‘What if Stew is what I want?’ my fish face replied. ‘He might not be perfect, but he isn’t a bad man.’

Juliette shook her head.

‘A lot of brilliant women have been crushed by not-bad men.’

I didn’t reply for a minute. Instead, I thought back over all the times I’d given something up, turned down an invitation, cancelled plans, all to make Stew’s life easier. And not just Stew’s, I’d done it for everyone. Whether it was deciding what to have for dinner or turning down the opportunity to work in another country, I’d set myself up time and time again thinking an easy life would make me happier. But it hadn’t. What did Fran want? Who did Fran want to be? I had no idea, I hadn’t even let myself consider the question.

‘Is it time to go in?’ I asked, tired and confused and definitely ready for the rest of the pizza. If one of the stewards had taken the leftovers away, I would find out which one, hunt them down and kill them.

‘It’s time for another dare,’ Juliette answered as she grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. ‘Come on.’

We staggered along the boat to the highest point of the observation deck, both of us leaning into the curve of the railing. I rested my hips against the cold steel and held my arms out on either side.

‘If you’re about to do the Titanic bit, so help me god, I’ll push you in myself,’ she warned. I lowered my arms and turned back to face her, guilty as charged. ‘I want you to call Stew.’

‘Oh, no,’ I replied, grabbing at the phone that was still hanging around my neck. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘I want you to call Stew,’ she repeated. ‘And I want you to tell him how you really feel.’

Shaking my head, I sniffed loudly. ‘How can I tell him that when I don’t even know? I can’t call him now, it’s too late.’

She held her watch up to my face.

‘Fuck me, it’s not even nine,’ I breathed. ‘I thought it was the middle of the night, I’m a disgrace.’

‘Do it now before you overthink it,’ she said, placing the phone in my hand. Obediently, I tapped in his number, white digits on a black screen, only some of them blurring double.

‘But what am I going to say?’ I asked, desperate for an answer.

But Stew picked up before Juliette even had a chance to reply.

‘Fran?’

‘Stewart,’ I pulled back my shoulders and stood tall. I was a strong, powerful woman who happened to be wearing coconut shells she had glued onto a bra. I could do anything. ‘It is I, Francesca.’

I pictured him sitting on the settee with his hand down his pyjama bottoms. A standard Friday night.