Now whether this is surprise at a silly question, ‘Of course I haven’t seen this, what do you take me for – a goddamn tourist?’ or surprise that such a thing exists, ‘No! Wow, I’ve never seen such a fascinating and informed guide to my own country. Fancy!’ it’s hard to say. On balance I think it unlikely that Benjamín wants to borrow my Folger’s guide book to Mexico just as it’s a long shot he’s going to want to sign out my copy of Anne Tyler’s A Patchwork Planet, also fresh from the crate, but you know – I want him to know he can. Benjamín purses his lips and glances towards the window. Outside the children are pottering around beyond the deck. This afternoon they’re on clean-up duty. Unaware, as yet, that they’re being screwed on the exchange rate, they’re picking tin cans and bits of plastic off the ground and putting them into rubbish bags for the agreed sum of one dollar a bag. The sky above them is deep blue. The sun strong. Idly, I wonder whether I should top up Emmy’s Total Block.

We’re beginning to get the hang of our new way of life now. For a few days after we arrived I found myself looking over my shoulder, fearful that at any moment someone, namely Robert, would barge into the town and drag us kicking and screaming back to reality, but once it dawned on me that Temerosa was our new reality, I was overcome with a delicious feeling of decadence, the kind you get on holiday, when the luxury of sleep is temporarily returned to you, when you can loaf around all day and think about nothing more pressing than what flavour jam to spread on your toast.

I wake early in the mornings. As the dark blue of night fades to milky indigo, as the outlines of trees slowly develop through the cabin window, I stretch a lazy toe across the cool unused sheets on the other side of the bed, knowing that right around this time, in London, I’d be woken by the whine of the garbage truck, the whirr of the milk float, followed by the clanking of scaffolding as one or other of our neighbours embarked on their seemingly endless quest for home improvements. Then would come the mind-numbing morning rush hour with its child waking, shaking, washing, dressing, breakfasting, teeth brushing, and homework finding, all played out against the clock, against the surly traffic, against the black and white television set that is London in winter.