I had forgotten about Fitzroy Island until I see it on the page. Millie had told me about it briefly, but I hardly did any research because there’s no scuba diving involved. Fitzroy is off the coast of Cairns, only accessible by boat. From what I remember, it’s mostly comprised of rainforest and the Turtle Rehabilitation Centre. Even though I’ve hardly been on the boat for more than ten minutes, I’m relieved we’ll have a chance to stretch our legs on dry land.

I skim the itinerary one more time before folding it into a neat square and tucking it into my back pocket.

Nine chances to find the butterfly wrasse.

I’m about halfway through the rest of the forms when I hear the unmistakable sound of a pen scratching angrily across paper.

Angry suntan man is writing furiously. Something about the way he’s hunched over his clipboard makes me want to finish faster than he does. I pick up my pace, hoping I can hand Vanessa mine first. He finishes before I do and hands his clipboard to Vanessa with a triumphant grin. My skin prickles in annoyance. I finish next, and I wait for her to sign and initial his form before I hand her my sheaf of papers.

‘Ah,’ she says, upon reading my name, ‘you’re the two marine biologists.’

I smile and nod proudly. Angry suntan man shoots me an incredibly surprised look. Ha! I think, before my brain reminds me that I am not, in fact, a marine biologist. And that as a fellow marine biologist, angry suntan man will be very confused as to why he had to help me procure reef-friendly sunscreen. Dammit.

My stomach flips when I realise the repercussions of what Vanessa said. If angry suntan man is a marine biologist . . . he’s Hugh. The man who just took me to buy sunscreen is Hugh Harris. No, I think quickly, he can’t be Hugh. The universe can’t possibly have made this trip even more complicated.

Plus, Hugh is . . . I think back to our DMs . . . back to what Millie has told me about him . . . he’s snarky and haughty and an insufferable know-it-all. I push down my next thought: angry suntan man is all of those things too.

Vanessa opens her mouth to say something else, perhaps formally introduce us, but before she can another two people come aboard. The first one up the ladder is lugging a massive black container that looks so heavy duty it could have come straight off a military cargo plane. I recognise the container first, racking my brain for why it’s familiar.

‘My camera,’ the man explains breathlessly to us, gesturing to the massive box. It dawns on me as his partner scales up the ladder behind him.

The scarf lady from the airport and her partner are on my boat.