She opened the door wider and gestured for him to enter. For a second she reminded him of Helen. He felt a sharp pain as his conversation with her came back to him.

‘Are you Leanne?’

She had a maroon scarf draped over her head, and wore a long dark green smock with loose trousers. He followed her down a hall stacked with boxes into the kitchen where there were more boxes and black sacks. She stood in their midst.

‘Leanne’s not with us any more.’

Her speech was oddly formal. He also detected the trace of an American accent.

‘I’m Sahim.’ He felt the occasion merited his real name.

‘Nasima.’

‘Are you with the same organization?’

‘Just the medical supplies.’

Her tone was cool. Even though she had invited him in he felt he had already outstayed his welcome.

‘Look, I’m not – I’m just trying to trace my brother. He went to Syria – with this organization’s – seemingly with the help of this Leanne. A friend went with him – Bala Pazic – but he came back. He was injured. He was the one who told me to come here.’

She peered at him, frowning. ‘I’ve seen you on TV.’

For the first time in a grim twenty-four hours he felt a small glow of pleasure. ‘Oh. Thanks. It was just – a few appearances.’

She made no comment as she moved towards the cooker and opened a cupboard. ‘Tea?’

All her movements were as economical as her speech, as if she was conserving her energy. She retained the same fixed half-smile she had greeted him with at the door.

‘Yes, thank you.’

Something about her accent told him she wasn’t British by birth, but her manner suggested she was very much assimilated, just like him. He felt comforted by that.

He heard floorboards creaking above.

‘Do you know where in Syria your brother is?’

It all rushed out of him, like air from a balloon: how Karza and Bala had suddenly volunteered, the picture his brother had sent back. As he talked, he realized what little information he had. She listened with the same blank expression. The kettle boiled, and she dropped a teabag into a mug with the Red Crescent emblem on the side. Maybe they really were organizing medical supplies. He couldn’t tell if she was paying any attention.

‘Milk and sugar?’

‘Both, please.’

She put the mug down. ‘What motivated him? Was he very committed?’

This wasn’t the moment to be honest.

‘I think they felt they could make a difference – though I don’t think he knew what he was getting into.’