Over the next half-hour, they went about gathering the rest of the ingredients as well as two bags of groceries for the Pieraro household. Once or twice Miguel lost sight of Maive in the heavy crowds of shoppers, and was only able to find her by scanning the sea of heads on tiptoe. The light, intermittent falls of sleet had thickened up into snow flurries by the time they exited past the Québécois clan, still tending their mulled wine. The line in front of their trailer seemed to be twice as long now.

Miguel’s appreciation of the mundane beauty of the scene was broken by a quartet of local militia milling through the crowd with rifles on their shoulders. He did not enjoy the idea of his precious, beautiful daughter one day joining their ranks.

Miguel carried most of the load: a large box filled with the fruit and vegetables, along with a couple of string bags swinging from his forearms, stuffed with bread rolls, cheese and a few jars of preserves. The weather closing in could not depress his mood, which had lightened considerably after the unpleasantness earlier in the morning outside Maive’s home. She too walked with a lighter step, having thrown off her own lowness of spirit. They briefly discussed catching the bus back, lest they be caught out in worsening weather, but the next one was not due for an hour, and both were enjoying their walk. The simple experience of plunging themselves into a happy crowd of people at the markets, of gathering the elements of a fine meal to be enjoyed the next day, and also of allowing themselves to enjoy each other’s company, had greatly improved their humour.

Miguel did his best to amuse her with a few carefully chosen stories of his voyage on the big yacht belonging to the famous and Disappeared golfer, Mr Greg Norman. The former vaquero very carefully avoided making mention of his family, and Maive very carefully avoided asking him about any of them. But he knew she had always been greatly amused at tales of his friend the Rhinoceros, and poor Miss Fifi, who had always been very kind – for somebody who seemed happier the larger the gun she was carrying. And, of course, of Miss Jules, who had not really wanted to take any of them on the boat, but who had relented because, in Miguel’s opinion, she was a good person, despite all her protests to the contrary.

‘I have come across people like her,’ said Maive as they left behind the hubbub of the market crowds. She blew snowflakes from the tip of her nose as they walked along. ‘Cooper used to know a few people like that – I suppose I should add, through his academic work studying gangs. They weren’t very common, but every now and then he would meet somebody he said was doomed to do the right thing for all the wrong reasons.’