She opened the cupboard and with the tips of her fingers touched the sleeves of her neatly arranged clothes that she’d never wear again. Like the travel bag on the suitcase rack. Her inseparable companion on every journey, she’d never hold it again.

When she disembarked from the Sultan she’d leave it behind, like everything else that had once had meaning in her life: her keys, ID cards, photos, money, love of her life, hope, future.

Lisa.

Julia went into the bathroom and smelled the bottle of expensive perfume she’d bought specially for his trip. Its fragrance now made her sick.

She sprayed it on, as nausea was easier to bear than impotence and grief.

As she looked in the mirror, she saw for some reason the image of her sick three-year-old daughter, when Julia had been obliged to swap shifts with a colleague because she couldn’t send Lisa to kindergarten. Lisa had a temperature of forty degrees, a ‘snotty nose’ and a hacking cough. With a brittle voice that sounded as hoarse as that of the wicked witch Ursula, who Julia always had to imitate when she was reading. At the time Lisa had lain in bed and asked her, ‘Do I have to die now, Mama?’

Julia had laughed and wiped away the sweaty hair from her brow. ‘No, my darling. People don’t die that quickly. You’re going to live a long, long time.’

Another twelve years.

Julia pressed both her hands firmly on her forehead, eyes and cheeks. So firmly that she saw stars.

For a while she remained motionless in that position, before filling a glass with water from the tap. She brought it to her lips, but then didn’t see the point any more so tipped it down the plughole.

One of many pointless actions that would follow on from each other in her life from now. Useless activities such as thinking, feeling, breathing.

I have to call Max.

It was the first time she’d thought of her ex-husband, since Lisa…

She left the bathroom.

Someone had made the bed. A small bar of chocolate lay on her pillow. One on each side. Two bars too many.

Julia looked for the note Lisa had left for her – ‘I’m sorry, Mama’ – but it wasn’t on the cupboard any more. She’d probably given it to Daniel; she couldn’t remember.

She shook the connecting door, but it was still locked on Lisa’s side.

Perhaps it’s better that way.

If she’d had a key she’d have entered Lisa’s cabin and gone through her things.

What difference would that have made?

Julia pushed open the balcony door. Fresh wind blew through her hair.

Given where they were in the Atlantic, the sea was astonishingly calm, the water almost still in contrast to this afternoon. The biggest waves were being made by the ship itself.