What is she talking about? ‘I still don’t understand how …’

She rolls her eyes. ‘I’ve got fake ID all ready to go too,’ she tells me. ‘It’s easier to get than you’d imagine. I figured if my dad could get it all those years ago, then so could I. It’s way easier now than it would have been in the past. I don’t need to stay dead forever, as long as I go somewhere no one knows me. And the world is enormous, Jesse! I thought I might buy a beach bar on an obscure little Caribbean island. Then I can live the life Dad always wanted for me: happy, safe and in the sun. When we talked about fantasy futures together, that was always mine. It’s like a tribute to him, for all the stuff he did for me.’ She pauses. ‘I didn’t mean those things I said to you the other day, about needing to be away from you. It was only a cover story. I wanted to start a row to add weight to the theory which everyone else has. That I killed myself.’

‘But I still don’t see—’

‘Jesse! Listen to me. You will go and hide out on an island somewhere, sunbathing, surfing, whatever you like. You will apparently be grieving for me – everyone knows we are close and no one is going to be surprised when you decide to leave the ships. You’ll be quids in when my life insurance comes through. I’ve had it way more than two years, so even though my death will, I’m 99 per cent sure, be deemed suicide, the insurance is valid. It will pay out. I checked.’

‘But …’

She holds up her hand. ‘Please, Jesse, listen. I then turn up with my new ID, new name, a new hairstyle and maybe the bigger boobs I’ve fancied for a while. I’m trusting you here, like I said, that we’ll split the proceeds of my life insurance. I’ll spend my days and nights hanging out in my beach bar in the sun serving cocktails. You can come too if you like. Wouldn’t that be nice?’

Her eyes are sparkling. I can feel myself weakening. ‘It sounds amazing. But I still don’t understand why you didn’t tell me what you were planning.’

She laughs. ‘Jesse! Come on! There’s no way you’d have agreed to this, is there? No way in a million years. But to be honest, I thought you might have an inkling that I was up to something, even if you didn’t know exactly what. When I left you my clothes. Wasn’t that a clue for you? I thought maybe that way you’d know I was planning something? That I hadn’t died? That I was still there for you?’