‘Caftan? I’ll be wearing a bloody tarpaulin. Amber’s not coming, is she?’

‘She is, amazingly! Isn’t that fantastic?’

There was a pause. ‘She’s my sister and I love her, but you do realise we’ll have our teeth into each other’s throats before you can say “anchors aweigh”.’

‘And that’s exactly why we need to do this trip together. To get over all that crap. What changed your mind?’

‘I’ve decided that what I need is some equine therapy.’

‘Um, there are a lot of activities on offer on these big ships, Em, but I’m not sure about horses.’

‘No, I mean I want a man who is hung like a horse. That’s equine therapy for middle-aged women.’

‘What?! What about Alessandro? I thought he was your Italian stallion?’

‘I lied. Okay? Sandro hasn’t touched me for years. Don’t tell Amber. She’ll only gloat. The reason I comfort eat is because I’m suffering from chronic hetero hunger pangs. I want to put “men” back on the menu. Our last hormonal hurrah. I think it’s okay to be physically unfaithful, as long as I’m not emotionally unfaithful. What happens on board, stays on board, right? For you too. Harry’s infidelity has given you a “get out of the bedroom free” card, I’d say. Especially after Kev’s vile appearance.’

Now, I thought. This was the right time to tell the truth about the misdiagnosis – except that I’d tied myself up in so many knots with all my lies, I’d need to hire a top escapologist to help me get the hell out of them.

‘Great. See you aboard HMAS Hedonism!’ I heard myself say instead of the truth. ‘Love you, Emmy.’

‘Ditto,’ she replied. Coming from rational, unsentimental Emerald, it was the equivalent of a Shakespearean love sonnet.

As I hung up, my main worry now was that the cruise ship would sink under the weight of all my excess emotional baggage.

7

‘Emotional roller-coaster’ is an overused expression, but I felt it was far too tame a description for the nail-biting, knuckle-gnawing, vomit-inducing big dipper ride my life had become. In the past week I had been diagnosed with cancer then miraculously cured, discovered that my beloved husband was a cheating bastard, thrown a party with all my friends and family to celebrate my fiftieth birthday, then promptly alienated them all and been exiled as a pariah to the persona non grata parish, been excised from my mother’s will and drunkenly booked a cruise for my two estranged sisters, who’d flat-out refused to come . . . but who were now, astonishingly, leaning up against the railing of an ocean liner, sipping cocktails with little umbrellas in them.

‘Where are we going again?’ Amber asked, slugging down her second piña colada as we slipped moorage at sunset and cruised past the pale, shimmering sails of the world’s most famous opera house.