“SO, WHAT DO you like?” Castro tilts his head from around the fridge door. I lift up to see him and shrug my shoulders.

“Anything. I’m not fussy, as long as it’s not wet or smoked fish. You know, fishy fish.”

“Fishy fish?” He’s dying to laugh at me. If his face wasn’t giving him away, the tone of his voice is. “Well, how about chicken? Stir-fry maybe?”

I smile and nod. Picking myself up off the floor, I slowly move into the kitchen. I stop instantly when I see an array of different pots and pans covering every available inch of the worktop.

“Are you expecting a battalion for...