by Sarah Lotz
She brushes rain from the front of Joshua’s parka. The kid’s face remains slack. ‘Joshua. Are you okay?’
He nods. She takes his gloved hands in hers, scrambles for something to say, ends up burbling: ‘The lady who fell is just sleeping. The ambulance will come in a minute and she’s going to be fine, you’ll see.’
He gives her a look of such contempt, she drops his hands and finds herself wiping hers on her jeans. Just a kid, he’s just a kid. ‘She’s not sleeping,’ he says. ‘She’s dead.’
‘We don’t know that for sure, Joshua.’
‘Yes we do. But don’t worry,’ he says, with a lazy grin. ‘Know this. There is no death.’ And then he laughs.
Acknowledgements
Many thanks go to my fabulous editor Anne Perry and agent extraordinaire Oli Munson for their endless patience and support: you both rock. Lauren Beukes, Kate Sinclair, Alan Kelly, Paige Nick, Helen Moffett and Alan and Carol Walters kindly read the novel in its fledgling stage and offered fantastic comments, advice and arse-kicking when it was most needed. Thank you all.
I’m also in debt to Ben Summers, Becky Brown, Vickie Dillon, Hélène Ferey, Jennifer Custer, Veronique Norton, Jason Bartholomew, Conrad Williams, Oliver Johnson, Reagan Arthur and the hard-working publicity and production teams at Hodder & Stoughton and Little, Brown.
The majority of people who generously gave me insider info about the cruise industry and/or information about all matters maritime requested not to be named here for various reasons (primarily because they work for the cruise industry). You know who you are and I’m extremely grateful for your time and kindness. All mistakes are mine.
Charlie Martins and Savannah Lotz patiently bore the brunt of reading endless drafts and endured being kept awake by the grind of the coffee machine at 3 a.m. As always: thank you for having my back.