‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m having a bad day.’

‘Don’t apologise, it’s refreshing. There’s enough bullshitters. People who bid you “good day” but wouldn’t piss in your mouth if your teeth were on fire.’

I decided I liked her. I liked being myself in her company. It was a risk, of course, but I’ve always been a risky pixie.

‘There you go, Caro,’ said a waiter, placing a fresh piña colada on her table and removing the empty glass. They shared a conversation where I learned that she knew most of the staff by first name and they all knew her.

‘Been coming on this ship a long time?’ I asked when he’d gone.

‘I never leave,’ she said. ‘I’ve been on here for eleven years.’

‘You live on the ship?’ She nodded, her wattles quivering. ‘Why?’

‘Can you think of a better place to live? All you can eat and drink, 24-hour entertainment, medical care, a new vista every morning.’

‘What about your home?’

‘This is my home.’

‘No, your house, your family?’

‘I don’t have any.’ She picked up her book from the table.

I’m normally wary of older people in case they start having a stroke or need something wiped but this one looked safe-ish. Maybe I could become her companion, like the granddaughter of the old bag in Titanic. Cue the ‘It’s been 84 years’ GIF. My parasitical suckers twitched.

‘I’m Hilary,’ I said, remembering my Aussie accent and phasing it in. I read the cover of her book – The Countess’s Courtesan by Vaughan Dempsey-Newhall. ‘Why do you never get off the ship?’

‘I don’t need to,’ she replied. ‘There’s nothing to be seen that I haven’t seen a hundred times before. Things don’t tend to improve with age.’

Maybe I could do that, I thought, cruise forevermore. Maybe the crew could become a family of sorts. But I remembered my tumbleweedy bank account and shot that particular thought owl out of the sky.

‘How much does it cost to live on a cruise?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘You must be loaded.’

‘I am. And I don’t need a lady’s companion if that’s what you’re thinking so if you’ve somewhere else you have to be—’

‘No. I’m only… killing time,’ I said.

‘Until what?’

For the first time in a long time I told the truth. ‘I don’t know. I have no idea what I’m doing.’ And all my thought owls flew to Ivy. That day marked her week-old birthday.

‘Just enjoy your holiday then,’ she said, focusing on her book, mouthing the words as she read them.

‘Read a bit out to me,’ I said, lying back on my lounger.