We walk together between the school buildings, not speaking. Me and Ahmed get on great online, or texting. But this is the first time we’ve been alone together in real life, and for some reason it’s awkward. As we head for the main gates, one of the recycling bins has rolled out of place and sits partly blocking our path; we both stop walking at the same time to let the other one through the gap. We laugh, but not because it’s funny. It’s a stuttering laugh, and I get an odd feeling that we’re carrying something between us. Like we’re both held down by this immense weight. That it’s somehow shared.

We fall silently back into step with each other as we head towards the main road, picking our way around the puddles on the path beside the school drive.

‘Hey, check that out.’

I can’t see what Ahmed has seen, but he immediately vaults the handrail at the side of the path. Slowly, in a low crouch, he crosses the drive, heading for the uneven row of fence panels on the other side where the gardens of the neighbouring houses all end. Then I spot it. On top of one of them, at about eye height, sits a small brown bird with a red chest. A robin.

‘I have seen them sometimes in Syria, but they aren’t so brave as here.’ Ahmed looks back at me as he talks, his eyes alive in the early evening light. ‘They live in the hills there, in the woods. But now my mother has them visiting the garden. They sit on her spade as she digs. Their song is the same though.’ Ahmed whistles a few squeaky notes and creeps a little closer.

The bird on its wooden perch jumps about a bit, puffing out its fuzzy little chest and tilting its head to one side, letting out a few high trills of its own song.

‘He’s checking you out,’ I laugh. A real one this time. Not a stutter.

‘Yeah, he likes me.’ Ahmed stands straight, satisfied that he’s close enough. He holds his empty palms out towards it. ‘Sorry, buddy, no worms.’

A few more notes of song. The robin raises its tail, leans forward.

‘Apparently they sing for territory. They don’t like other people stepping on their patch.’ The robin bounces up and down a few more times. Ahmed turns back to me, ‘Maybe he thinks I’m trying to steal something from him.’

Ahmed’s movement is too quick, too sudden for the small bird. It pitches forward and flies low over our heads to a nearby hedge. I flinch involuntarily as it passes just a foot or so above me.

Ahmed is smiling as he climbs back over the rail. ‘They were my father’s favourites.’