I dreamt I was falling, jolted awake by that stomach-dropping, heart-stopping feeling.

Thank God it was just a dream. A dream about impending death, but a dream nonetheless. I was in my bed and awake of my own accord. I couldn’t have had more than three hours’ sleep, but I felt rather rested, considering. I gave it until three o’clock for me to hit the wall, but hopefully by then we would be well on our way to our next adventure. I had to grab my suitcase from upstairs; yesterday I’d only had the energy to bring a spare outfit and some toiletries downstairs with me, energy which had apparently magically restored itself for my evening with Marcello.

Memories from last night had me walking around in a daze as I got out of bed and headed to the mercifully open door to the bathroom. Lost in my troubled thoughts, I almost choked on my toothpaste when I was startled by the loudest knock on the bathroom door.

‘Jurst ugh mirnute.’ I spat. ‘Jodie, is that you?’

Bang-bang-bang.

‘Okay, okay, I’m up, I’m out, jeez.’

Rinsing my mouth and securing the towel around my hair, I packed the last of my toiletries up like I always did; I mean, you just couldn’t trust who might be lurking around for a squirt of foundation or a spray of perfume. I shoved the bag under my arm and all but ran to the door to put a stop to the insistent knocking.

‘Bloody hell, I said that I was re—’

I whipped the door open so fast I almost stepped right into the singlet-covered chest of a man with wild, woolly white hair and a newspaper under his arm. Most definitely not Jodie.

‘Fretta, non ho tutto il giorno!’ the man yelled.

‘Ah, sorry, all yours,’ I said, stepping aside as he made his way in with a huff, slamming the door and locking it behind me.

Making my way back to my room, I decided to traipse up to the eighth floor to wake up the group. They would thank me from sparing them Maria’s wrath; my awakening would be like birdsong compared with that of the passionately punctual Maria. Ascending the stairs, I took comfort in knowing that the circus I was about to join on the road would at least provide a distraction from Marcello.

Making my way up past the sixth floor, I took a moment to glance at the door that I had tried to trick Marcello into believing was mine. That was, until an angry, hairy-chested man came out and abused me. Seriously, what was with me and hairy men?

I sighed. Marcello wasn’t hairy. Despite his thick black hair, and brows most women would kill for, he was all silky smooth. And I really had to stop thinking about him.

It was just a summer fling, Sammi, let it go.

I put it down to naivety. I had never had a summer romance before, and certainly not one in Italy, so I was bound to go a little gooey. And, really, I had done pretty bloody well for myself; wait until my friends back home asked about my holiday. I would tell them all about the tall, dark stranger I invited into my bed on a hot Roman night. Of course, they probably wouldn’t believe me, and I didn’t exactly have any photo evidence that included him. As far as anyone would know, Marcello was a figment of my wild imagination, and in some ways I wished he was—then maybe there wouldn’t be a dull ache inside me every time I thought about him and how things had ended last night.

I walked up the last few steps to the eighth floor, impressed at my lack of exhaustion. The first night up these very stairs I had thought I might pass out from a lack of oxygen to the brain, but now I could hardly even feel the burn, conditioned by my sightseeing wanderings. I hadn’t quite got over the door-opening incident with Jodie and Gary, so was relieved to see that the door had been left ajar; I only hoped that, unlike other mornings, Nate had a sheet wrapped firmly around him. I slid my hand through the door, taking great delight in flicking the light switch off and on like my dad used to do, ensuring I woke up in a foul mood on school days.

‘Wakey-wakey, rise and shi—’

I flung open the door, lighting up the room and coming to an abrupt halt.

‘What the …?’

The room was in its usual disarray, sheets and pillows flung, beds crooked and shifted, an apple core on the floor and an empty can of Coke on the windowsill. But more disturbing than any of that was the fact that the room was completely empty. No twisted, half-naked, snoring, drooling, farting bumps in the beds.

I stepped over a blanket, bending down to pull out a squeaky crate from under the bed. It was well and truly empty—they all were. I sat back on my haunches, looking around, confused. Even my own things were gone.

Where was everyone?

I walked back down the hall, opening up the bathroom door. The vanity was clear of all products, a wastebasket full of make-up-stained tissues and some eyeliner shavings in the sink were all that was left. The room was misty and damp, proof that someone had taken a shower not too long ago.

Nice one, guys. You could have bloody woken me!

Heading downstairs, I was pissed off, and felt a little rejected; clearly they didn’t want me at the breakfast gathering in the courtyard as was outlined in the itinerary. I felt kind of nervous making my way through reception. I wondered if Marcello would be at the breakfast table, here to see us off—or, more specifically, me. But then I shook that absurdity from my thoughts. I was probably a distant memory to him now, and here I was daydreaming that he would be standing in the courtyard with a single rose.

Settle down, Sammi.

I walked through the arched doorway that led into the courtyard overgrown with potato vine and flaky mint-coloured picnic tables … empty picnic tables, apart from the elderly couple drinking coffee and playing with their expensive-looking camera.

I made my way over to the breakfast buffet feeling something twist in my stomach, and I knew it wasn’t hunger pains. Pouring myself a juice, I hoped that there might be a clue lingering somewhere. Maybe they had left a note somewhere, or a message with reception. A young staff member I had seen around the hotel moved along the table, collecting spoons, lifting and stacking bain-maries and wiping down the grubby surfaces. He looked pointedly at the carafe of juice I had just poured from.

‘Oh, scusi,’ I said, handing him the carafe and stepping away to allow him to continue cleaning.

‘I am sorry, signora, but breakfast is over.’

I breathed out a laugh. ‘That’s okay, I’m not really that hung—wait, what?’

The man pressed his lips together and lifted up his hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. ‘I am sorry, breakfast is over.’

‘W-what time is it?’ I blurted out, trying to remember the serving times. Did it differ depending on the day of the week?

The man looked at me, confused. I was one step away from grabbing him by the arms, shaking the shit out of him and yelling, ‘WHAT FUCKING TIME IS IT?!’

‘Dieci e trenta—ten-thirty.’

‘What? That can’t be, there must be some mistake.’ The man looked forlorn. ‘Mi dispiace,’ he said, bowing his head and stepping quickly away from the mad woman.

I couldn’t blame him—my mouth was hanging open and my eyes were wide and crazed.

‘No, no, no, this cannot be,’ I mumbled to myself, walking past the grey nomads and back into the hotel. I stood in front of reception in a daze, turning to look at the clock in the lounge area where I could see the breakfast waiter had indeed told the truth. I felt my world drop away. I pushed past the line of people checking in, earning myself some choice Italian abuse and a couple of dirty looks, but I didn’t care. I gripped the edge of the desk so hard that my nails bit into the wood.

‘Gabriello!’ I yelled, despite the fact that he was standing right behind the counter. He ignored me for a long moment, stamping the paperwork and handing a credit card back to a young couple with a smile.

‘You need to wait your turn,’ he said, without even looking at me.

‘Gabriello, please, where is everyone?’

‘Everyone?’

‘The tour group, my tour group, Maria, Bellissimo Tours, Nate, Jodie, Johnny.’ I continued rattling off the names of more group members, but I had his attention the moment I said Maria.

‘They are gone,’ he said, as if it were bleedingly obvious.

‘Gone?’

‘Si, they checked out a few hours ago.’

‘A FEW HOURS AGO?’

It was like there was an echo in the room.

Gabriello shifted awkwardly, offering the people behind me an apologetic ‘nothing to see here’ smile.

I gripped the bench harder, the crazed Aussie having a meltdown. I shook my head, barely believing this was real. Surely this was some practical joke, the group would come leaping out from behind the pillar and yell, ‘Just kidding!’ Then, through the fog of my brain, a remembered warning sounded in my mind: ‘if you’re late she will leave you behind, make no mistake.’

Like a zombie, I lifted my head to see Gabriello watching me, wary that I might lose it completely and start tearing the place apart. I was confident that I wouldn’t do that, too numb and weary to muster such a reaction. I know I had longed for a distraction, but this? All I could do was stand and stare and shake my head, over and over, until the words finally formed in my mouth as I looked up at Gabriello once more.

‘They left me. They really fucking left me.’