‘Hola niño,’ I said. He waved. I showed him the shells and he toddled over and peered into my hand. ‘Cuántas conchas?’

‘Uno,’ he began, his fingertip poking each shell in turn. ‘Dos, tres, cuatro, cinco, seis… siete!’

‘Ahh muay bien!’ I applauded him. We chatted for a while – me in only basic Spanish and him saying a lot of shit I didn’t understand.

I locked eyes with a guy standing on the steps behind him

– this severe-looking Mexican with equally dazzling brown eyes and a jawline for days. I recognised him instantly as he called out for the young boy.

‘Mateo! Ven aquí!’

It was him. The Hottest Turtle, backlit by patio heaters and strings of fairy lights hanging from a multitude of outdoor umbrellas. A breeze whipped up the ends of his flapping white shirt as he stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other rubbing his stubbly chin, looking like something between boybander and angel. I’d forgotten how beautiful he was.

And I rationalised that the boy must be Tiny Turtle and taking one look at his clothes and the marigold tucked into a buttonhole, I realised the party was a wedding – his wedding. Hot Turtle and Fun Times at Guantánamo. She was there, on the terrace, in a bride’s dress, laughing and spinning round like a heroin-addicted hyena.

I tipped my shell collection into the little boy’s hand and he giggled, scurrying back towards the other kids on the steps. And I walked away.

‘Hey!’ Hot Turtle walked towards me. I walked faster, back in the direction of the railings where I’d chained up my bike. I couldn’t speak and my chest hurt. Heartburn from too much piña colada. Or the churros I’d necked in the supermarket – they’d been hot, straight out the oil – and my fat ass couldn’t wait. They’d burned my oesophagus en route.

But the damn sand was shifting under my bare feet and I couldn’t move fast enough. ‘Hey!’ he called again.

I stopped and turned around. His white shirt flapped open to reveal an acre of stunning chest. ‘Oh, hi.’

‘I recognise that smile but I remembered you a whole other way.’ He squinted. ‘Hello, Maniac, it is you, isn’t it?’

Immediate jelly knees. I didn’t know which part of him I wanted in me first. But first things foremost – I hated him and he was a Judas who had just got married to another woman. ‘OK, bye.’

‘I almost didn’t recognise you.’

I’d been so hell-bent on disguising myself, I’d forgotten the one person who I did want to see me.

‘I had some work done. Better or worse?’

‘Well, you looked beautiful before. But now you’re kinda spectacular.’