called Tapping for Wellbeing on Fridays. Right now it’s a Thursday morning, and I’m in Mindfulness for a Positive Life. At the start of the class, the teacher always says how hard mindfulness is and how it will take time to let go of the outside world, and we mustn’t be impatient with ourselves. But actually, I find it really easy. I think I must be a natural.

The group is quiet, and we’re all meditating on something in the room, which is what we do every week. Luckily, the people at Golden Peace are all really stylish, so there’s always something interesting to meditate on. Today I’m focusing on a gorgeous leather backpack in teal, which the dark-haired girl opposite me has slung below her chair. I want to ask her if they come in slate grey, but perhaps I’ll do that after the class.

‘Brian,’ says our teacher Mona, in a soft voice. ‘Could you please vocalize for us your mindfulness journey today? What are you meditating on?’

I’ve seen Brian before. He’s tall and buff with quite a prominent nose, which is unusual in LA, and he brings in a Starbucks, although I’m sure that’s not allowed.

‘I’m focusing on the grain in the wooden floor,’ says Brian, in a stilted voice. ‘I’m looking at the way the wood swirls around and ebbs and flows. I want to think about my ex-wife, but I’m going to push those thoughts away.’ He sounds suddenly fierce. ‘I’m not going to think about her or her lawyer—’

‘Brian, don’t judge yourself,’ says Mona gently. ‘Simply allow your thoughts to return to the floor. Absorb every detail. Every line, every speck, every curve. Be in the moment. Try to reach a heightened sense of awareness.’

Brian exhales. ‘I’m in the moment,’ he says shakily, his eyes riveted on the floor.

‘Good!’ Mona smiles. ‘Now, Rebecca?’ She turns to me. ‘We haven’t heard much from you. How is your meditation going today?’

‘Great, thanks!’ I beam at her.

‘What are you meditating on today?’

‘That bag.’ I point. ‘It’s really nice.’

‘Thanks.’ The dark-haired girl smiles.

‘A bag.’ Mona blinks. ‘That’s different. Are you focusing on the texture of the bag … the buckles … the colour?’

‘The straps,’ I say.

‘The straps. Good. Perhaps you could share your meditation with us. Just … give us a stream of consciousness. Take us where your thoughts are going.’

‘OK.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m thinking that those straps look really comfortable but it depends how wide your shoulders are, doesn’t it? So then I’m wondering if I could try it after the class. And I’d prefer it in slate grey because I’ve already got a teal leather bag, but actually, I might give that to my friend Suze because she’s always liked it, and she’s coming out to visit me. In fact, she’s arriving today! And then I’m wondering if they stock them in Barneys because I’ve got a gift voucher for there, although I have also seen this really nice jacket for my daughter Minnie in the children’s department which I also want to get—’

‘Rebecca, stop!’ Mona holds up a hand, and I come to a halt in surprise. ‘Stop there!’

What’s wrong? I thought I was doing really well. I was much more interesting than Brian with his boring old grainy wood.

‘Yes?’ I say politely.

‘Rebecca … Let’s remind ourselves of what mindfulness means. It means we bring our attention to the present experience on a moment-to-moment basis.’

‘I know.’ I nod. ‘My present experience is thinking about that bag,’ I explain. ‘Is it by Alexander Wang?’

‘No, it’s 3.1 Phillip Lim,’ says the girl. ‘I got it online.’

‘Oh, right!’ I say eagerly. ‘Which site?’

‘I don’t think you understand.’ Mona cuts across me. ‘Rebecca, try to focus on just one aspect of the bag. As soon as you notice your mind wandering off, gently bring it back to the object of attention. OK?’

‘But my mind didn’t wander off,’ I protest. ‘I was thinking about the bag the whole time.’

‘I can send you the link,’ chimes in the dark-haired girl. ‘It’s a really great backpack. You can fit an iPad in it.’

‘Oh, can I try it on?’

‘Sure.’ The girl reaches for the bag.

‘People!’ Mona’s voice sounds a little sharp, and she immediately smiles as though to compensate. ‘Put the bag down! OK! Let’s … focus. Rebecca, I’m going to recommend that you leave the bag meditation for now. Instead, try to concentrate on your breathing. Just become aware of your breath, going in and out of your body. Don’t judge it … don’t judge yourself … just observe your breath. Can you do that?’

I shrug. ‘OK.’

‘Great! We’ll take five minutes’ meditation, all of us. Close your eyes if you’d like.’

The room lapses into silence, and I dutifully try to focus on my breath. In. Out. In. Out. In.

God, this is boring. What is there to think about breathing?

I know I’m not an expert on mindfulness, but surely meditation is supposed to make you feel good? Well, I’d feel much better if I was meditating on a lovely bag than on my breathing.

My eyes open and drift to the backpack. No one can tell what I’m meditating on. I’ll say it was my breath. They’ll never know.

Oh, I really do love it. The zips are so cool. And the point is, I should get it because backpacks are good for your posture. Suze will be delighted if I give her my Marc Jacobs. Surreptitiously I glance at my watch. I wonder where she is. At the airport, hopefully. Her plane should have landed by now and I’ve told her to come straight here for lunch. Thank God it isn’t all coconut water; they serve a decent decaf cappuccino and some really quite yummy carob brownies, and Suze said she’d bring me out some Lion bars …

‘And gradually bring your thoughts back to the group.’ Mona’s voice interrupts my meditation. Around the room, people open their eyes and stretch their legs and a couple yawn. Mona smiles at me. ‘How was that? Did you manage to keep your mind focused, Rebecca?’

‘Er … yes!’ I say brightly.

Which is sort of true. My thoughts were focused, just not on my breathing.

We end with a minute’s silent contemplation, and then file out of the room, into the grounds, blinking as we re-enter the bright sunlight. At once, everyone who was in the class switches their phones back on, and stares at them intently. That’s mindfulness, if you ask me. We should meditate on our phones. In fact, I might suggest it next week—

Yessss! A text bleeps in my phone, and I nearly whoop. It’s from Suze! She’s here!

OK, here’s the thing about Suze. She’s one of the most beautiful people I know, and I’m not being biased. She’s tall and slim and she has amazing clothes. She can totally shop for Britain and she once nearly modelled for Vogue. But she does tend to spend quite a lot of time in jodhpurs or jeans or some ancient old Barbour, especially now that she lives in the country all the time. So that’s what I’m expecting to see as I hurry towards the entrance gates. Suze in skinny jeans and ballet pumps, with maybe a nice linen jacket, and the children in their usual bumpy corduroy pinafores and shorts, handmade by Nanny.

What I’m not expecting to see is the vision before me. I have to blink to make sure it’s the Cleath-Stuarts. They look like some celebrity LA family. What’s happened?

Suze looks so spectacular I barely recognize her. For a start, she’s wearing teeny denim shorts. I mean, really, really teeny. Her legs are long and brown and her pedicured feet are in Havaianas. Her long hair is blonder than usual (has she bleached it?) and she’s wearing the most amazing pair of Pucci sunglasses. The children look super-cool, too. The two boys are wearing bomber jackets and gel in their hair and Clementine is rocking teeny little skinny jeans with a vest top.

For a moment I can’t do anything except blink in astonishment. Then Suze sees me and starts waving frantically, and I come to life again and rush forward.

‘Suze!’

‘Bex!’

‘You made it!’ I fling my arms around her, then hug all the children in turn. ‘Suze, your clothes!’

‘Are they OK?’ Suze says at once, anxiously, and brushes at her micro-shorts. ‘I wanted to fit in. Do I look all right?’

‘You look phenomenal! Did you spray that tan on?’ I spot an inked dolphin on her ankle and gasp. ‘Suze, you haven’t gone and got yourself a tattoo!’

‘God, no!’ She laughs. ‘It’s temporary. Everyone’s got tattoos in LA, so I thought I’d better have one for the trip. And some friendship bracelets.’ She waves her arm at me, and I see a stack of about twenty friendship bracelets on her wrist, where normally she has an antique Cartier watch.

‘You’ve been very thorough!’ I say, impressed. ‘You look totally LA. Has Tarkie done the same? Where is he, anyway?’

‘Coming. He stopped to look at some special tree variety in the grounds. And no, he hasn’t done the same.’ She looks suddenly disconsolate. ‘He won’t join in. I bought him this really cool ripped T-shirt and cut-offs, but he won’t wear them. I can’t get him out of his shooting coat.’

‘His shooting coat? In LA?’ I stifle a giggle. Tarquin’s shooting coat is an institution. It’s made of the family tweed and has about ninety-five pockets and smells of wet dog all year round.

‘Exactly! I wanted him to wear a leather bomber jacket, but he refused. He thinks friendship bracelets are stupid and my tattoo is ghastly.’ She looks indignant. ‘It isn’t ghastly. It’s cool!’

‘It’s lovely,’ I say reassuringly.

‘I just thought it would be a chance for him to break away, you know?’ Suze’s indignation fades to a familiar anxiety. ‘He needs to stop moping. He needs to forget about his father, and the LHA, and all of them.’

‘The LHA?’ I say. ‘What’s that?’

‘Oh.’ She grimaces. ‘Didn’t I tell you? It’s the Letherby Hall Association. They’re members of the public who support Letherby Hall. They’ve started a petition against the fountain.’

‘No!’ I exclaim in dismay.

‘I know. And then another lot of them have started a petition for the fountain. They hate each other. They’re all nuts.’ She shudders. ‘Anyway, forget about that. Are there any celebs here?’ Her eyes dart all around as we walk along the path towards the leisure area. ‘I can’t believe you’ve started coming to Golden Peace.’

‘Isn’t it great?’ I say enthusiastically. ‘There are brilliant groups, and yoga, and they serve brownies …’ I pause at a paved area with bronze bells set into small stone pillars all around. ‘These are Paths of Serenity, by the way,’ I add. ‘You can ring the bells if you need clarity.’

‘Clarity?’ Suze raises an eyebrow.

‘Yes. You know. Clarity in your life.’

‘You get clarity in your life from ringing a bell?’ She snorts with laughter as she pings one of the bells.

‘Yes!’ I say defensively. ‘You need to keep an open mind, Suze. It’s like, a vibration thing. The chiming of the bell changes the rhythm of your inner ear, promoting understanding and resolution and … er …’ Oh God, I’ve forgotten the rest. ‘Anyway, they sound nice,’ I finish lamely.

It was Bryce, the Personal Growth Leader, who explained to me about vibrations and clarity, during my induction session, and I totally understood at the time. I’ll have to ask him to explain again.

There’s a sudden violent clanging all around us. Suze’s children have decided to have a go at bashing the bells. Ernest, who is my godson, is actually kick-boxing his, and it’s nearly coming off its pillar.

‘Stop!’ Suze says, dragging them away. ‘Too much clarity! Can we get a cup of—’ She stops herself. ‘A smoothie?’

Ha. She was going to say ‘cup of tea’. I know she was.

‘D’you want a cup of tea, Suze?’ I say, to tease her. ‘And a nice digestive biscuit?’

‘No thanks,’ she says at once. ‘I’d far rather have a fresh juice. With a wheatgrass shot.’

‘No you wouldn’t.’

‘I would,’ she says obstinately.

She so wants a cup of tea. But I won’t wind her up any more. She can have one when we get home. I’ve bought English tea bags especially, and Cooper’s Oxford Marmalade and Branston Pickle.

I lead them all to the leisure area, where there’s a café and a children’s playground. Nearby some guys are playing volleyball and about a hundred yards away there’s a t’ai chi class going on under the trees.

‘How come they have a playground?’ says Suze, as the children all run off to the swings and we sit down at a café table. ‘They don’t have children here, do they?’

‘Oh no,’ I say knowledgeably. ‘But the residents often have their families to visit.’

‘Residents?’

‘You know. The burnt-out drug-addict rehab ones. They live over there.’ I gesture at a gated enclosure within the resort. ‘Apparently there’s some major, major A-list star in residence at the moment. But no one will say who.’

‘Damn!’

‘I know.’

‘Shall we walk past and casually peek?’

‘I’ve tried,’ I say regretfully. ‘The security people shoo you away.’

‘But there are other celebs here, aren’t there?’

‘Yes! Loads!’ I’m about to elaborate when I notice a staff member walking nearby. ‘But of course that’s all really hush-hush so I can’t tell you anything,’ I add hastily.

Actually the truth is, I’ve only seen a couple of celebs in groups, and they weren’t much to speak of. One was a Victoria’s Secret model, and held up our entire self-esteem group by making us sign individual confidentiality agreements. Then she’d spelled her name wrong and we all had to change ‘Brandie’ to ‘Brandee’ and initial it. And then she didn’t say anything remotely interesting, anyway. I mean, honestly.

‘I’m going to have coffee with Sage Seymour,’ I offer, and Suze wrinkles her brow, dissatisfied.

‘Weren’t you going to do that two weeks ago?’

‘Yes, well, she’s been busy …’ I break off as my eye catches a figure walking towards us.

‘Oh my God,’ I breathe. ‘Tarquin looks terrible.’

‘I know!’ says Suze. ‘Exactly! He could at least have worn jeans.’

But that’s not what I meant. I’m not looking at his tweed shooting jacket, or his ancient brogues, or the mustard-coloured knitted tie around his neck. It’s his face. He looks so wan. And there’s a stooped slant to his shoulders which I don’t remember.

Luke often gets hassled by his business, too, I find myself thinking. But it’s different. He built his own company up himself. He drove it. He created it. Whereas Tarquin just had a massive empire plonked on his shoulders when his grandfather died. And right now it looks like it’s too heavy for him.

‘Tarkie!’ I hurry forward to greet him. ‘Welcome to Hollywood!’

‘Oh. Ahm.’ He raises a meagre little smile. ‘Yes. Hollywood. Marvellous.’

‘Tarkie, take off your shooting coat!’ says Suze. ‘You must be boiling. In fact, why not take your shirt off too?’

‘Take my shirt off? In public?’ Tarquin looks scandalized, and I hide a giggle. I’d better not take him to visit Venice Beach.

‘Get some sun! It’s good for you! Look, all those men there have taken their shirts off.’ Suze points encouragingly to the volleyball players on the beach, who are mostly dressed in cutoffs and bandanas.

Suze can be quite bossy when she wants to, and within thirty seconds Tarkie has taken off his shooting coat, his tie, his shirt and his socks and shoes. To my amazement, he’s quite tanned and muscled.

‘Tarkie, have you been working out?’ I say in astonishment.

‘He’s been helping with the fencing on the estate,’ says Suze. ‘You don’t mind taking your shirt off for that, do you?’

‘That’s on my own land,’ says Tarkie, as though it’s obvious. ‘Suze, darling, I think I’ll put my shirt back on—’

‘No! Now, put these on.’ She hands him a pair of Ray-Bans. ‘There! Brilliant.’

I’m just about to take pity on Tarquin and offer to get him some Earl Grey tea, when the volleyball bounces near us, and Suze leaps up to get it. A bronzed guy in cut-offs and a Golden Peace T-shirt comes running up, and as he draws near I see that it’s Bryce.

He’s quite amazing, Bryce. He’s got the most piercing blue eyes you’ve ever seen, and he stares at you very intently before he says anything. I don’t know how old he is – his hair is greying but he’s incredibly lithe and energetic. He doesn’t seem to take any groups, but he wanders around and gets to know people and says things like ‘Your journey begins here’ and really seems to mean it.

‘Rebecca.’ His eyes crinkle into a smile. ‘How’s your day going?’

‘Really well, thanks!’ I beam at him. ‘Bryce, these are my friends, Suze and Tarquin.’

‘Here’s your ball,’ says Suze, handing it to him. She flicks her hair back a little self-consciously, and I can see her sucking in her stomach, not that she needs to.

‘Thank you.’ Bryce turns his dazzling smile on her. ‘Welcome, both of you.’ His eyes fall on Tarquin’s shooting coat. ‘Cool jacket.’

‘Oh,’ says Tarquin. ‘Ahm. My shooting coat.’

‘Shooting coat.’ Bryce’s eyes light up. ‘Now that’s a great idea. I guess it works in all weathers, right? And great pockets. May I?’ Bryce picks up the coat and examines it admiringly.

‘Useful for cartridges,’ says Tarkie.

‘You shoot on film?’ Bryce glances up, interested. ‘Old school, huh. Excuse me for asking, but … do I know your work?’

I hear Suze give a sudden snuffle of laughter, just as I catch on myself. Bryce thinks Tarkie’s a director. Tarkie! I cannot think of anyone in my life less likely to direct a film.

‘My work?’ Tarquin looks slightly hunted. ‘You mean … the work on Letherby Hall?’

‘Letherby Hall.’ Bryce frowns. ‘I didn’t see it, I’m afraid. Was it released worldwide?’

Tarquin seems totally baffled. I catch Suze’s eye and try not to burst into giggles.

‘Anyhow.’ Bryce bounces the ball a couple of times. ‘You want to join in?’

‘Join in?’

‘Volleyball.’ He gestures at the guys waiting for him on the beach.

‘Oh.’ Tarquin looks taken aback. ‘I don’t think—’

‘Go on!’ says Suze. ‘Go on, Tarkie. It’s just what you need after the flight.’

Reluctantly, Tarquin gets to his feet and follows Bryce down on to the beach. A few moments later he’s in the game, and hitting some pretty good shots, I notice.

‘Tarkie’s excellent at volleyball!’ I exclaim.

‘Oh yes, he’s quite good at that kind of thing,’ says Suze vaguely. ‘He played Fives for Eton. That Bryce is something, isn’t he?’

She’s not even watching her own husband. Her eyes are fixed on Bryce. This is what he’s like. Everyone gets a crush on him, male and female alike.

A waiter comes over and I order lots of different juices for us and the children, and I’m about to ask Suze what she wants to do first, like maybe the Walk of Fame or Rodeo Drive or the Hollywood sign … when I notice someone out of the corner of my eye. A blonde someone, wandering down towards the beach in white yoga pants and a pink racing-back top.

‘She’s here,’ I mutter, turning my head away swiftly. ‘Don’t look.’

‘Who?’ Suze immediately swivels her head all around. ‘Someone famous?’

‘No. Someone hideous in every way.’

Suze suddenly spots her and gasps, ‘Alicia Bitch Long-legs!’

‘Sssh!’ I pull at Suze. ‘Turn away. Don’t engage. Aloof and flinty.’

‘Right,’ says Suze vaguely, without moving.

I related the whole awful Alicia encounter to Suze on the phone, but she was waxing her legs at the same time, and I’m not sure she was listening properly.

‘She’s lost weight,’ says Suze critically. ‘And her hair looks really good. I like her top …’

‘Stop complimenting her! And don’t attract her attention.’

But it’s too late. Alicia’s heading our way. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her at Golden Peace, but it’s the first time she’s actually come over to speak to me. In Golden Peace terms, Alicia is virtually royalty. There’s actually a great big picture of her and Wilton up in the lobby, and when the pair of them walked through the crowded café last week, everyone was practically bowing. Everyone except me.

‘Suze.’ Alicia doesn’t even look at me, but greets Suze with her new soft voice, and I see Suze blink in surprise. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Hi Alicia,’ says Suze warily.

‘You must be here visiting Rebecca. Are those your children?’ She turns to look at Ernest, Wilfrid and Clementine, who are running raucously around the slide. ‘They’re stunning! And I love those cute little jackets.’

‘Oh, thanks!’ says Suze. She sounds disarmed, and I scowl inwardly. That’s a typical underhand trick. Compliment the children.

‘How long are you here?’ adds Alicia.

‘Not sure yet,’ says Suze.

‘Only, I was going to say, if you’d like them to go to school during your stay, I could fix it up. Our children go to a very good pre-school, don’t they, Rebecca?’ She manages to glance towards me without meeting my eye. ‘And there’s a private school nearby which might do for the older one. I should think he’s quite advanced?’

‘Well.’ Suze blossoms. ‘He is quite bright …’

‘I could have a word with the principals. It might be fun for them to experience a US education briefly. The semester’s nearly over, but then there are great summer programmes.’

‘Wow.’ Suze seems taken aback. ‘Well, that would be great. But are you sure—’

‘It’s no trouble.’ Alicia gives her wafty smile again, then turns serious. ‘Suze, I know our friendship hasn’t always been straightforward.’

Friendship? They don’t have a friendship.

‘But I want you to know,’ Alicia continues, ‘that I’m set on remoulding that path, and I’m sorry for any discomfort I may have caused you in the past. Let’s carry on life’s journey in a different spirit.’

‘Right.’ Suze seems totally flummoxed. Meanwhile, I’m just staring, rigid with shock. She said sorry? She said sorry to Suze?

‘I’ll let you know about the schools.’ Alicia smiles and touches Suze’s shoulder, as though giving a blessing. She nods gravely to me, then moves off, down towards the beach.

‘Oh my God.’ Suze exhales when she’s out of earshot. ‘What’s happened to her? That weird voice, and that smile … and all that stuff about remoulding her life …’ She looks at me, giggling, but I can’t join in.

‘She said sorry to you,’ I say incredulously.

‘I know.’ Suze looks chuffed. ‘That was sweet, I thought. And it was nice of her to offer to help with the schools—’

‘No!’ I clutch my head. ‘You don’t understand! She refused to say sorry to me! After everything she did to Luke and me, she wouldn’t apologize. I asked her to, straight out.’

‘Well …’ Suze thinks for a moment. ‘Maybe she was too embarrassed.’

‘Embarrassed? Alicia Bitch Long-legs doesn’t get embarrassed!’

‘Maybe she thought she’d already apologized.’

‘You’re sticking up for her.’ I stare at Suze in dismay. ‘I can’t believe you’d stick up for Alicia Bitch Long-legs.’

‘I’m not sticking up for her!’ ripostes Suze. ‘I’m just saying, people change, and—’ She breaks off as our drinks arrive, and the waitress presents us with two Golden Peace gift bags: glossy white with golden rope handles.

‘Alicia asked me to give you these.’ She smiles. ‘A little welcome pack.’

‘Ooh! Thank you!’ says Suze, and starts unpacking hers straight away. ‘Look, bath oil … and a candle …’

‘You’re accepting it?’ I say, scandalized.

‘Of course I am!’ says Suze, rolling her eyes. ‘It’s an olive branch. She’s changed. You should let people change, Bex.’

‘She hasn’t changed.’ I glare at Suze. ‘If she’d changed she would apologize.’

‘She did apologize!’

‘Not to me!’ I practically yell. ‘Not to me!’

‘Look, Bex,’ Suze pauses, halfway through unwrapping some herbal tea bags. ‘Please don’t let’s argue. Especially not about Alicia, for goodness’ sake! I think you should have your goodie bag and enjoy it. Go on.’ She prods me with a teasing smile. ‘Open it. I know you want to …’

Even though I’m still simmering inside, I can’t argue any more with Suze. Especially on her first day here. So I make a huge effort and smile back. I’ll never get her to understand about Alicia, I think dolefully. Maybe no one will ever properly understand except Luke (kind of) and me, and I’ll just have to accept that. Reluctantly, I pull the gift bag towards me and open it. I’ve got a candle too, and some olive-oil soap and … Wow. A Golden Peace bikini. I’ve seen those in the shop, and they’re $100.

I mean, it’s nice. But it doesn’t change Alicia.

‘I really want one of those white and gold bracelets,’ says Suze, eyeing mine. ‘Maybe I’ll take some classes. Let’s have a look …’ She opens the brochure, which was in the bag, then a moment later puts it down, her eyes wide. ‘Bex, this place costs a fortune! How many times a week do you come here?’

‘Er … every day.’

‘Every day?’ Suze is goggle-eyed. ‘But how much does that cost?’ She starts flicking through the brochure, gasping at every page. ‘Have you seen how much a yoga class costs? I pay a fifth of that in London.’

She seems so flabbergasted, I feel a bit defensive.

‘It’s not about money, Suze. It’s about mental health and spiritual wellbeing and my personal journey.’

‘Oh yes?’ she says sceptically. ‘Well, have they stopped you shopping too much?’

I wait for a beat, then answer with a flourish: ‘Yes!’

‘Yes?’ Suze drops the brochure and stares at me, with huge blue eyes. ‘Bex, did you say, “Yes”?’

Ha. Ha-di-ha. I was waiting for this subject to come up.

‘Yes,’ I say smugly. ‘I had a special one-to-one session yesterday with David, one of the therapists, and we talked through my issues, and he gave me lots of coping mechanisms. I’m a changed person, Suze!’

‘Oh my God,’ says Suze weakly. ‘You’re serious.’

‘Of course I’m serious!’

‘So … what, you walk into a shop and you don’t want to buy anything?’

‘That’s not how it works,’ I say kindly. ‘It’s a journey, Suze. We’re all on a journey.’

‘Well, how does it work?’

‘I’ll show you! Come on, we’ll go to the gift shop.’

I drain my juice and leap up, by now totally cheered. I’m longing to show off all my new techniques. I haven’t had a chance to practise them yet, except in the mirror at home.

‘Ernie!’ commands Suze. ‘You’re in charge. Stay in the playground. We’ll just be in the shop, OK?’

‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘We can see the playground from the shop. Come on!’

To be honest, I’ve been quite amazed at my own spectacular progress. When David came to find me at lunch one day, and suggested a one-to-one session to ‘discuss my shopping issues’, I wasn’t that keen. In fact I said, ‘Wow, that sounds fab, but actually, I’m a bit too busy.’

Then, when he set up a session anyway, I accidentally-on-purpose forgot to turn up. And then, when he came to find me in yoga, I … Well. I avoided him.

OK, I ran away, and hid behind a tree. Which I do appreciate was a bit childish. But he tracked me down in the café later that day and talked really sweetly to me and said if I hated what he said I could ignore it all.

So at last I had the session. And all I can say is, why did I never do this before? David kept saying, ‘These are the first baby steps,’ and, ‘I know you’ll find these ideas hard,’ and I agreed because I sensed that was what he wanted me to say. But honestly. I found them easy. I must be mentally very strong, or something.

He talked about ‘why people shop’, and then he told me about lots of different techniques that we could work on together, and then he told me how the lessons I’m learning in my other classes, like Mindfulness for a Positive Life and Tapping for Wellbeing, all feed into the same picture. And I nodded earnestly and took notes and then we talked about how I could go into the spending addiction programme when a space becomes available.

But the truth is, I don’t need to go into any spending addiction programme. I’m clearly a very fast learner, because I’ve totally got it. I have control over myself! I can’t wait to show Suze.

‘Here we are!’ I push open the doors to the gift shop. I have to say, it’s the most gorgeous shop. It’s all pale wood and scented candles burning, and everywhere you look is some beautiful, uplifting thing to help you on your journey, like a cashmere yoga hoody, or a soft, leather-bound ‘thought diary’, or positive affirmations printed on canvases. There’s a jewellery range, which is all made of organic crystals, and there are stacks of books and CDs, and even a range of ‘healing energy’ make-up.

I look at Suze, waiting for her to say, ‘Wow, what an amazing shop!’ But she’s just staring at me expectantly.

‘OK,’ she says. ‘What now? Do you just look around and think, “No, I don’t want any of this”?’

‘It’s a process,’ I say patiently, and get out my notebook. ‘First of all, I have to think, “Why I am shopping?” And I have to write it down.’ I look at the list of suggestions David gave me. Am I bored? No. Lonely? No. Anxious? No. For a moment I’m stumped. Why am I shopping?

‘I’ll put: “To show friend that I don’t shop too much any more,”’ I say at last. I write it down and underline it proudly.

‘Now what?’

‘Going shopping can often be a way of boosting low self-esteem,’ I say knowledgeably. ‘So I have to boost my self-esteem myself, with affirmations.’ I get out the Positive Thought cards that David gave me, and rifle through them. ‘Like this: I approve of myself and feel great about myself.’ I beam at Suze. ‘Isn’t that great? I’ve got loads of them.’

‘Let’s see!’ she says at once, holding out her hand.

‘Here you are.’ I hand her a card that says I accept others as they are and they in turn accept me as I am. ‘You can buy them here,’ I add. ‘And you can get really nice T-shirts with the affirmations printed on. Shall we try some on?’

‘Try on T-shirts?’ Suze stares at me. ‘Bex, I thought you’d given up shopping.’

‘I haven’t given up shopping.’ I almost laugh at her naive, simplistic attitude. ‘That’s not what this is about, Suze. It’s not about abstinence, it’s about getting into a healthy shopping pattern.’

That’s the lesson that really stuck with me from the session yesterday. It’s not about giving up shopping. As soon as David said that, the whole thing made more sense to me.

‘Well, wouldn’t it be healthier not to shop at all?’ Suze demands. ‘I mean, shouldn’t we leave?’

Suze really doesn’t get it. But then, she isn’t as tuned in to her inner mental landscape as me.

‘It’s actually a very bad idea to give up shopping altogether,’ I explain. ‘You have to learn to exercise your control muscle. Being in here is like a workout for me.’

‘Right.’ Suze looks dubious. ‘So what happens next?’

‘So, I’ll just make the purchases I need to, calmly and with meaning.’

I love that phrase. David kept saying it yesterday. You need to learn to shop calmly and with meaning.

‘But you don’t need to buy anything,’ objects Suze.

‘Yes I do! I need a book, actually. David told me to buy it. So.’ I lead my way over to the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy section, and reach for a book titled Catching Thoughts: Your Introduction to CBT.

‘This is what I do in my group,’ I say importantly, pointing at the title. ‘Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. If I want to buy something and it’s not appropriate, I have to restructure my thoughts. I have to identify my cognitive errors and challenge them.’

‘Wow.’ For the first time, Suze looks genuinely impressed. ‘Is that hard?’

‘No, it’s quite easy,’ I say, flipping through the book. ‘I’ll get the audio version too, so I can listen to it when I’m out jogging. And there are some other titles David said I should look at, too.’

I start scooping hardbacks into my basket. CBT Thought Diary, CBT for Spending Addiction, The Compulsive Spender’s Journal, Shopaholic: Break the Pattern … As I pile the books up I feel a glow of virtue. David was right, I can break free of my old ways. There are some really cool pencils too, matt black with slogans like Growth and Exhale. I’ll get a pack.

Suze is watching me, a bit nonplussed.

‘But Bex, how is this different from normal shopping? Where’s the challenging or whatever it is?’

Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that, just for a moment.

‘I was coming to that,’ I say, a little severely. ‘You put the things in your basket and then you challenge yourself.’

I lift up the top book and stare at it intently. I’m actually a bit hazy about what I should do next, not that I’ll admit that to Suze.

‘I need this book,’ I say at last, in a sonorous voice. ‘This is my belief. The evidence for this belief is: David told me I should get it. The evidence against it is … none. So. I will buy it, calmly and with meaning. Amen.’

‘Amen?’ Suze gives a sudden giggle.

‘That just slipped out,’ I admit. ‘Anyway, wasn’t that cool? I’ve totally learned how to challenge myself.’

‘Do the pencils now,’ Suze says.

‘OK.’ I take the pencils out and focus on them. ‘I need these pencils. This is my belief. The evidence for this belief is: pencils are always useful. The evidence against is …’

I stop dead as a thought strikes me. I’ve already bought a pack of these pencils, haven’t I? The first day I came here. What did I do with them?

‘The evidence against,’ I continue triumphantly, ‘is that I’ve already got some! So I’m going to put them back!’

With a flourish, I put the pack of pencils back on the shelf. ‘You see? I’m controlling myself. I’m a completely different person. Impressed?’

‘Well, OK. But what about all those books?’ Suze nods at my basket. ‘Surely you don’t need so many?’

Hasn’t she been listening to anything I’ve been saying?

‘Of course I need them,’ I say as patiently as I can. ‘They’re essential for my progress. I’m going to buy them calmly and with meaning.’ I reach for a gorgeous notepad. ‘I’m going to buy this calmly and with meaning, too. I can keep my dream journal in it. Everyone should keep a dream journal, did you know that?’

Suze still looks dissatisfied as I put it in my basket.

‘All right, so suppose you do shop too much,’ she says. ‘What do you do then?’

‘Then you use different techniques,’ I explain. ‘Like tapping.’

‘What’s tapping?’

‘Oh, it’s brilliant,’ I say enthusiastically. ‘You tap your face and chin and stuff, and you say mantras, and it frees your meridians and cures you.’

‘What?’ Suze stares at me.

‘It’s true!’

Tapping is almost my favourite class. Plus, I think it must be very good for toning the facial muscles, tapping your chin the whole time. I put my basket down and turn to demonstrate.

‘You tap your forehead and you say, “I know I have bought too much but I deeply and completely accept myself.” See?’ I beam at her. ‘Easy.’ I tap my chest for good measure, and the top of my head.

‘Bex …’ Suze seems perplexed.

‘What?’

‘Are you sure you’re doing it right?’

‘Of course I’m doing it right!’

The trouble with Suze is, she hasn’t had her mind opened, like I have. She hasn’t been exposed to the wealth of mind–spirit enhancement that’s out there.

‘You’ll learn the ways of Golden Peace after you’ve been here a bit,’ I say kindly. ‘Now, let’s try on T-shirts!’