Samuel’s skin is mahogany-dark, like my friend Juleen’s. He has high, firm cheekbones, buzzed hair and no sideburns, the edges cleanly defined by electric razor. The whites of his eyes are bright and he has an enviable complexion. He’s wearing jeans, a polo shirt and black trainers. I’d forgotten this ruthless kind of beauty. His gaze makes me feel safe somehow, as if expressing the essential mood of my childhood. I see a flash in my mind, and a bittersweet nostalgia floods my chest with something I didn’t know I’d missed. These faces.

‘How are you? Hey, thanks for coming.’ I fumble for the money in my backpack and slip it to him furtively, although it’s unlikely that anyone is watching, or at least that’s what I think. The beach workers have started to arrive by now.

‘How long d’you think you’ll stick around the island?’ he asks casually, crouching down to drop two little plastic bags into my open purse. His Spanish strikes me as surprisingly good for someone of his colour – it wouldn’t be his first language.

‘I’m not really sure. At least until I’ve got through these bags.’ I wink.

‘So you’ve plenty of time!’ he says, waving a hand.

We talk briefly about the sale. I didn’t think the stuff would come pressed in sealed bags. One variety, the ‘cripy’, comes from the mainland; the other’s supposedly from Jamaica. He can also get me flowers from a finca on the South End, but that takes longer, he says. His tone is friendly, steady; his conversation meanders, adding details as he goes.

Since he’s here, I decide to ask. ‘Hey, what’s that over there, next to Johnny Cay?’ I point ahead of us.

‘That?’ He motions and nods. ‘Yeah, that’s what they were going to put in to drill for oil in 2012.’ He bristles. ‘And they just dumped it there after we took to the streets. You from here?’

‘Yeah, I’m from here,’ I answer, laughing a little. ‘I know I don’t look it, but I’m Raizal.’ A password. ‘Juleen didn’t tell you? We went to school together.’

‘Oh really! So mek unu talk Creole, nuh?’ he says eagerly, maybe knowing he’ll be able to flummox me this way.

‘I don’t, but I’ve always wanted to learn, now that you mention it,’ I venture. He clicks his teeth with mild disapproval; embarrassed, I return to our earlier topic. ‘Oye, the oil thing used to be a rumour no one believed in – so now it turns out it’s true?’

‘After the Hague ruling, they started drilling offshore again, but there were lots of protests,’ he repeats. ‘It’s the only time that’s ever happened. It was after we lost the ocean…’