Everyone turned. The woman stopped typing, the men arguing, as they caught sight of this new stranger.

‘Guys, this is Marina Marquez. We just met in the rally. She’s arrived from Andalusia this morning and has nowhere else to stay. So I’ve told her she’s with us now.’ It was said as a statement of fact, not a question. She turned back and squeezed Marina’s shoulder like a big sister. ‘These fellows are okay, you can trust them, all right?

One of the men straightened up, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. He was a slight man with an underbite and wire-rimmed glasses, but there was a toughness in his expression that made him somehow assume more space.

‘This is Sindo Coronella. He is our leader. Sindo has valuable contacts both in the government and in the police. If he says we act, then we act, you got it?’ Marina instinctively nodded. ‘No second-guessing. Sindo coordinates all our activities.’

Paloma pointed to the man next to him: bearded and all-round bigger but somehow less menacing. ‘Ivan Gutierrez. Before this, a mechanic, and before that, a soldier in the army. He knows how to handle weapons – how to strip a rifle, clean it, reassemble it again. It is a rare skill for our fighters and one of our biggest disadvantages against the Africanistas. But do not worry, he will show you too.’

She was to handle a rifle? She remembered the gunshot that had killed Juan Esperanza, and how the sound of it had rung in her head, over and over in the weeks afterwards. Stopping her from sleeping, eating . . . But that was then, a lifetime ago. She was a different person now and this was war. Marina Mendoza may have run from this but Marina Marquez would do what had to be done.

Ivan nodded in greeting and she chanced a tiny smile.

‘Luciana here helps with the propaganda side. She writes, prints and helps distribute our posters.’ The woman at the typewriter nodded.

‘And Marta, behind you, is like us: a foot soldier. We go where we’re told and do as we’re asked. There are others of course – they come at different times and go again; but we live here. We are the beating heart.’ Her eyes were dark and intensely fixed upon Marina’s. ‘Help us, work with us and you will have a home here. Those are the terms of the arrangement. Will you join our cause?’

Marina hesitated. ‘I’m not entirely sure what your cause is,’ she said uncertainly.

Paloma threw out her hands as though it was obvious. ‘Why, the overthrow of the Nationalist dogs. The eradication of the Carlist elite. Rights for workers. A fair democracy.’

Marina looked back at the strangers watching her – Sindo, Ivan, Luciana, Marta, and of course Paloma. Were they her family now? They wanted the same things after all. She thought of Juan and Santi, of Arlo – all the people she had loved and lost in different ways. The family she had once had. What choice did she have? Who else was there for her in this world? ‘Then I’m in,’ she shrugged.