There was a sudden flutter in her chest, an unprecedented urge to defy him, though she knew even as she felt it that if she did, it would swing his mood back to a black one once more. She closed her eyes and saw them again, plain as day. Anna looking like a goddess at the roulette table, her head tilted back slightly, her lips parted. And Tommy behind her, thrusting against her, his mouth slack and foolish.

She sat up and pushed her feet into her boots, reached for her hooded jumper and pulled it on.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked, emerging from the bathroom.

A little thrill ran through her at his question.

He does care.

She pulled at the cord around the neck of her hoodie. ‘To see if there’s an internet café, or a computer I can use. I want to message Julie.’

He kept his eyes on her for a moment before apparently deciding this was okay by him. With a ‘see ya later’, he picked up his key card and dodged out of the door.

She avoided the elevator; instead she took the stairs, circling down, down, down until the familiar mechanical hum told her she was nearing the engine room. There was a space down here, almost like a snug, that she recalled seeing one time. She rounded the corner and smiled as the bank of six computers came into view.

The lounge area was deserted – unsurprisingly, she acknowledged, seeing as most the passengers were probably up on deck searching fruitlessly for the Northern Lights, or eating a late dinner, or whale-watching or something.

She slid onto a chair, wiggled the mouse and the screen popped to life. It was free to use, not rented by the hour like some internet cafés. As it should be, she supposed, with the amount the cruise cost overall.

She logged onto Facebook, crushed a little by the fact that she had posted nothing at all on this holiday so far. She thought of the sights she had seen: the lush green mountain at Åndalsnes, the sheer majesty of the Expedition Suite and the views from the ship as the Ruby Spirit cut through the choppy winter waters. So many missed opportunities. So many breathtaking moments that she had experienced alone. Mostly because that woman had been hanging around, trying to snare Tommy, trying to lure him away.

She abandoned thoughts of Julie and instead typed Anna’s name into the search engine, overcome by curiosity about the cuckoo trying to take over the nest that she had spent so long building.

There was a stream of results: Instagram profiles, adverts for lawyers, obituaries, influencers. A succession of clicks confirmed that none of them was the Anna Masi who was currently haunting Paula.

Puzzled, she sat back in her chair. Surely someone who oversaw a nationwide company, one that was soon to be international, should have a profile somewhere?