Hogan looks in no way satisfied. ‘This is very awkward, Mrs Coleman, you without your husband and all . . . but my wife . . . she rang all the way from Houston and she said to me, “Jeff, they’re your neighbours and you have a duty both as someone with standing in the town and as a leader of the community . . .”’ On and on he stumbles and all the while I’m thinking – it’s true, the snail’s thread I spin out behind me has crossed with the Mexican’s and here come the repercussions.

‘Mrs Coleman . . . ma’am, what I’m trying to say is . . . well . . . were you in any way . . . well . . . hurt?’

‘Hurt?’ I say surprised. ‘No. Not at all.’

‘Well now that’s a considerable worry off my mind . . . story I heard was that . . . well . . .’ He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

‘What story?’ I say, mildly interested.

‘Folks have been saying that you were . . . violated in some way.’

I nearly laugh out loud. It’s the look on his face. Fatherly concern mingled with agonizing curiosity.

‘Well, in actual fact it was my truck took the brunt of the attack, but I’m sure, with counselling and gentle handling, it will recover in time.’

‘This ain’t no laughing matter, Mrs Coleman,’ Hogan says solemnly. ‘Next time it could be far worse, you could be harmed in some way.’

I shut my eyes. The Mexican’s face looms.

‘It was nothing, really, you mustn’t worry.’ In the pocket of my corduroys, my fingers close round a single Skittle, sequestered from Jack’s private stash in the car. I set myself the task of getting it to my mouth without Hogan noticing.

‘But I do worry.’ Hogan’s voice rises with indignation. ‘Why, I’d never forgive myself if something were to happen. You here alone! No husband! Two small children! Ma’am, it’s not right. It’s not safe. Your property is no more than six miles from the border. The hills round here are overrun with illegals.’

The way he says ‘illegals’ makes it sound as though a new and ferocious breed of groundhog had been identified which was even now cavorting in the mesquite in their thousands, chomping on Indian grasses and breeding prolifically while horrified locals were forced to hole up in fortified cabins.

‘The problem’s not only here on the border,’ Hogan is saying. ‘My mother-in-law is up in a retirement home outside of Phoenix. They got Mexicans tending the lawns up there – like they got ‘em everywhere,’ he adds darkly, ‘sweeping the trash and mopping the floors. Believe me, these people have no respect for the folk they work for. My mother-in-law has suffered terribly at their hands.’

‘How dreadful.’ It’s my expression now that is surely one of agonizing curiosity. Had the poor woman also been violated?

‘Yes, dreadful,’ he echoes bleakly. ‘She had her finest brooch go missing.’