As my plane begins its descent into Manchester, I look out of the window at the snow-covered landscape and whisper an apology to Pops for the ruined holiday. I haven’t been able to force the uncertainty of all that is waiting for me at home from my head, and after the word spread around the boat that my mother had died, the other passengers had treated me with sympathy. It made me uncomfortable and drove me back into the shell from which I had slowly been emerging since the start of the trip.

The tension gripping me increased with each passing day, and I found myself distrustful of everyone. More than once I returned to my cabin, convinced that someone had been in there, and when Paul spoke to me to say how sorry he was for my loss, I had the uncomfortable feeling that those beady eyes of his were looking straight through me. How could he know it wasn’t true?

The ten-minute warning sounds, and we are told to fasten our seat belts for landing.

As we taxi to the gate I feel more lonely than I have ever felt in my life. I had hoped that Thea and Garrick would be travelling back on the same flight as they live so close to Manchester, but my flight was via Dubai and theirs via Singapore. Thea became my protector in the last few days of the holiday, and when Paul suggested one evening that maybe I would like to join him for dinner for a change, she was up in arms.

‘Excuse me,’ she said. ‘This young lady is having a very hard time coming to terms with the loss of her mother. Right now she needs the support of those closest to her.’

Paul looked at me, raising his eyebrows as if in challenge, and once again I had the feeling that not only did he see right through me, but that there was something he wanted to say. I didn’t like the questions he kept asking me about my life in Manchester, the holidays I had taken, the people I had met. He made me nervous.

After that he didn’t speak to me again until we were leaving the boat. He leaned in close, and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me goodbye. I could smell the soap he must have used to wash his face and feel his breath on my cheek. I pulled back sharply, alarmed at the thought of his skin touching mine.

I was wrong. He didn’t want to kiss me.

‘I’m watching you,’ he said softly.