As they drove downhill into Albuquerque, Poppy, Bella and Lars belted out the words to ‘Route 66’. What they lacked in harmony, they made up for in enthusiasm and volume.

In the last couple of hours they had passed canyons and mountains, Native American pueblos, strange roadside sculptures and cactus after cactus after cactus, all bathed in a rich golden light. The excitement in the car now was at an all-time high as they approached the city, which glittered with promise in the early evening dusk.

‘We’re going to follow GoogleMaps straight to the bar, right?’ said Bella. ‘I must say I’m intrigued to see this place where Damian’s been spending so much time.’ Shit, I hope it’s not a brothel, she thought suddenly, then banished the thought as quickly as it had entered her head. No, Damian wasn’t like that.

They drove on until they reached the Old Town – a charming, bustling area full of pueblo-style buildings housing cafés, shops and galleries with window displays of Native American jewellery, rugs, pottery and sand paintings.

‘Oooh, I like it,’ said Poppy. ‘Bit of a hippy-Ibiza vibe.’

‘Yeah, me too,’ said Bella, smiling. ‘No wonder Damian seems to have taken up residence. It would be nice to stay on a few days once we’ve found him – though of course, we’ll give you both a bit of privacy, Pops. Promise not to dog your every move …’

‘Don’t be silly. I’m so grateful to you – both …’ Poppy looked around at her companions, her eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘I’m not going to abandon my partners in crime just because I’ve found my stupid bloody husband …’

‘Let’s play it by ear, huh?’ said Lars mildly.

They continued to follow the map on Lars’s phone, leaving the charming Old Town and entering a significantly grottier area.

‘Might have guessed,’ muttered Poppy.

At last, they drew up outside La Hacienda, a building for whom the word ‘unprepossessing’ would have been outrageous flattery. All of its windows were blacked out and its sign was hanging at what might have been a rakish angle, had it not been obvious that this was due to neglect, rather than design.

‘OK, here we go,’ said Poppy, visibly steeling herself for what she might find within.

‘We’re right behind you, Pops,’ said Bella, giving her a brief squeeze from behind and kissing the top of her head.

They entered the bar, and everything went quiet.

‘Shit, that’s her!’ whispered the barman to Pablo. ‘I bet you ten dollars that’s his beautiful blonde wife.’

The only man in the whole bar who hadn’t looked up at their entrance was Damian, who was indulging in an incredibly enjoyable snogging marathon with little Juanita in a corner. As Poppy clocked them, an extraordinary sound came out of her mouth and she ran over to them as fast as her feet would carry her.

‘Get your hands off my husband, you fucking tart!’ she screamed, prising them apart with her surprisingly strong small hands.