How had the bleach got in the dish? Had it been left over from a previous customer? It didn’t matter anyway, she thought, as she tilted her head back and let the rain lash down to rinse the horrid mixture from her hair. There was no changing it.

She put a hand on the cold railing and stared out to sea, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tommy returning from his adventure. But there was no sign of life on the choppy ocean; it stretched dark and barren and empty all the way to the horizon.

Anna stood in the reception and tapped her nails on the counter. Behind the desk, the stylist who had worked on Paula’s hair stared at her, a troubled expression on her face.

‘She’s your friend, no?’ she asked in a low murmur.

Anna shrugged. ‘Not really, I just met her yesterday.’

The stylist nodded and lowered her eyes. Anna let the silence stretch on.

‘I don’t understand how it happened,’ the hairdresser said, her voice a thin, painful whisper now.

Anna said nothing, wondering what the woman expected in response. Platitudes? Sympathy?

Finally, the stylist stabbed at the computer till and pushed a receipt across the desk.

‘It was very upsetting to witness,’ said Anna without glancing at her bill.

A single moment, then the stylist flushed a deep red. She picked up the receipt and screwed it up, dropping it into the bin.

With a small smirk, Anna nodded to her and made her way out of the salon.

In the elevator, she pushed the button for the top deck and, holding her shoulder bag close, watched as the numbers ticked off.

The deck was deserted when she pushed through the heavy door. She didn’t notice the sting of the wind and rain as she walked briskly to the rail. From her bag she pulled out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide and ammonia. She shook it, once, and the milky white dregs glowed bright against the gloom of the day. Then, pulling her arm back, she threw it as far as she could overboard. There was no splash. The bottle bobbed for a moment and sank in the white-plumed waves, to vanish forever in the trail of the fast-moving ship.

At lunchtime, Anna gave in to her body and ate a small bowl of soup. She spooned it mechanically, taking no pleasure from the flavour. Food meant little to her. It was a chore that she had to succumb to on occasion to keep her strength up. At times, as well as the light-headedness, she experienced other symptoms. Colours, vivid flashes of greens and blues affected her vision, along with a dense headache. She found the flashes diverting; she imagined the Northern Lights would look similar, if she were ever lucky enough to see them.