He and Dolores had made it to the schoolroom. In spite of the Border Patrol, Duval had intended to take Dolores north then and there, disappear for a couple of days until he could figure out what had happened. But when Winfred came and Duval learned about Hogan’s men, he knew it was too dangerous. They’d decided to stay put and trust that the tortuous geography of the schoolroom would prevent them from being found. They waited and waited. Everything had been quiet until a radio flash had made Benjamín jump. Ten, twelve people coming through. The Migra had tracked them over the border but lost them as they’d slipped in and out of the tight ravines.

‘¡Por todos los santos!’ Benjamín mutters. ¿Por qué esta noche?’ He shakes his head despairingly.

‘I tell Duval we can do nothing to help, but then we hear gunshots.’ He shrugs. ‘So of course Duval went.’

It hadn’t been hard to find them. Torches were dancing all over the sky. There was fighting and yelling. The americanos had looked like monstrous insects in their night-vision goggles. In the confusion he’d heard someone shout his name. He’d ordered Dolores to wait in the schoolroom, but she must have followed him because when he turned he’d seen her struggling in one of the rancher’s arms. He’d run towards the man, and the next thing he felt was the punch of a knife in his shoulder. After that, a kick to the head catapulted him into oblivion.

‘Chavez will listen to you, Alice. He will send his men.’

‘Winfred said no. He said don’t call the patrol.’

‘Winfred is dead, Alice.’

I clamp a hand over my mouth.

‘He was trying to help us. His car went over the cliff.’

‘I saw the fire,’ I whisper. ‘Benjamín, I saw it out of the window.’ I cover my face with my hands and rock backwards and forwards.

‘I will go to Chavez with you,’ Benjamín says simply. ‘We will go together.’ He looks around the room, as if aware for the first time of his surroundings. ‘Where is M-E?’

‘Gone,’ I say, my eyes sliding from his. ‘Robert took them to the airport.’

He turns his head to one side. ‘Little M-E,’ he says brokenly. ‘My little M-E.’

‘You’ll see her again, Benjamín,’ I say feebly. ‘I promise.’ And he looks at me then as though we live in parallel worlds – mine is one where people are free to move across land and water and borders. A world where children go to school and do their homework and hop on planes any time they want to see their friend Benjamín. And his world? . . . Well, a door has opened into Benjamín’s world, a door I have now stepped through and I feel a shiver of fear at the possibility of it closing behind me.