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Mrs Brown appears in a mink coat and hat.

She has the air of a general on the point of marshalling her troops.

‘You were right, Connie. We all need to buckle up! They say there’s nothing to worry about, but I don’t believe them.

We’ve hit an iceberg and that is never going to be good, whichever way you look at it. ’

Lester frowns. ‘This is all highly irregular,’ he says, eyeing Ruby again.

‘You need to wrap up warmly,’ I tell him. ‘It’s cold out there.’

‘Good Lord,’ he says with a sigh. ‘You’re like Chicken Licken, Aunt Constance, clucking away that the sky is falling in.’

‘The sky is falling in, Lester,’ I reply coolly. But I don’t need to worry about him because I know he survives. I’m more concerned about Cavill. I search the faces for him but can’t see him anywhere.

A steward weaves his way through the throng handing out life vests. He gives one to me. ‘You must put this on, madam,’ he says, then turns to Josephine, Ruby and Mrs Brown. ‘This is simply a precaution. Nothing to worry about. We’ve lost a propeller, that’s all.’

We help each other into the life vests, tying the cords tightly.

‘I’m going out to see the fun!’ exclaims Mr Rowland, pushing through the crowd to get out onto the promenade deck. ‘Will you accompany me, Miss Fleet?’

‘You go ahead,’ I tell him, wanting to remain with the women.

‘It’s a great adventure,’ he says heartily. ‘I want to enjoy every minute of it.’

Mrs Gilsden appears, ashen-faced, with her son. ‘I told you this would happen!’ she wails. ‘Why didn’t anyone listen to me?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mother. There is nothing to worry about – an officer told us so. Consider it like a fire drill. We’ll be moving again in no time, you’ll see.’

‘Come on, Connie,’ says Mrs Brown, giving me a nudge. ‘Let’s go and see what’s going on.’ The four of us head outside.

The night is beautiful. The sky is alight with stars, the sea as calm as a lake beneath it. The air sparkles with thousands of tiny ice diamonds that catch the glowing lights of the liner. It looks magical. There’s no indication of the impending horror. No one is panicking.

But they will.

The ship is dead in the water. Only the huge funnels continue to puff out steam, but soon they too will go quiet. ‘Nothing to see out here,’ says Mrs Brown with a sniff. ‘Better to go back into the warm.’ She turns and marches towards the door to the foyer. I remain on deck with Josephine and Ruby.

‘Do you really think they’ll have to launch the lifeboats?’ Josephine asks anxiously. ‘No one seems to be worrying.’

‘They’re not worrying yet. But they will.’ I look at Ruby, who hasn’t said a word since we left the cabin. She’s shivering inside one of Constance’s fur coats. It’s much too big for her. She looks like a miserable bear.

‘There you are, Josephine.’ It’s Cavill. He puts his arm around his daughter. ‘Come, let’s get you out of the cold.’ He turns to me. ‘You too, Miss Fleet. You’ll catch your death of cold out here.’

‘I think we should stay on deck and wait for them to launch the lifeboats,’ I reply.

He smiles sympathetically, if a little impatiently. ‘My dear Miss Fleet, I don’t think it will get to that. Come, let’s go inside. Please. There’s nothing to worry about.’

Oh, but there is.

‘I will come and find you as soon as they are launched,’ I say, and he shakes his head.

‘Very well, Miss Fleet. We’ll be in the lounge.’

He turns and leaves me, taking Josephine with him. I watch him go. There’s nothing I can do to convince him that I’m telling the truth. I have to wait it out. Soon the drama will begin in earnest and then he’ll believe me.

I wander the deck with Ruby trailing beside me, shivering and bewildered.

I hear a man tell his wife that it’s all a fuss about nothing.

‘This ship is unsinkable. Everyone knows that,’ he says, and chortles into the icy air.

People are leaning on the railing, gazing cheerfully into the still water below, or out at the vast, endless sky that twinkles and shimmers innocuously.

Steerage passengers are playing football with chunks of ice on the third-class deck below, their breath misting like puffs of smoke in the cold.

I hear laughter as a pair of boys throw ice at each other like snowballs.

It all seems innocent and fun. But on the bridge, they will know that it isn’t.

They will be wondering what the hell they are going to do and sending out SOS signals to any vessels in the area that can come to their aid.

Captain Smith will be panicking. He doesn’t know that he’ll go down with his ship, but he must, at this point, realise that there’s a strong chance of that happening.

He knows there are insufficient lifeboats aboard. He must be feeling sick.

It’s the quiet before the storm. The inhale before the dramatic exhale that will send this ship to the bottom of the sea.

I know I can slide back and avoid the tragedy.

I can leave them to it – leave Constance to it.

I don’t have to experience this nightmare – for that’s what it is, a nightmare.

I remind myself that this crisis has already happened.

That it’s in the past. Nevertheless, in my perception, it’s happening now and I’m at the heart of it.

Nightmare or reality, it makes no difference, because I’m really going through it.

But I don’t slide back. I choose to remain.

I choose to live through it. I choose to do my job and try to release Lester’s soul.

And I can’t leave Constance now, in the middle of this chaos. I have a duty to her too.

I search the faces for Lester and Glover, but I can’t find them. I know Lester survives, but what of Glover? Does he survive too? Might Lester somehow manage to get him off the ship and to safety?

Some of the passengers decide to return to their cabins.

Others are enjoying the excitement and wandering about the decks in search of more information.

No one seems to think there’s anything to worry about.

But gradually the atmosphere darkens and the truth of the situation becomes frighteningly clear.

People leak out onto the deck, having been roused from their beds by their stewards, dressed in warm clothes and lifejackets.

Some are carrying small bags as if they’re embarking on a weekend away to a country house.

There’s less jollity now, no sense of thrill.

Talk of water rising into the lower decks turns doubt into fear.

Those who returned to their cabins to retrieve their valuables have now hurried back up, having discovered that their rooms are flooding.

Alarm spreads through the passengers like an airborne virus.

Stewards hand out life vests with more urgency and order everyone onto the boat deck.

Panic takes hold with its cold and relentless fingers.

The ship lists. A woman shrieks. The sound punctures a hole in the beautiful night and allows the ugly truth to seep in: the great Titanic is sinking.

Chaos ensues. Members of the crew swarm around the lifeboats, lifting off the canvas covers and making them ready to lower into the sea. ‘I’m not getting in one of those,’ says Ruby in a tremulous voice.

‘Yes, you are,’ I tell her. ‘If you don’t, you will drown.’

‘But this ship is unsinkable. I heard them say it. Not even God could sink it.’

‘Well, that enormous iceberg is going to sink it, so you’d better be brave and do as I say.’

She stares up at me in distress.

Members of the crew begin to call the women and children forward to board the lifeboats, but they are reluctant to be separated from their men, and many don’t believe it’s necessary.

In spite of all the evidence to the contrary, they are convinced the ship will stay afloat.

I push Ruby forward. ‘ You go,’ I tell her.

‘Not without you, Miss Fleet!’ she exclaims. Her eyes are wild with terror.

‘I’ll be right behind you. Don’t worry about me. If I don’t board this one, I’ll board another. I just need to find Josephine. I promised I’d look out for her.’

‘Her father will do that,’ says Ruby. ‘Please come, Miss Fleet.’

I push her forward and the man in uniform, who might be the famous officer, Lightoller, helps her into the boat.

She’s unsteady, but she makes it in and sits down, rigid with fear, clutching her coat about her.

I wonder whether they would give women and children priority in my time, or whether equality would dictate first come, first served, whatever gender.

People gather anxiously, waiting to board.

Husbands push their wives forward; sons encourage their sisters and mothers with words of reassurance that they’ll be reunited soon; one or two passengers scoff that this is all folly and return to the warmth.

‘It’s much safer on this ship than in that little boat!

’ comments an elderly man, who turns around and makes his way back inside.

His remark creates doubt that ripples through the throng, causing some to follow after him.