Chapter 3

Dublin to Ringaskiddy: 268 km

Deira didn’t stop on her journey from Dublin to Ringaskiddy, and as soon as she arrived at the port she joined the queue of vehicles waiting to board. Embarkation had been under way for the past hour, but there were still quite a number of travellers ahead of her. From the vantage point of her car she could see people already walking around the upper deck of the boat, bright specks of colour against the white ship.

She allowed herself a sigh of relief as she handed over her ticket and was waved forward. Deep down, she’d half expected to be stopped and hauled off to be interviewed by the Gardaí. But the port officials clearly hadn’t been alerted, and the other travellers were far too concerned about boarding the ferry to even notice her; although the male drivers of the heavily laden cars, camper vans and SUVs surrounding her occasionally shot envious glances at the low-profile convertible.

When she was safely parked, she made her way to the passenger deck, not bothering with the lifts, where families with children, babies, bags and buggies, were waiting, but taking the stairs instead. By the time she reached Deck 8, she was regretting it, thinking she was a good deal less fit than she’d fondly imagined. She waited for a moment to catch her breath, then walked the length of the carpeted corridor to find her cabin.

She pushed the door open and went inside.Before they’d booked the holiday, she and Gavin had spent hours on the ferry company’s website doing virtual tours of all the cabins and decks, so she knew what to expect. But it was still a relief to see that their chosen cabin – her cabin now – was bright and airy, with plenty of room for a table and chairs as well as the bed. It also had a patio door leading to a private balcony. ‘Cruise-ferrying’, the company had called its service, and Deira had to admit that the cabin was almost as good as the one they’d had on the only occasion they’d gone on a proper cruise. That had been for her thirtieth birthday. It didn’t feel like only yesterday, yet it didn’t seem like nearly a decade ago either. She still remembered the thrill of it – flying to Barcelona, from where the enormous ship was departing on its Mediterranean voyage; staying overnight in a flashy hotel; getting a taxi to the port the following morning. Feeling the joy of being away with the man she loved. It had been a fantastic holiday. One of the best of her life. Now she was on a cruise ferry from Ringaskiddy. And this time she was alone.

She opened the patio doors and stepped onto the balcony. The breeze whipped her hair around her face and she tucked it behind her ears. Far below, she could see the huge ropes tethering the ship to the pier. Workers in hi-vis jackets were walking along its length, shouting information to each other. Beyond the enclosed area for passengers a crowd of people sat on a mound of grass looking up at the ship, waving from time to time. Deira didn’t know if they were waving at people they knew, or if they were randomly waving because the ship was about to depart. It was nice to see them, though. Nice to think that people she’d never met before might be wishing her bon voyage.

She felt a shuddering sensation beneath her feet as some- where within the depths of the ship the engines throbbed into life. The smell of diesel mingled with the tarry whiff from the jetty and the salty tang of the sea. Huge seagulls screeched and wheeled overhead. The workers began loos- ening the heavy ropes. The ship’s vibrations increased. The people on the grassy bank waved again. And suddenly they were moving, slowly and ponderously, away from the shore, away from Ireland and out into the open water.

Although not immediately into the open water, she realised. The ship still had to negotiate the harbour and the long channel that led to the sea. But they were on their way. Nobody could stop her now. She’d done it.

Her mobile rang.

She almost dropped it overboard.