During the day, Club Deliquesce is like so many clubs on the island: An unassuming two-story building in grey or white rendering, blistered with air-con units and flanked by an electricity substation. During the night, bass seeps from the walls, animating the fairy- and neon-lit front with an insistent form of life as if the earth itself is inviting the queuing supplicants to dance. There is something primal and hallowed about it, if you ignore the giggling hen dos with their dealy-boppers and identical white dresses, the lads groups chanting football songs, and the furtive gentlemen standing by selling glow-sticks and little packets for a reasonable number of Euros.

Amelie stops in front of a stall, clutching her breast. The piece that has caught her eye is a simple but massive beach towel, back on white, depicting the branches and roots of the tree of life emerging from the abstract figure of a woman in the trunk. Celtic designs frame it, placing it squarely in the style of a third of the artifacts here. The hippy market, one of many on the island, is a ranging, chaotic, overpriced and overcrowded procession of tat, souvenirs, clothing, wood and leather.

Amelie is breathing soft and regular, somehow undisturbed by the increasingly violent complaints of Gemma’s remains that knot your insides. The work of two careful minutes repositions her so she can sleep on the bed. You tuck her in and slip away. Me-time. Spanish plumbing is hazy at the best of times. You’re going to have to go easy, but even as you’re walking, powerful internal spasms are accompanied by a discordant orchestra of phuts, purts, and tremulous piping prrrrts.

The sun slows things down on San Antonio beach. The moon and the stars bring them back to life. You’re staring at them now, stretched out on a sunlounger. It’s a good thing it’s wooden: the white plastic ones wouldn’t cope well with the weight of two people. The clubs were in full swing when you finally went out. Some drama with the friends you traveled with delayed everything until you were itching to see some action.