‘Why’s there ice in the urinals?’ I said.

‘Why is anything?’ He shook his head, then tried to drink from an empty glass. I topped him up. He was drunk now. He asked if I wanted to do a line and I said I was okay. While he was in the toilets, I watched the topless women swinging in their picture frames, skin dusted with glitter. I sipped champagne and imagined being Bryant, stuck out here, living the routine as Joanna had figured it. Every expat is an exile of sorts, looking for something to grip onto. You’re free to remake yourself, try things out, which means you end up confronted with who you are. Then you start drinking. I was drawn to these men and women, all on the run from something, not only because my job depended on exploiting their vulnerability. Bound in with their dreams of self-enrichment – bound in, even, with a hunger to see the world – was always a desire to disappear, and I knew how that felt.

Bryant returned and we leered over the dancers, discussing which we found most attractive.

‘Are you dating?’ I asked.

He pulled a face. ‘It’s tough. When they hear you work in energy, it’s two-hundred-dollar meals for a blowjob. Kazakh women just want to marry you. They want a ring and a visa before you get their number. Funnily enough, the one woman I clicked with was an eco-activist.’ He looked at me to check my amusement, and maybe something more, sensing he was on uncertain territory.

‘Nice. Maybe she was spying on you,’ I said. He nodded philosophically.

‘We’d had a few drinks together. You know, I thought maybe she found it kinky. Then she stops returning my calls. Perhaps that was, like, revenge for me working for the oil industry. Maybe that was a protest.’

‘Was she Kazakh?’

‘English.’

‘English? Working over here?’

‘Making a documentary.’

‘Did she film you?’

‘A tiny bit. But she wanted Kazakhstan. I think she had a romantic idea of the place: dudes riding across the steppe, eagles on their wrists. She asked me about oil companies and human rights. You know, liberal. I was the baddie. I fuck up the planet.’

‘Isn’t it risky doing that kind of campaigning over here?’

‘Depends how you go about it. I’m still trying to get my head around this place. There’s tensions, around oil especially: workers’ rights, people getting moved for new drill sites. I chatted to one old Saracen character about communities they were displacing and he said: “I thought they were nomads.”’ Bryant gripped my arm. ‘Can you believe that? “I thought they were nomads, why can’t they just move?” Jesus Christ. Stick around, Toby. It’s about to get interesting.’