‘Tenoch? Tenoch?’ And with my little yarn gatita on his chest, he fell into a deep, snoring sleep.

Friday, 14 June – Holiday Inn el Agua, Rocas Calientes

Tenoch grew stronger by the day and was up and about again by the time Rafael had come back to me that Friday, like he’d promised.

Me and Raf spent a blissful few days together, barely leaving his room. And each morning when we’d appear late for breakfast, both burning with afterglow, his family would lead the hotel dining room in a round of applause which ordinarily would have been hella embarrassing but we just laughed.

With Dr Gonzales permanently at the house to look after Tenoch, I didn’t have to concern myself with his care at all so I could stay at the hotel indefinitely, joining in with the dancing, the late-night drinking games, the deep philosophical and political debates. And Rafael would kiss me and hold me as the night grew colder on the terrace and lend me his Venetian Bergamot-scented hoody when I began to shiver.

Seriously. It was like a fucking Hugh Grant movie, without the irritating posh friends and floppy hair.

Early that Friday evening, we headed out on the beach to feed the strays some of the scraps of our sandwiches at lunch. By chance, a group of biologists from a local conservation project were releasing buckets of hatched baby turtles into the ocean and we were invited to help. We took two Olive Ridley babies each and placed them on the sand about ten metres from the water’s edge. And we watched them all scurry up the wet sand, heading for the water, disappearing into the tumbling waves, never to be seen again.

‘They’re so tiny,’ I said, holding Rafael as we watched them all go, little black dots, swallowed up by the waves.

‘I wonder if any of them’ll make it. I overheard one of the volunteers saying only about one in a thousand get to adulthood.’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. But the ones that do live to, like, a hundred years. Like tortoises.’

‘That’s pretty cool.’

We sat on the wet sand, watching the sun go down and the turtles swim away and the volunteers picked up their baskets and walked back up to their vans.

‘How come you never talk about your army career? I asked him.

‘Huh?’

‘We talk all the time. You ask about me, I ask about you. You tell me about your ex-wife, your favourite films, songs, pizza toppings. But you never ever talk about the army.’

‘Not much to say. I got kicked out.’

‘Yeah, but what was it like? Did you get to kill people?’

He looked at me. ‘Yes.’

‘Tell me about it.’

‘I don’t wanna put those images in your mind.’ He kissed the centre of my forehead.

‘If they’re in your mind, I want them in mine as well,’ I said.