‘Brynn said you’re going to keep on. I think you’re doing the right thing.’

Brynn returned with a tray then.

‘Hi.’ She nodded at Jim and they exchanged a look that showed they’d talked about me at length. She patted my shoulder. ‘They’ll have some soup for you in five minutes. I’ve brought you a roll and some vanilla pudding.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, and turned to Jim. ‘I know you’re trying to be kind but I don’t want anyone’s sympathy. I’ll be fine. I just want to be left alone.’

‘Alright then.’ He scraped his chair back and stood. ‘Good evening, ladies.’ He marched away, replacing the white cap he must have taken off when he sat beside me.

‘Thank you,’ Brynn called after him. She faced me with her lips pressed together.

‘What?’

‘You could have been nicer. Oh, never mind. Just eat your soup.’

And just as she said the words a sailor set it in front of me: a bowl of yellow broth funnelling steam, flakes of dried parsley floating on the surface.

I can still taste that soup; it was chicken broth, with soft grains of rice sunk to the bottom and small cubes of carrot, celery and translucent slippery onion. Globules of fat shimmered on the surface, and while my hand shook bringing the spoon to my lips, each mouthful was like a sip of warmth which spread into my face and my chest. This was not the end.

‘How is it?’ Brynn asked, slicing her thin grey steak and piercing it with her fork.

‘Good,’ I said, and made myself smile, feeling the effort it took to rearrange my face.

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 17

At four in the morning I gather my clothes from the floor. I dress by the moonlight coming in through the window. Alex’s room is stark—a small bed against one wall, a desk against the other, an open-doored closet where half a dozen identical shirts hang like empty torsos. The night before is fuzzy—I feel that sinking sense that I’ve embarrassed myself but I can’t recall how. Why do I do this? I won’t drink for the rest of the trip. The rest of my life. Regret makes my whole body hurt.

Alex is asleep in the single bed—I can’t believe the two of us fitted in there—and his mouth is slightly open, triangular, slack against the pillow. There is his bare chest with the sheet at his hip, loosely tucked to hide his soft penis in its nest of curls, testicles hanging in their sac of loose skin. Last night comes back to me in brief scenes.

My glass refilled again and again by the steward and all of the voices rising; shouting and laughter filling the room as the night went on.