I’m going through the roster with two of the least reliable kitchen hands in my tiny office cum cupboard when the door flies open and Lola barrels in without knocking, sobbing loudly and clutching her arm. The two boys look up in bewilderment and I usher them out – it probably means they won’t turn up to their next shift as they’ll claim they didn’t understand when they were meant to be there, but right now, Lola is more important. She throws herself into my arms and carries on sobbing, so hard I can feel her tiny birdlike body shuddering.

‘Lola? What is it?’ I ask, stroking her hair.

‘It’s Antonio,’ she wails, pushing away from me and wiping her eyes. ‘He hurt me.’

I frown. I don’t know Antonio well, but he’s never seemed like the type to be violent. Then again, I guess you never can tell. ‘What?’ I ask. ‘Hurt you? How do you mean? What did he do?’

‘Hit me,’ she sobs, barely able to get the words out.

Oh God. Poor Lola. ‘Oh sweetie. I had no idea he had it in him. He always seems so gentle, so protective of you. What did he … why?’

‘He’s not as gentle as he looks,’ she sobs.

‘Oh Lola,’ I continue stroking her hair. ‘Has he ever done that before?’ She moves her head in what I think is a ‘no’ but it’s hard to tell. ‘You poor thing. Between us, we’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything like that to you again, I promise. Was there … what happened today?’

I don’t disbelieve her, but it does seem a bit strange. What kind of brother hits his sister? It’s hard to believe of Antonio. He seems to worship the ground she walks on. Lola’s always taking the piss out of him for it – sometimes when we’re having a drink she’ll send him a text saying she needs to see him and we’ll place bets on how long he takes to get there. It’s never very long.

But some men have hidden, unattractive depths. Lola is my friend and she deserves to be believed. She moves away from my hug to look at me. ‘I told him I was leaving,’ she says. She is still crying but seems a little calmer.

I frown. ‘Leaving what? The ship?’

‘Yes. The ship. Everything. I’ve had enough. I don’t want Antonio telling me what to do any more. And I don’t want to be here on board. It’s all so suffocating.’

I take her hand. ‘Lola, we all feel like that sometimes, wherever we are, I promise you,’ I say. ‘It’s not just the ships. You should try working in a kitchen! You can’t even fart without everyone knowing about it.’