I couldn’t think of any excuses. Not a single one. So cue the boo-boo. ‘That’d be ripper, thanks, guys! I’ll go grab my bag.’

In the absence of Jayde and Ryan, the Prossers had invited their cruise chums along – Lynette and Dennis Hall, two dehydrated ex-farmers from Devon, and Eddie and Shona Callahan, retired firefighters from Orange County. Brexiteers and Trumpians alike – they were people I’d normally cross motorways to avoid. As it was I was stuck in Gammon Central. I had to go Full Throttle Hilary.

‘That’s a brilliant observation, Dennis. I agree, totally!’ I found myself saying when he went on some rant about migrants paying for healthcare.

‘You’re so right!’ I beamed at Eddie. ‘Mexico should pay for the wall!’ He high-fived me with his sweaty paw. I wiped it on Gloria’s cardigan, mid-cringe.

‘Oh, I hear you, Shona, I hear you,’ I said with an Amen hand as she started on about how we should all be doing our bit to reduce plastic and save the planet. She’d already fucked the planet by birthing five kids so it didn’t actually matter how many times a day she swilled out her tampon. Still, Hilary earned their trust and that was all that mattered.

I had vowed to take a bag full of the essentials whenever I left the ship, on the off chance I got the call from Dannielle while the phone had full signal, but the call didn’t come in Cartagena. The screen remained blank all day.

The town was a searingly hot but tranquil little place, filled with old buildings, marble streets lined with palm trees and a marina of bobbing boats. Everything smelled like sun cream and the heat deepened my tan as we walked around, touring Mercia Cathedral before Gloria dragged everyone shoe shopping.

It was a dull but fairly relaxing day – until I saw the five police officers gathered outside the Punic Wall museum. Policia Local Cartagena written on their blue-and-yellow jackets, dicing bands on their hats, guns poised. Mirrored sunglasses so nobody could see who they were looking at. They didn’t seem to be interacting, just waiting. Waiting for me?

Any second I expected that tap on my shoulder and the inevitable ‘Disculpe señora, está bajo arresto’ but the moment never came. They didn’t pay me much mind at all. Still didn’t stop me stressing about it and looking at my phone every five minutes.

I took the opportunity to text Dannielle Fairly. She didn’t appreciate it.

I said don’t hold your breath. I’ve got 99 problems here, Hilary. Hold tight.