‘Beatings, waterboarding, electric shocks to the genitals or tongue. Sometimes we would order a slaughter – several people. I’ve seen members of the cartel chainsaw a head clean off. You know what sound a head makes as you’re slicing it off? It squeal – like a pig.’

‘Yummy,’ I yawned.

‘We made bombs too. No mercy. I saw one guy – seriously crazy motherfucker – rip a beating heart right out of a cop’s chest.’

Kind of put things in perspective for me, that conversation. The worst I ever did was stab someone and chop them up. Paco’s gleeful stories about his cartel made me realise there were worse people than me in the world. People even I couldn’t best. And a sort of depression set in.

Between getting up and going back to bed, all I would do were three different things on a rota:

Eat food, garden, watch TV.

The next day: eat food, garden, watch TV.

Some days there would be slight variations to it: maybe eat food, garden, take slow walk on treadmill, eat more food, watch YouTube video – My Life as a Truck Stop Stripper, google What is this dry patch on my ankle?

Other days: treadmill, eat, watch TV, learn Spanish, watch YouTube videos of tiny animals trying to climb stairs, do Buzzfeed quiz – Who’d Win in a Fist Fight – You or Mike Pence?

And though I was back using the internet, I asked Tenoch to put a block on ‘Rhiannon Lewis’ so I wouldn’t be tempted to check what was happening in the outside world. I didn’t want to know. He had been right – the praise always inflated my ego and the negative stuff made me want to stick knives in things. The best thing for me was to stop looking altogether.

The children still visited whenever Celestina was there and they were a massive help in the garden when I couldn’t bend down for stitches.

‘We will help you, señorita,’ said David, taking charge. ‘Saúl – you need to dig up the mint today. Don’t eat all the cilantro, Mátilda.’

‘I’m not eating all of it! Saúl ate some too.’

‘No, I didn’t, I only ate some mint. You got a big fat belly.’

‘No, you got a big fat belly!’

Some mornings, when the gardening got too political, they would play in the pool instead, with Tenoch’s permission. I ordered some pool noodles and sat wrapped up in my compression bandages and dressing gown on a sun-lounger, watching them splash. It was hard not to feel left out.

‘They are so happy,’ said a voice behind me. Celestina had emerged, apron in her hand, finished for the morning. ‘Thank you for letting them use the pool.’

‘It was Tenoch, not me,’ I said.

‘No, you asked him if they could. I never like to outstay our welcome.’ She nodded towards the borders. ‘Your flowers are beautiful.’