She cried for a long time. When she stopped, she felt empty inside, hollowed out, but it was a good feeling. Like something she’d been bottling up, under pressure, had finally been allowed to escape. She felt lighter, and clean.

Alice rubbed her stinging eyes and mopped ineffectually at the mess she’d made of her father’s clothes. She stepped back, composing herself, and said, ‘Hello, Father. It’s good to see you.’

He smiled. He looked just as she remembered seeing him last, in a grey suit and his favourite battered hat, standing with his hands in his pockets while she waved from the shore.

‘It’s good to see you too,’ he said. ‘You’re looking well.’

‘I’m not sure I am well,’ Alice said. ‘I’m not sure—’

She stopped. She wasn’t sure of anything, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask, lest too close an examination disturb something and make her father vanish like a popped soap bubble. But she wanted to say – Are you dead? Am I dead? Is this a dream, or another book, or is this the boat that takes us to heaven?

Her father seemed to be able to read all this in her face. He’d always been able to do that. Alice had never been able to keep any secrets from him.

‘Has it been hard?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ Alice whispered. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘It’s not all bad. But . . . I don’t know if I can do it any more.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I love you, Alice. More than anything. You know that, don’t you?’

‘I do,’ Alice said. ‘Of course I do.’

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Come on. I want to show you something.’

He went to the door and gave the handle a few spins, then pulled it open. Inside was a long corridor, with an elegant green carpet underfoot. Alice followed her father inside, and noticed the row of portholes that looked out over the walkway and the rail. Her father closed the door behind her and walked to the first of these, beckoning her to follow.

‘You should see this,’ he said.

Alice frowned. ‘But—’

‘Shhh,’ her father said. ‘Listen.’

A bit confused, Alice bent and put her face to the glass. Instead of a slightly distorted view of the outside of the ship, she found herself looking down into a richly appointed bedroom. She recognized it, after she got over the strange angle. She’d woken up there once before, after her encounter with the Swarm. In the bed, practically buried under thick covers, lay a girl with dark hair, freckles, and a delicate white scar on one cheek. She looked pale and exhausted, with dark circles under her closed eyes. Only the faintest trembling of the blankets indicated she was breathing. A grey cat lay beside her, pressed against her arm.