Calm down. Calm down. I sit on the ground, put my head between my legs and eventually manage to slow my breathing, the way I was taught in therapy to stop myself catastrophizing. When I check my watch again it’s 12:30. No one is here. They’re not coming.

I stand up, dust myself down and look around myself again in case there’s something I’ve missed – another note maybe, telling me what I need to do. Where to go. What do they want from me? I run my hands along the flaking beige paint on the exposed pipes, see if there’s something tucked behind them.

There’s nothing. I need to get back to my room.

Most of the lifts on board have been taken out of service as they’re not needed with so few of us here. I don’t want to draw attention to where I’ve been by going further out of my way than I need to, because I don’t want anyone asking me why I’m prowling around the ship in the middle of the night. So by the time I’m back up at my room at Deck 14, I’m pretty out of breath. The natural adrenaline boost has gone and I feel shaky and even a bit tearful. I just want to go to sleep, forget it all and wake up tomorrow with things back to normal. With Lola still here, though obviously that’s not going to happen. The note is pretty sick as a prank, but probably nothing more than that. People get so bored holed up together like this. I’m probably overreacting.

I head back in to my suite. And I can’t quite believe what I see when I open my door.

10

Alice

14 January 2022, 23:50

The Caribbean

There are loads of great suites on the ship, but I’ve accidentally managed to bag one of the most impressive. None of us is allowed in the very best suite, the Owner’s Suite, with its private spa and glass grand piano, as the threat of a visit from CEO Nico hangs over us at all times, even on lay-up. This is probably to make sure we are behaving ourselves and getting on with our work (though his visits are always sold to us as morale boosters, like anyone cares), so that suite, the best on the ship, has to be reserved for him.