Since we arrived on board for the lay-up I’ve subtly been asking Rick about who is sleeping where, pretending that I’m interested in hearing about the lap of luxury that everyone is living in, but actually I’ve been working out who is likely to be where so I can plan a route where I’m least likely to be seen. Every time Rick leaves, I’ve been marking where everyone is sleeping on the deck plans I got Rick to bring me, and I’ve picked the most direct route which takes me past the fewest people. I’ve already had Rick make sure there are no cameras in service around his room or on the route he takes down to me (the most direct possible), as obviously we don’t want nosy old Bill spotting anything unusual in his movements. As it turns out, hardly any cameras are in use at the moment anyway.

I put on non-descript jogging pants, a dark-coloured hoodie and a baseball cap so that, from the back at least, I could be just about anyone. It’s 2 a.m., so everyone should hopefully be in bed – it’s not like when we have passengers on board and things are open twenty-four hours.

I smash a fire alarm trigger on Deck 10 and duck into Rick’s room with the access-all-areas key card I stole from his pocket a few days ago. He’s always losing things, probably assumed he dropped it and would have no reason to have suspected me of stealing it anyway. I want to make sure no one is nearby when I do what I need to do, and to make doubly sure I have a clear run back.

As I hoped he would be, Rick is in bed, lying on his back and snoring. He’s not used to taking the pills like I am so even the muster alarm is unlikely to wake him. I look around. It’s a beautiful room, much better than he deserves. On the mezzanine I can see the free-standing bath with its own huge window so that passengers can watch the sea go by as they sit in the oiled and scented hot water. There’s a private bar area which would usually be full of high-end spirits, but for the lay-up it’s been stripped so there’s only a solitary bottle of cheap vodka and a half-empty bottle of tonic. The living room area features two enormous leather sofas with thick, creamy cashmere throws and a coffee table between them with a gorgeous marble chess set. I pick up the white king – it is cold and heavy in my hand and satisfying to hold. I feel a stab of loneliness – Dad and I often used to play chess. I usually beat him. But I haven’t played for years now.