A dark loathing encompasses me. The wind has calmed enough for me to remember.

The knocking gets louder, faster.

Please, leave me alone … No! I should apologise.

He’s almost banging my door down now. I mean, what the—

‘Alright!’ I say, pulling the door but keeping the chain locked.

‘Breakfast, Madam!’

It’s not Justin. It’s a Vietnamese man, smiling and holding a wooden tray with a miniature banana and a croissant on a plate. A dollop of jam and a dollop of butter sit beside the croissant. A bottle of water and a glass of orange juice rattle unsteadily. The man is wearing a crash helmet.

‘I don’t need breakfast,’ I shriek.

‘Please, take breakfast.’

‘No, I mean, you didn’t have to bring anything! Get inside! Shelter!’

He laughs at me and leaves the tray on the floor in front of the door, waving bye-bye. I carefully open the door and pick it up. I eat the banana and the croissant, leaving the jam and butter untouched, and take the bottle of water, slotting it into the front pocket of my suitcase. I put on some underwear, a pair of jeggings and stripy t-shirt. Slipping into my flip-flops, I leave my room and eye up the ripped-apart roof down to the swimming pool. Chairs, tables and tiles are drowning in the water.

It doesn’t take long to check out. The reception is calm and quiet, not a soul around other than the receptionist, who is different from the lady yesterday. I wonder how the little Dutch boy slept, and hope he wasn’t frightened.

A taxi is called and it arrives within minutes.

‘Hoi An town centre?’ I ask the driver as I clamber into the back seat.

If there’s magic to be seen, I should try and find it; especially now the typhoon seems to have finally passed. Opposite the Garden Villa guest house, I see a family fixing the roof of their home. Two fellas are sitting on the tin top and a woman is handing them tools. They all see me watching from the taxi and wave, smiling. Every tree on this road has been uprooted, the thin trunks sprawled in zigzags on the ground.

‘Sorry, Madam,’ the driver tells me. ‘Too much water. River.’

I don’t argue. I won’t contest. This man knows more about this town than I ever will. If the town is flooded, that means the restaurants won’t be open, nor the shops. Nobody will be cycling through the streets, across the bridge. There won’t be any lanterns. Not today.

‘No problem,’ I say. ‘Da Nang Airport, please.’

The magic just isn’t here.

Would there have been magic if Jack was here? God, imagine how different this whole experience would’ve been if …

Imagine.

That’s all I’ve got. And all I’ll ever have now.

I must go home.

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