‘¡Buenos días!’ I nod back at him. It would really help if I could remember his name, but I can’t and I don’t know enough Spanish to ask it.

He bends down to Emmy. ‘¡Buenos días!’ he says softly. Emmy turns and presses her face into my jeans. He straightens up again and holds out a paper bag.

‘Desayuno.’

I’m confident that my scanty three words of Spanish will soon be augmented by a course of language tapes I bought from Waterstone’s a good month before leaving. The only reason I picked them out from the legions of Biarritz-style offerings on the shelf was because I read on the blurb that the teacher had taught Doris Day to sing ‘Que será será’ in flawless tones, but despite this inspiring recommendation, I have so far failed to start the course. The Mexican, however, is undeterred.

‘Breakfast,’ he translates.

‘Gracias,’ I say, surprised. ‘Gracias.’

He thrusts his hand into the bag and draws out a packet of Fruit Loops, a carton of milk, and three slim paper sachets of cherry Kool-Aid. ‘Para los niños, he adds. ‘The children.’

Jack and Emmy stretch out their hands and make cawing noises like starving baby crows and in response to this he suddenly grins. With a shock I wonder whether I have misjudged him. It’s possible that his perpetual look of sullenness is less of a mean-spirited thing and more of a physical unkindness. When he smiles, the right-hand side of his mouth shoots up in the traditional manner, but the left side seems loath to follow, instead remaining stubbornly horizontal, which in turn gives his face the frozen look of a mild Bell’s palsy sufferer.

‘Gracias,’ I say again.

‘No problem.’ He smiles again and this time I notice the gaps where two of his back teeth are missing.

I smile as well and stick out my hand. ‘Alice.’

‘Benjamín,’ he says. His J is soft. Benjhamin.

I have absolutely no intention of firing him.

3

‘The truck is good,’ Benjamín says. I step up onto the metal footplate and hop into the cab. He slams the door after me, giving it a couple of slaps with the palm of his hand before walking round to the front. ‘See?’ He holds up the towline and hook still attached to the front fender. ‘Big engine, very strong.’ Then he presses his fingers to the hinge of his jaw, as though necessary to relocate it back into its proper place before committing himself to a final declaration. ‘The truck is safe.’