I need to be outside, away from our little cabin and the smell of Grandma’s perfume, her sighs and cracking joints. I dreamed of Roy last night, of his freckled skin, the escape he offered her. I fell asleep thinking of him instead of Ash. Imagining myself as her. Wondering what I would have said. I don’t know the answer to that, but in the dream I said yes, and we married in Vegas, in an Elvis chapel. Afterwards we gorged on lamb and boiled eggs, the lamb fat and eggshells sticking to our chins.

I know my way around the ship by now, and navigate the series of passageways and stairwells to the exercise track, a marked loop which on fine days is crowded with joggers and walkers trying to work off the onslaught of food. Today, I hope, it will be deserted, since most people seize on any excuse to avoid exercise. I’ve never had that problem. I can push past the unpleasantness of cold and rain, aching muscles, sore joints, hunger and thirst.

When I reach the track I start off slowly, warming up my legs. The surface does feel slick. The air smells like diesel fumes. I should just go to the gym and run on the treadmill, but there are bound to be others who’ve had the same idea. One of the best parts of running is being alone.

I look down at the watch I bought, against my mom’s advice. ‘You’ll just be harder on your body,’ she said. ‘You need to take it easy. Avoid another stress fracture.’ I turn it on and wait for the GPS signal to beep. The stress fracture in my heel was a few years back.

When Ash asked, I said exercise keeps me sane. I said I love cake too much not to exercise. I said all the things people say when they’re trying to hide the truth about how they feel about their bodies. Trying to hide how much they care. I didn’t say I want to see my stomach cave in rather than bulge out. I didn’t say I like the lines of my own bones.