Page 80 of Escape to the Sun

Louis frowned, paused. Swallowed hard as the ticking in his jaw resumed.

‘She’s not answering her phone.’

When Louis had turned heel and walked away from her, Hannah hadn’t known what to do. Staying where she was and crying was high up on her list of instinctive responses. Heading back to her cabin to hide came second.

The wind had picked up and, even in the sheltered dock, flags were whipping around. She decided she would take a walk, allow the breeze to blow away the worst of her emotions – and her tears – before she headed back on board.

It was for the best. It had to be. After all, how would it have ever worked with Louis? It had been a moment of madness. A holiday fling. Their lives weren’t compatible. Once she was back home, she and Ian could sort everything out. She had to allow him that much.

She turned to look at the Ballygowan, lights blazing from windows and walkways. Strings of festive coloured lights swung in the breeze. It was an incredible sight, and the ship had begun to feel almost like a home from home, even though it was only ever going to be temporary.

Leaving the vicinity of the port she threaded her way through unfamiliar streets, losing track of how long she walked, randomly choosing directions as she did her best to organise her thoughts. After a while she checked her watch. It was after half six, it would be too late to phone Ian now.

Hannah reached in her bag for her mobile, to send him a text. That way it wouldn’t disturb him if he was resting, but he’d know she was thinking of him whenever he picked it up. It wasn’t a large bag, but her fingers failed to locate her phone. She stopped, pulling the bag fully open and scrabbling around to find it.

Her phone was something Hannah was never without, so the fact it wasn’t in her bag threw her. She paused. It must have fallen from her bag when she’d arrived back on board earlier, when she offloaded everything from her day on shore, before she headed for the gallery. Damn it.

Not willing to panic, she zipped up her bag and turned, planning to retrace her steps back to the dock and the safety of the Ballygowan.

The first few streets were no problem. It had begun to rain, but the drops were warm, so Hannah wasn’t too bothered, kept her pace even. But then she came to a junction and couldn’t remember which way she’d turned. Had she come from the left or the right? She paused, then headed downhill, logic suggesting it would be more likely to be downhill to the ocean.

She rounded a corner to see a group of young men lounging under a canopy at the side of the road, chatting and smoking. No one else was in sight; the increasing intensity of the rain had put paid to that.

Swallowing hard and wiping rain from her face, she had a decision to make. Did she brazen it out and walk past them, hoping they were as innocent as they appeared, or did she turn tail and try to put distance between them and herself?

Hannah decided to keep walking. If she turned away, she wouldn’t be able to see what they were doing; face on at least she might have a chance of running, if she needed to.

She’d almost passed them, was beginning to breathe a sigh of relief and chastise herself for assuming the worst when one of them struck off from the low wall and wandered in her direction.

She kept walking, feeling the cold sting of sweat prickling her skin.

‘Hey there, lady. You lost?’

She did her best to ignore him, kept moving. Another one flicked away his joint and straightened.

‘Yeah. You don’ look like you from around here,’ he said, jostling elbows with another. ‘We could help you, if you like.’

Another one laughed, and the sound was enough to have Hannah take to her heels, pelting downhill until she slipped on a corner and lost her footing, crashing to the ground and feeling the burn from the rough Tarmac biting at her skin. She scrabbled to get up, but they were there. Surrounding her.

41

Ruth hammered on Hannah’s cabin door. There was no reply, and yet when she tried Hannah’s number, she could hear a ringtone from inside. The phone was there. But where was Hannah?

In desperation, she called for a porter. Martin arrived and unlocked the door, Ruth hoping Hannah would be inside, maybe having a luxurious soak in the bath, earphones in, oblivious to all the fuss.

‘Doesn’t the ship know where everyone is?’ Ruth shouted at Martin. There were comprehensive boarding and disembarking processes they’d had to follow at every destination, so how was today different?

‘We thought everyone was accounted for – according to our records, Hannah Maynard should be on board. Do you know if she might have slipped off ship without letting anyone know?’

Ruth frowned. ‘No. Last I’d heard she was on board. How is this happening? Can you check with the captain? I know he’s tried to call her, but I think he’s also one of the last people who saw her.’

Martin radioed the bridge for clarity, listening to Louis’ response with the same serious concentration as Ruth – she could hear most of it and cursed Louis for being so stupid as to leave Hannah on the dock.

‘So, she could still be on shore, but without any means of being contacted?’ Ruth said, directing all her frustration and anger at Martin as she pointed at Hannah’s abandoned phone. ‘She wouldn’t have received the message like we did – she won’t know she needs to be back on board.’

Martin checked his watch. ‘There’s still ten minutes until we’re due to leave port. I’ll get a team together and if she’s not back by then, we’ll head ashore to look for her.’

‘Is she the only passenger unaccounted for?’ Ruth asked.