The doctor made his excuses, wrote up his notes on the computer and left us to it. Caro clutched her bag against her and sat there, staring at me.

‘Why did you do this?’ I asked her. ‘We could have cancelled. You didn’t need to go full Madonna at the Brits.’ I pulled the visitor’s chair across.

‘Who told you I was here?’

‘Martin. He couldn’t believe I didn’t know.’

‘Why? We’re not related.’

‘That’s not the point. Why have you been avoiding me?’ We were closer to the ship’s engine in the Medical Bay but I could still hear a pin drop in that room over the distant hum. I could hear Caro’s throat as she swallowed.

‘Because I am scared.’

There was a newspaper folded up on the counter behind. I wondered for a split second whether she’d seen the story, recognised my face. Whether my number was up. She secured her stance on her stick before looking back at me. ‘Scared of what?’ I asked.

‘Scared of dying. I didn’t want to show you that… weakness, I suppose. Knowing that Beatrice still loves me, knowing there’s another possibility of a life for me makes me realise how precious life is. And I’ve been a stupid, scared old woman, going through the motions on here all these years, drinking myself into oblivion, deluding myself into thinking I was living the good life. All I’ve been doing is avoiding it. Literally going round in circles.’

There was a hubbub outside the door and I got up to open it an inch. Several staff members were clustered around an elongated blue sack, fumbling it down the stairs, taking it into the next-door cubicle and barking orders in at least two different languages. I didn’t understand it. Caro did.

‘They’ve found Mr Carraway.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

‘Is that all you can say?’

‘I told you, I didn’t even know the guy.’ I pulled the iPhone out of my pocket to quickly change the subject. ‘I’ll cancel Beatrice. I clicked onto Facebook and began typing a message to Enzo. Outside the room, some stewards chattered, leaving the Medical Bay one by one on several creaks of the main door. All went silent. Caro put her hand over my phone, rose to her feet before steadying herself and grabbing her stick from a hook on the wall.

‘Where are you going?’

I followed her out into the next cubicle, where she stood beside the zipped-up body of John Carraway on its gurney. She stood beside the bag for a while, probably five minutes, not saying a word.

‘Shall I unzip—’

Caro placed her hand on mine as I undid his zip. ‘No. Don’t.’

I hid my disappointment.