‘Boris Johnson and Playgirl have agreed to centrefold terms?’ I suggested.

‘Worse. Mum’s learnt to use WhatsApp. I have about ten messages on my phone berating me for abandoning her.’

‘Really? She’s attacking me on Messenger. I’ve been getting daily bulletins from Planet Grim since we left Sydney,’ Emerald said.

‘Well, let’s just ignore her until we get back. United we stand, divided we’re screwed,’ I said.

‘I dunno why we even bother being nice to her.’ Amber sighed, then swigged down another big gulp of champagne. ‘She’s probably just going to leave her whole estate in trust to a cat retirement home or her hairdresser or something.’

‘We’re already out of the will, didn’t I tell you?’ Emerald reported. ‘God, I meant to, but in all the rush and fuss . . .’

‘What?’ Amber’s head spun to look at her.

‘Well, you know about Mum’s volcanic temper . . .’

‘What did Dad call her?’ I asked. ‘Oh, I remember: Lady McDeath.’

‘Yes. Well, in short, Lady McDeath told me that if we abandoned her to come on this cruise, she’d leave all her money to the Catholic Church.’

‘Fuck!’ Amber swore – something she did now.

‘Hey, it was always on the cards. She never forgave you for marrying a Protestant, Amber. Nor me an atheist, which is even worse. That’s another reason why she’s always liked you the best, Ruby. Because you married a good Catholic boy.’

‘Not so good, it turns out,’ I said, sourly.

Amber patted my hand consolingly.

‘Although, it’s true,’ I acknowledged. ‘Mum thinks Protestants make the baby-sacrificing Aztecs and missionary-nibbling cannibals of Africa look civilised.’

‘But the real reason she’s leaving her money to the church is so that prayers will be said to get her out of purgatory,’ Emerald clarified.

‘Gosh, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it?’ Amber bemoaned. ‘A rich sinner can get a fast-track VIP pass through purgatory by donating to the Pope’s Prada shoe fund. But paupers, not so much.’

‘I doubt that any number of prayers could get our mother out of purgatory, anyway,’ Emerald jibed. ‘The truth is, Mum’s an evil, hypercritical, she-bitch from hell . . . But, of course, I wish her only the best.’

‘Well, I’m not saying prayers for her. Not after being cut of the will, after all I’ve done for her,’ Amber grumbled.

‘All you’ve done? Surely you mean all I’ve done. Mum’s always complaining to me that you do nothing for her, Amber.’

‘What? I do everything. She’s always saying you don’t do anything for her, Emerald, and that she can’t believe how selfish you are.’