‘What parents desperately need is a lesson in how to chill out about parenting,’ Emerald said. ‘Let me tutor you in how to forget about being perfect. First, pour yourself a big cocktail. Second, put on your headphones so you can’t hear your whiny kids’ demands . . .’

‘Then pop your feet up and dive into some “continuous prose”, otherwise known as a novel,’ I finished the thought.

‘Speaking of which, I’m so sick of this pretentious crap,’ Amber said, and with that, flung the huge hardback across the deck.

I’d never seen her do something so reckless. ‘Well done, sis.’ I applauded, amazed. ‘Go to the top of the class.’

‘Oh, quick! Look at that albatross,’ Emerald said, pointing out the magnificent bird, with its massive wing span, gliding effortlessly above the boat’s bow. ‘The babies leave the nest and fly to sea and don’t land for two years. Unlike our kids, who never really leave the frickin’ nest. My kids might be away at uni, but they still bring home all their dirty laundry and expect me to iron it.’

‘This break has been such bliss it’s made me think about flying the nest to escape my own kids,’ Amber admitted.

‘Well, I didn’t think a cruise would float my boat,’ Emerald confessed, ‘but I haven’t thought about work once. If only we didn’t have to go back. Why don’t we just take a gap year, girls? Gap years are so wasted on the young.’

‘Um, Em, having trysts with twenty-two-year-olds is your gap year,’ I reminded her.

Both my sisters spluttered with laughter, their earthy chortles sounding like cars on gravel. When they’d calmed down, Emerald said, ‘Okay, so I’m rediscovering my mojo, getting fit, not thinking about work and reinventing myself as a smoking hot sex goddess. I had a facial, for god’s sake! And wore gold hotpants to the Big Band Bash in the Molecular Bar. Me! And Amber’s eating and tanning and letting her hair down – her chin hair – and having “me time”, while wishing she’d sent her kids off to boarding school the minute the umbilical cords were cut, and, I can’t believe it, wearing leggings and flip-flops . . . But what about you, Ruby? What’s new with you?’

Amber’s eyes narrowed, her gaze quizzical and calculating. ‘Yes, you look different somehow. Are you feeling okay?’ she asked, anxiously.

‘Me? Oh, yes. Fine. I’m just worrying about the flak we’re going to cop from Mum when we get back,’ I said quickly. ‘She’s sent me a couple of extremely curt emails. We’ll have to buy matching Mum-proof flak jackets.’

‘What’s that on your chin?’ It was Emerald’s turn to scrutinise me now. ‘Is that beard rash? You’ve been snogging some love god, haven’t you, you, cheeky minx!’