When she finally found the strength to meet up with Cat, she pre-empted any discussion of the subject. ‘Please don’t ever mention it, Cat,’ she said. ‘I need to erase it from my memory. I need to pretend it never happened.’

‘Of course,’ said Catrin gently. ‘I understand.’

And then Lana paused.

‘Just tell me this,’ she whispered. ‘D’you think she’ll ever forgive me?’

Catrin looked down and sighed. ‘I don’t think so, babe,’ she said. ‘It feels pretty terminal, to be honest.’

And she reached out and held Lana’s hand.

Part Three

2017

Twelve years later

43

Lana

The roar was getting louder. She couldn’t place it – applause from a distant stadium, maybe? Or was someone rolling an empty metal drum along the road? So frustrating – what the hell was it? She scanned her mind’s filing system for a familiar reference, something – anything – to help her find her bearings. The sound rose to a crescendo and then be-ee-eep. Ah yes. Of course. It was the kettle. Just boiled. And Lana was waking up.

‘I make tea – you want?’

Lana recognized the voice, the accent, but could neither open her eyes to check out who was speaking nor open her mouth to respond. Matted layers of last night’s mascara had glued her lashes tightly shut. And her lips were sealed with a film of tacky spit. She attempted a cough, but oh God! Moving her head was a big mistake – there were a dozen boulders rolling around inside her skull, heartlessly colliding like dodgems at a fair. The pain was intense.

Slowly, as if it didn’t belong to her, Lana lifted her hand to her face and managed to prise open her right eye with her fingers. Something was moving towards her. She blinked the fuzzy dark lump into focus. It was Michel – one of the bartenders from the Paradise Lounge – and he was carrying two mugs. Using his elbow, he deftly shifted three empty wine bottles to the edge of the bedside table, making room for the morning brew.

Her hands shaking, her left eye still clamped shut, she sat herself up and reached for her tea, spilling half of it en route to her lips. The scald of the liquid on her chest made her wince, but she didn’t care, she just yearned for the wetness of the weak tea to make her mouth start working again.

Finally she found her voice.

‘I suppose we had sex,’ she croaked.

‘I suppose we did,’ Michel replied with a grin. ‘You tell me I am the best one you have ever made loving with!’

‘Oh Christ.’

Michel laughed, drained his tea and checked his watch. ‘And now I must leave you. We disembark in … thirty-seven minutes.’

And with that he leapt up, kissed Lana on the top of her head and made his way out of the cabin, whistling far too happily as he left.