‘No. And he won’t ever know. He doesn’t deserve something so precious in his life. He should only have pain and mayhem. And he’s got it coming, señorita. You don’t know how many times I have looked at those crossed machetes above the fireplace and thought of his neck.’ She looked me straight on. ‘I will dance on that man’s grave.’

‘I’ll play a song for you,’ I said. Her tired face brightened, briefly.

‘Kids, come on,’ she said, suddenly on her feet, ‘vamos, we must go.’

‘Awww,’ they all whined, right on cue.

‘But if he knew about her,’ I started to say, ‘he might—’

But Paco appeared at the patio doors – not so close that he could hear us talking, but close enough to make Celestina drop her voice.

‘He has several bastard children, all over this town. He does not care for any of them. You cannot appeal to Paco’s soft side, señorita, trust me – he does not have one.’

I was upstairs changing later that evening when I heard gunshots – a rapid tuttututututututututututututut. When I followed the noise downstairs, I found Paco standing in the centre of the lawn and all around him clouds of dust and a tangled mess of petals, leaves and stems. He’d shot my flower beds to smithereens, barely a single stem left standing. I followed his gaze towards the perimeter fence where he’d placed a line of tin cans, undisturbed.

‘Oops,’ he said. ‘I missed.’

I went back inside before I could say or do anything.

He called out, ‘You angry with me, chica? Look what I did to your flowers!’

I reached the patio doors, taking deep breaths, before looking back at him. ‘Not at all. That’s the great thing about flowers, Paco. They grow back. Every single time.’ And I smiled at him. Genuinely, like a Sweetpea would.

It was only when I got into the house I started muttering about what a massive piece of shit from an undouched arsehole he truly was.

I kept thinking about Celestina and the strength she had to muster every fucking day she turned up at that house, having to get her work done before his BMW rolled up. How every single time she looked at her little girl’s face, she saw his smile staring back at her.

That was a mother. The shit she put up with. Ugh. I could never. I would never. But maybe I should in the world of New Leaf Me.

The children didn’t seem that concerned about the Mexico Plant Massacre when the scene greeted them in the garden the next day.

‘We will help you mend them, señorita,’ said David.

‘Yeah, we help you!’ echoed Mátilda, toy trowel raised in the air.

‘Where are the new seeds?’ asked Saúl. ‘We can plant even more.’