Something – the pills, his tooth operation, his fall into the pool, his sheer exhaustion, probably a mixture of all these – had turned his head into a pressure vessel.

Every step triggered a moderate tremor, which is why it was better to think carefully about where he should go now. Towards the exit would be a pure waste of energy. Anouk had his key and without it he wouldn’t get out of here.

I’m sick. Exhausted. And locked in.

Martin felt for his phone, but it was no longer in his trouser pocket. He couldn’t recall Anouk having taken this as well while he was lying on the bathroom floor; it probably slipped out as he fell.

As he turned around his brain sloshed in the other direction. He could taste bile and smell his own sweat.

Martin wanted to lie on the floor and sleep. But if he was determined to get out of here he didn’t have any choice. He closed his eyes and felt his way back along the reception counter to the sickbay. The less he was distracted by his external senses, the greater the chance he might avoid being sick. And in fact he made better progress blind. Until he got to the cabin area there was nothing he could knock against, and he just had to keep going straight. All the while he was careful to breathe deeply to supply his brain with oxygen.

When he reached the end of the counter he waited for a moment until he was able to localise the pain in the back of his head. A good sign. So long as the pain was restricted to certain areas rather than being ubiquitous, he could focus on it and – hopefully – overcome it.

When he dared open his eyes he saw the door to Anouk’s room, which thankfully was still ajar.

Pondering what he should do if he didn’t find his mobile, Martin realised to his relief that he didn’t need it. All he had to do was press the worry button, which was connected to his mobile and… Elena’s!

Thinking of the doctor made him pause.

Why hadn’t it dawned on him straight away? He wasn’t alone down here. After the attack on Dr Beck, the ship’s doctor had also been transferred to Hell’s Kitchen!

Martin turned right.

Daniel had told him that her cabin was diagonally opposite Anouk’s. On this side of the corridor there was only one door it could be, and this was locked.

Martin screwed up his eyes tightly. The fireball beneath the left-hand side of his forehead had grown to the size of a fist, which was squashing his brain as if it were a sponge. Better than the demolition ball from earlier on. He hammered on the door. Shook the handle. Called Elena’s name. Nothing happened.