He shrugs. ‘It’s what comes of a lifetime of having menial jobs where you don’t have to talk to people that much. Plenty of time to listen to podcasts about all sorts. I don’t read much – next to nothing – but I love listening to stuff.’

We both look at the water in silence together, watching the lights move across the surface, almost as if they’re choreographed.

‘The other thing to factor in,’ he says, breaking the silence, ‘is that if someone did go over, it’s very likely to have been their own choice. The way cruise ships are designed these days, it’s almost impossible to go overboard accidentally.’ He taps the side of his nose. ‘Mark my words, I’m right. One way or another, no one will be found alive. Bet you a mojito in Miami.’ He offers his hand and I take it with a smile.

‘A mojito in Miami,’ I repeat. ‘Done. Although betting on something like that feels … wrong.’ I’m a bit embarrassed to feel my eyes mist as the thought of someone falling into something so deep is horrific. I hope Rick doesn’t notice.

He pats me on the shoulder. ‘Soft as sugar, you are. Right. Better get back to it. Those broken things won’t fix themselves.’

I carry on looking out over the sea, staying where I am. I can’t get the thought that someone might be in that dark water all alone, so far below, out of my head.

Many people are already in bed by the time the search begins, but some of those who aren’t start to drift out to the decks, attracted like moths to light by the sound of the helicopters. Or perhaps some indiscreet crew members let slip what was going on. It wouldn’t surprise me if some of the younger staff were trying to impress some of the more attractive passengers they’ve had their eye on with a bit of insider gossip, especially now that it’s both New Year’s Eve and the last night of the cruise. ‘Personal liaisons’, as HR refers to shagging, are strictly forbidden between crew and guests, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t go on. I’ve only been on board about five minutes in cruising terms, but I’ve already noticed a lot of it happening, especially among the bar staff. I turn a blind eye though – it’s none of my business and I’ve got enough of my own stuff to deal with.

Antonio appears at my side. He’s in black jogging bottoms and his face is almost as grey as his tight T-shirt.

‘It’s Lola who’s gone over,’ he says. ‘I’m sure it is. I still can’t find her and her phone’s off.’