It’s the perfect way to connect with Jack; to wish for a happy ending; to feel his presence fly away in a floating lantern. At the moment I seem a bit floaty, never mind the bloody lantern. Maybe this magical town is already having an effect on me. Not that I’ve witnessed any of this supposed magic yet. But remember, Justin said the storm will pass soon. It’s not typhoon season.

I make my way to my room. It’s on the second level of the two-storey building, and I’ve got to drag myself through an outside corridor where the doors are situated. The wind hasn’t calmed down, so as much as I want to peep over the balcony, take in the pool and the view, I better keep my head down and my feet forward.

The photos were accurate. The room is beautiful. Probably the best sixteen quid I’ve ever spent. A king-size bed with crisp white sheets invites me to bounce; it has cushions and a throw in the same material as the upholstered chairs in reception. Wooden decor creates a boho-chic feel, carved dark wood poles dividing the space between the bed and a sitting area. There’s a flatscreen telly, the usual tea and coffee and a bowl with two mini bananas. The bathroom isn’t much to scream about; basic, functional – and the shower doesn’t look too promising. But how can I complain? Besides, there’s a little round soap wrapped in mint-green paper, and a shower cap: the sort of treats I’d find in my nan’s house.

There’s a knock on my door. I open it carefully and the wind whips in. Justin jumps inside.

‘Apologies. I wouldn’t usually barge my way in—’

‘Don’t be soft. Did you sort out a taxi?’

‘No chance.’ He runs his hands across his heavy, dark stubble, irritated. ‘Apparently all the beach accommodation has been evacuated. It all seems a little OTT, but maybe I’m wrong; maybe typhoons can hit this time of year.’

‘I just wanna see some lanterns,’ I say, like a five-year-old demanding a unicorn.

‘You hungry?’

‘I think so.’

‘The lady on the desk told me to get food now – it might be too late soon.’

‘Okay, that does sound a bit—’

‘OTT?’

I purse my lips and look around my room. The wind is howling through the fan in the bathroom window. Hanging around here probably isn’t the most inspiring thing to do; food is the better option.

‘Let’s go,’ I say.

The receptionist even gives us an umbrella each, kindly requesting we remember to bring them back. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to the ancient town and that’s our plan. We figure if we can get to a place where more people are milling about and restaurants aren’t keen on closing for business, we’ll perk up. And hopefully, the storm will pipe down.