The lift doors opened onto the main deck. There were loads of people hanging around the railings, as usual, waiting to see the ship come into port.

‘We can cancel if you want but I don’t know why you would want to. She’s not going to reject you, you know.’

‘How do you know that? How do you know she isn’t having the self-same conversation with her grandson that we’re having now?’

‘I don’t,’ I say. ‘I just hope.’

‘Those days with her – they belong in my head. It’s the place I go to when I need it. It’s my paradise. And I don’t want it to be sullied by modern let-downs and grief.’ She caught sight of herself in the window, but quickly looked away. ‘This is not how she knew me.’

‘What do you expect me to say? Do you want me to blow smoke up your arse and call you young and vivacious and still bearing a passing resemblance to Kaia Gerber in a certain light?’

‘No,’ she laughed. ‘Who’s Kaia Gerber?’

‘Oh, some foetus with no tits and famous parents, it’s not important. What is important is you meeting Beatrice. Could be your last chance. You don’t want to be a painting in a museum that people feel sorry for, do you?’

‘No, but—’

‘—right, so shut up moaning, get your knickers on and let’s go into Genoa shopping and we’ll buy Beatrice a nice gift. Maybe even find you an old Italian apothecary who can cast an anti-ageing spell on you or something.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I think we’re both in a silly mood.’

‘Anyway, we’re not in Genoa. Did you not hear the announcement?’

‘What announcement?’

‘On the public address, first thing. We’re still at sea.’

Out on deck, Elton John was blaring out and I was expecting to see a port and heaps of shipping containers and cranes and a terminal building, but there was only sea and the ship had stopped dead in the middle of it. Passengers were craning their necks over the railings.

‘Someone’s gone overboard,’ said Caro as we walked past the two-person-deep lines for railings towards the Diamond Deck staircase.

‘Oh no, that’s awful,’ I said, trying to pack my face with the same amount of concern as her. I probably just looked like I was trying to stifle a fart. ‘Anyone we know?’

A passing deck hand – Devonte – filled us in on the deets.

‘Yeah, it was some time last night,’ he said, pointing up to the Jumbotron above the kids’ pool – a photo of the passenger, taken in happier times, raising a glass at some bleary-eyed, grey-gravy Christmas piss-up.

‘Goodness me, it’s that poor chap!’ cried Caro, her hand to her mouth the way people always do when they’re genuinely shocked. I did the same, more to hold back an ill-timed laugh.