‘Can’t right now,’ I told her, fumbling for the money in my pocket and dumping a small stack of Euros on the counter. I scribbled my name and phone number on a small white pad next to the till, keeping the cans securely on my person. ‘This is all the money I have, and this is my phone number. I swear I’ll come back and work it out, but I do have to get this back to the yacht and—’

‘You cannot leave!’ She held up the mop, braced herself, and charged, screaming a vibrant array of Italian swear words I’d never heard before in my general direction.

Panicked, I took one last look at the man on the floor, a jolt of something running through me as our eyes met again. I couldn’t explain it and I wasn’t sure I wanted to, it just was. Leaving him with one small smile, I ducked underneath the girl’s mop, darted out of the door, and ran down the quayside as fast as I could, wailing as I went. Past the café, through the gang of kids, and around the line of Vespas, not even pausing to breathe.

By the time I reached the jetty, my chest was heaving with a stitch, I’d rolled my ankle twice, and I was almost positive that the moment I stopped running, I was going to vomit. But all that mattered to me, a semi-functioning adult woman, was getting these bloody cans of pop on that bloody boat. I stuttered to a stop at the end of the jetty, doubling over and panting heavily. The surge of adrenaline seemed to have kicked my headache into touch so that was something as hangover cures went, I would still have preferred two cans of Coke and a sausage sandwich.

Squinting at all the boats tied up on either side of the dock, I searched for Lenny and the tender, ignoring the stares and cackles from the local fisherman, very keen to complete my getaway.

But I couldn’t find him.

I hobbled up and down the jetty, checking each and every boat, my heart still thudding in my ears. I couldn’t see Lenny anywhere. Shifting my gaze to the horizon, I scanned the sea for The Songbird, but her sleek contours and towering decks weren’t anywhere to be found off the coast of Panarea.

The tender was gone.

The Songbird was gone.

And I had been left behind.

CHAPTER TWELVE

‘Sarah speaking?’

‘Sarah, it’s Fran. I’ve got a bit of a problem.’

I stood on the edge of the dock, work phone pressed against my ear, an unforgiving pain shooting through my ankle and panic burning in my chest.