In Bruges
She first saw him in the dusky evening light on the far side of the deck. From a distance he looked like all the other scruffy truck drivers who had taken up residence on the windswept deck, the only place on the Cross Channel ferry where they could smoke their foul-smelling cigarettes, huddled in groups and muttering to each other in a strange language. Annie regretted her decision to venture out onto the open deck. Childhood memories of midnight crossings had given her a sense of adventure...