My laughing twin tone reaches to him over the thickness of the noise around us. The skit skids. Jim stumbles over my outstretched foot as he leaves and the crowd screams laughter again and I’m laughing too as I hold up the scorecard. Minus 6,072. The crowd whistles and claps loud approval and Max gets the bottle of wine and Steve the MC turns and chucks another brown eye and the talent night is ended and the lights come on bright and the spectators see me laughing and laughing as I push my way swiftly out.

In the shower’s strong water I scrub at the makeup and the sticky branding of the masking tape under my arms and across the top of my breasts and then I sag to the shower wall and put my wet cheek to it and tears and water are spilling down and my body slides to the small plastic floor tray and I stay hunched in its palm for a very long time, weeping and weeping until I finally stop. I turn off the water. I’m still and wet and cold for what seems like a very long time.

My Grand Canyon weeping. It feels as though there are years of not crying in it, as though it’s all, finally, rushing out. I’m used to holding things in, several ex-boyfriends have pointed it out. ‘There’s a tightness to you,’ said the fiancé, as he left, ‘let it all out.’ And now I am. I feel like a good expeditioner, doing exactly what the Antarctic Survival Guide says to: Don’t bottle things up, don’t simmer.

The cabin’s thick with quiet when I step from the bathroom. My face feels plumped under the surface with tears as I fall quickly to my bed. I don’t want any eyes, I don’t want looking.

‘Oh Fin, they were so mean to you.’

Andrea. There’s a gloat in there somewhere, in the back of her voice. Blanca’s silent. I know it must have been her that supplied the polo neck. Fuck it. When the blow comes, it’s so often not from enemies but from those who are closest to you. I turn to the wall and the hot quick tears come silently again. A careful stillness is in the cabin around me.

‘Darling, I did not realise they would do what they did,’ says Blanca suddenly into the quiet.

‘It’s okay.’

‘I had no idea—’

‘It’s okay.’

I turn to her with a smile that collects my face and my voice. ‘It’s okay, really.’

I can’t bring myself to call her darling. There’s a festive knock. Blanca fortresses the cabin door with her bulk. Her body’s brisk, as if she’s wanting to make up for it all. It’s Jim. Smeared cherry-red rims his mouth ridiculously.

‘Not now. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Jim.’