It was Friday evening when I reached Madrid, and Saturday morning, bright and early, I called at General Weyler's house. A rather stunning banderillo opened the front door and inquired my business.

Let's stay in touch.

Somehow seeing that small streak of blood made the way she felt inside seem less out of control, less desperate, less awkwardly, gnawingly painful.

Ben, Tamati and I were the last home and we got a text from Ian asking how we were going, saying, 'I am a box of fluffies, bit sore, otherwise all sweet.