Off we go, in separate tuk-tuks. I adore the feeling of the warm air from the speed of the little engine. My hair dances all around my face. I fight to keep my eyes open, not wanting to miss a minute of the madness I’m in the thick of, a feeling that there’s more to this trip than sheer disappointment. When I get back to my room, I flop onto the bed and start drifting off into drunken slumber.

Maybe I will go to Vietnam tomorrow. Maybe …

21

The sky is the darkest shade of grey I’ve ever seen. It’s so low, I want to touch it with my fingertips. I stare out of the round window, the rain battering against the glass. I never thought it possible for clouds to be this dramatic.

Stepping off the plane, the wind slaps my cheeks and my polka-dot skirt does a full-on Marilyn Monroe. I grip the railing, taking each step slowly, just as the passengers before and behind me must be doing. If only I could see them. My eyes are squinting, and not through choice. On the tarmac, the force of the wind almost pushes my body back onto the plane. Welcome to Da Nang, eh?

My return flight back to London is in four days – from Bangkok, of course – but like Justin reminded me, flights can be changed. Sure, it’ll cost me, but so would therapy. I had no way of telling Justin I was coming, but I got to BKK in plenty of time for the noon flight, and there he was, ahead of me at check-in.

‘I knew you’d come,’ he shouted over.

‘I like to think I’m unpredictable, but …’

We meet again by the baggage carousel, his elephant traveller trousers still on his bottom half, a white vest covered by an open denim shirt occupying the top. He asks me where I’m staying in Hoi An.

‘Well,’ I begin, feeling pretty stupid. ‘I was gonna try the hostel thing. Am I wrong to think you can just rock up and get a room? Sorry, but I never went backpacking back in the day.’

‘That’s usually how it works,’ Justin tells me. ‘Presuming there’s room at the inn and all, but the weather isn’t gonna be on your side this afternoon, buddy.’

‘God, I’m such an amateur.’

‘Don’t worry. I got an idea. How about you come with me to my hotel, log onto the Wi-Fi and wait for the storm to pass. By the time you find yourself a room somewhere, the sky’ll be clear and we can go grab a bite. Or not. Totally your choice.’

As we approach arrivals, we notice how drenched the drivers are, awaiting their passengers. A family exit the automatic doors and are literally blown over, all four of them piling on top of one another. I turn to Justin.