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him.
    ‘Is this the same kitchen I left last night?’ he says. ‘Only it looks like somebody’s been in and waved a magic wand.’
    I’m just plucking up courage to ask what his problem is and why he’s the only adult in a houseful of crazy teenagers, when the man holds out his hand towards me.
    ‘I’m Josh, by the way,’ he says. A clutch of knotted leather bracelets slithers down his arm towards me.
    ‘I own this place.’

Chapter Seven
    I ignore the hand.
    ‘Rituals,’ I say, by way of explanation.
    ‘Oh shit, of course,’ says the man. He really does look like Jesus.
    I sneak a peek at his feet. Yup – he’s even wearing the battered brown sandals. He’s got long, soft, mud-coloured hair and a wispy beard and he’s got the same little round glasses as the Doc, except whereas her eyes are bright and awake and firm, his are sleepy and half shut and misty, as if he’s thinking of something he loved and lost.
    ‘I’m so sorry about the mess,’ the man issaying. ‘Wednesday nights are always dodgy. I blame it on the chemicals in the Chinese takeaway.’
    He delivers this line with a soft wink and a soppy grin.
    ‘Do you want a coffee?’ I say. To my horror, I’m blushing.
    The man is already hunting around for jars and cups but at that he turns round and blesses me again with his disarming smile.
    ‘This place will soon knock those manners out of you,’ he says. ‘Shame. I think you’re great.’
    My heart is doing flips and hops and missing beats. I’m going insane. One minute I’m laughing at this man in my head for being a nerdy Jesus-look-alike, the next he’s a grinning Sex God and I’m feeling as if the legs on my chair are about to give way beneath me.
    ‘Giving you the old patter, is he?’
    The Doc’s just come in. She touches the manlightly on the shoulder and smiles at me.
    ‘This, as he probably hasn’t bothered to tell you, is my husband, Josh,’ she says.
    My heart falls to the ground and is kicked until it lies dead.
    ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Husband. Hello.’
    ‘He has a way with the ladies,’ says the Doc, peering with a frown at the green shoots growing on the windowsill. She is minus the apron today, but still wearing the white linen shirt and grey skirt. ‘But the best thing is he’s completely unaware of it.’
    Josh is staring at her with a bemused look upon his saintly face.
    ‘I’ll leave you women to it,’ he says. ‘I’ve got a toilet to unblock and then I need to brave Caro’s den.’
    This is the second time I’ve heard the name ‘Caro’. I remember the appalling scream from last night.
    ‘She’s in isolation today,’ says the Doc, as if this explains everything. ‘She’s having a rough time at the moment. Josh is having a session with her later.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ I say. Is she talking about massage? Or yoga? Mum used to say that yoga was very calming to the soul. When I came home from school she was often to be found on a green mat with her legs knotted round her head. It never looked very calming to me. I tried it once and cricked a muscle in my neck.
    The Doc is cradling her cup of coffee at the kitchen table.
    ‘The kids here all have sessions,’ she says. ‘Either with Josh, or with me. We use behavioural therapy, which means we address patterns of behaviour and look at how we might break them.’
    When she says ‘break’, I feel unsteady, as if somebody has pulled a rug from under my feetand replaced it with a barrowful of sharp, uneven rocks.
    I grip the sides of my chair and hook my feet round the bar underneath.
    ‘Your first session won’t be until this evening,’ she says. ‘Until then you’re free. Treat the place as home!’
    She bustles out again, leaving me staring at my empty plate.
    It’s only eight o’clock in the morning. At home I’d be doing my rituals and getting ready for school about now.
    Everything’s been thrown upside down. All the usual time frames have been shattered. I can’t even do my jumps