And then he saw him – Tim – several metres away, slumped and lifeless in another man’s arms, being cradled like a baby, his heels resting on the ground. Damian hadn’t even noticed them when he’d rounded the sweat lodge but they must have been there the whole time. All he’d seen was Bessie, collapsed on the ground, a grey shell of a person, all trace of the vibrant pink-haired woman he’d known gone. Something sparked in him then, not sadness but anger. How had this happened? What had gone wrong? And where the fuck was Tom?

‘Tom!’ He turned away from Bessie and Tim and searched the gloom for a tall, fair man. ‘Tom!’

No one replied. No one even looked at him.

He saw Kate, crouched by the entrance of the tent, sobbing into her hands.

‘Kate!’ He shook her by the shoulder. ‘What happened? What the fuck happened?’

But she didn’t reply, she just kept crying.

‘And that,’ Damian said, glancing across at Jenna for the first time since he’d started speaking, ‘is when I searched for you. I looked everywhere. I even went into that fucking tent, terrified I’d find you dead, but you weren’t there. You weren’t anywhere. It was as though you’d vanished. I kept shouting your name, shouting and shouting. I saw Erica, walking back towards the sweat lodge from the cliffs and I asked her if she’d seen you. She gave me this weird little smile and said no. I knew she was lying but I didn’t know why …’ He swallowed. ‘… until I found you.’

Jenna didn’t reply. None of it felt real. She didn’t feel real. She felt as hollow and as disassociated as she had on the plane. Only when they pulled up at the ferry terminal did she speak.

‘Could you turn the light on?’ she asked as she rooted around in her bag.

‘Lost something?’

Wordlessly she held up a small cloth purse containing two hundred euros.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s all I’ve got. This is my day bag. I didn’t think. I just grabbed it. Everything else is in my suitcase: my passport, my credit cards, my phone.’

‘Ah, fuck.’ Damian started the engine.

‘No.’ She touched his hand. ‘I’m not going back.’

‘Well you’re not getting back into the UK without a passport.’

‘I’m not going back to the UK.’

‘Where are you going then?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Jenna.’ He gave her a long look. ‘Do you want me to come with you? Because I would, you know. I’ve got nothing to go back for either.’

Her heart splintered at the look in his eyes: the loneliness, desperation and longing. But she wasn’t the life buoy he could cling onto. She was flailing around in the water and if he clung to her they’d both go under.