‘Ruby’s far too busy for such inanities,’ Amber said, squeezing my arm proprietorially. ‘I’ve signed us up for the rock climbing wall, yogalates, macramé . . .’

‘What about man-cramé? I’d rather tie up a man in knots,’ Emerald chuckled, appraising herself in the mirror and giving a twirl.

Amber continued obstinately circling activity start times on the information sheet. ‘Ruby, there’s a general knowledge quiz every night after supper, oh, and charades. You love charades!’

‘Bondage charades would be more fun – one bloke on each team is tied up and the rest of us make him guess what we’ll do to him,’ Emerald tittered as she changed outfits.

‘A lot of blokes are better imagined in your bed than found there in the morning,’ Amber warned.

‘I’m sorry, Amber, but how would you know?’ Emerald struck a pose in her next outfit. ‘So, what do you think of this?’

Amber and I surveyed our sister’s mammaries, which were now encased in a bustier big enough to house Meatloaf and his twin brother.

‘Well, you’ve certainly perfected your drag queen look,’ Amber adjudicated.

‘Hey, there’s a lot of female competition on board, so I thought I’d better go for the full MILF.’

‘MILF,’ Amber decoded, sternly, ‘is a guerrilla movement in the Philippines.’

‘Farc!’ Emerald replied, with mock shock.

‘Emerald, darling, you’re regressing.’ Amber tut-tutted. ‘Plus, you’re too old to be a “mother I’d like to fuck”. Picture it. Once you take off all the scaffolding, he’ll go to grab a boob and find it halfway down your thigh!’

‘Emerald, you are not setting booby traps,’ I consoled, patting our big sister’s arm. ‘Goddesses never age.’

‘Don’t humour her, Ruby. She’s so old she’ll have to say to her toy boy, “Shout dirty to me!”’

‘I know it’s ridiculous,’ Emerald admitted. ‘But we’ve accidentally set sail on a cougar cruise, and I, for one, am not going to waste the frickin’ opportunity. Nor should you, Rubes. You’ll never get this chance again. If you and Harry do split up, you’ll have to start dating again.’ Emerald’s face clouded as she remembered my ‘condition’.

‘Speed dating, clearly,’ I interjected, so she wouldn’t feel bad. I knew it was wrong, I knew it was bad. I hated myself for perpetuating the lie, but I just wasn’t ready yet to put my head between my legs and assume the brace position for the truth to come out.