I can imagine her, at twenty-two, leaning over the railing as the ship pulled away from the shore, waving to Dot as the band played and the streamers snapped. But I cannot fathom what it must have meant to leave everything she had, to venture into the unknown without plans to return. Everything we do now is so safe. Even the short trips I’ve been on—to Mexico, England, France—have been planned months beforehand. I have email, I have my phone, I have my return tickets and travel insurance and a spare credit card and photocopies of my passport in case it is lost or damaged. I have an itinerary that says where I will stay every night and the numbers people can reach me on if my phone isn’t working. I know what the hotel will look like from websites and travel reviews. I know what to expect from everything. Maybe the not-knowing was part of what made it so thrilling. Maybe it’s why we seek danger in other ways now.

Alex is waiting for us on the bridge, looking sharp in his white short-sleeved uniform shirt with epaulets and gold braid. He has on white pants and a naval-looking cap, which he removes to greet Grandma, a gesture that makes her cheeks turn even pinker than the blotted lipstick has made them. I can see that she likes him, and after he compliments us and leans in to kiss my cheek, he guides us with a hand on each back and leads us into the small oak-panelled dining room. There are twelve or so people already there, and their names leave me as quickly as I hear them, except for the captain, whose first name is Sam, and who has a silver-flecked black beard that shakes like a bush of birds when he laughs. I am seated next to Alex; Grandma is on his other side, next to the captain, who immediately begins talking to her about Australia and the places they have both been. Alex and I sit in awkward silence as a steward pours my wine.

‘I forgot to ask,’ Alex says, ‘is there anything you don’t eat?’

‘No,’ I lie, ‘I eat everything.’ My stomach has already tightened to a fist in dread of this meal.

‘Good to hear.’

On my other side is the cruise director, who asks what activities Grandma and I have done on board the ship.

‘We’ve mostly been talking,’ I say, ‘so not much.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame. Did you know we have at least ten activities happening every hour between six am and ten pm? Swing dancing, Pilates, poker club, tea parties, bingo, history lectures, music appreciation, mosaic-making, stretch and tone…’ She ticks them off on her fingers. ‘There’s so much happening—you’ve got to be in it to win it.’

‘Win it?’ Alex repeats. ‘What exactly do you win in an exercise class?’