I became fidgety and unsettled – the café was small and the outside tables too close together. There were British voices all around me – Scouse accents, Brummies. Two blonde women definitely catching glimpses at me whenever I caught a glimpse of them. I desperately wanted to check my phone.

The waitress brought us our drinks – a strawberry smoothie for me, piña colada for Caro. When Caro went in search of a toilet, I saw my chance.

And I did have a message. From Dannielle. It simply said:

Go. Now.

I immediately dialled her back. On the tenth ring, a woman answered. And she didn’t sound at all happy.

‘Yeah?’

‘Dannielle? It’s Hilary…’

‘Oh, thank fuck for that, where’ve you been? I’ve been ringing for ages.’

‘We only got into port at eight – I don’t get a signal at sea and the WiFi’s too expens—’

‘—never mind that now, are you at the airport?’

‘What airport?’

‘Any airport. You need to be on your way, lady. They’re on to you. You’ve got to get out of Europe before they find out what cruise you were on. Your confession’s broke.’

‘Yeah, I saw some headlines. You haven’t told me where I’m supposed to be going, though.’

‘Yeah, I did, I told you. Hacienda Santuario.’

‘Where? What country?’

‘Oh, did I not say?’ And then she told me.

I stopped short of saying the word out loud at that moment, observing that the two blondes had definitely stopped talking and were listening in. ‘Right. So what do I do?’

‘Are you near an airport?’

‘Um, I’m in Rome today.’

‘Right, get to the Leonardo Da Vinci Airport and get on the first flight out. Book return Business Class for two people.’

‘Why two people?’

‘It’ll throw off any suspicion, as will a return ticket. Business Class passengers are less likely to be interrogated. Look, I have to go. We’ve got the police coming again at four. You’ll stay with Tenoch for a bit until you get yourself sorted, he’ll arrange a new passport for yer, an American one, and that’ll get you into the States. OK? Destroy the phone as soon as you can, preferably now. Make sure you write down that address before you do.’

‘But what if I’m recognised on the way to him?’

‘You’re on your own, Kid. I’ve done my bit. Good luck.’

When I got off the call, I checked Twitter: I was trending in the UK. There’d been a hastily produced Panorama on TV last night:

United Kingdom trends

1. #MondayMotivation
2. #TheRhiannonLewisStory
3. #NationalSausageWeek
4. #MentalHealthAwarenessWeek
5. #loosewomen
6. #RuinAFilmByAddingUpYourBum
7. #RhiannonLewis
8. #serialkiller
9. #CraigWilkinsIsHot
10. #StabMeRhiannon

Caro returned from the toilets, beaming.

She was smiling, for the first time that day. ‘We came here once.’

‘What?’ I said, distracted.

‘Me and Beatrice. One Sunday at Pentecost.’