He dragged up his pants and trousers, felt the pockets. His phone was gone. Then he remembered the laptop. Ignoring the pain now, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, pulled on his clothes. The fridge door yawned open. In the pool of water in front of it his bag and wallet lay open and face down. His cards were still there but the cash was gone. The bag was empty, the laptop gone. Using the table he had once sat at to do his homework, he hauled himself up, then slowly sat in a chair.

Then he remembered Nasima. She couldn’t see him like this. He got to his feet and saw himself in the mirror, his face bruised and bloody. Then he noticed the clock on the oven. It was seven a.m. He must have missed her – or maybe she hadn’t come, after all.

He threw himself into a frenzy of activity, clearing up the kitchen, mopping the floor. He stripped off his clothes and threw them into the bin. In Karza’s room he found a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie. They would have to do. In the bathroom he did what he could to clean up his face, but tears of rage blurred his vision. When the doorbell rang he jumped.

‘Who is it?’

It was Nasima. He opened the door and her mouth dropped open. ‘What happened?’

‘What does it look like?’

He shut the door quickly and showed her upstairs, steering her towards the front room.

‘Who did this?’

‘Thugs.’

‘Whites?’

Waves of shame and embarrassment welled in him. He couldn’t hide it. His humiliation was complete. She stood in the kitchen and surveyed the scene. Then she came towards him and embraced him. He resisted at first, then gave in, put his head on her shoulder and cried.

‘Fucking bastards. Fucking white fascist bastards!’

She soothed him. ‘It’s okay, you’re safe now.’

He pulled back. ‘Safe? That’s about the last thing I feel.’

That he had been singled out made a mockery of all his years of trying to blend in. But she held on to him. ‘For what it’s worth, I know just how you feel, believe me.’

Her words calmed him. He felt less alone. She sat him down and made him a cup of tea. Then she sat opposite and held his hand while he sipped. He tried not to catch her eye but when he did he saw how different she looked. She had lost the reserve she had shown when they first met.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come last night – I got waylaid.’

‘Maybe it’s just as well. You might have got caught up in this – this . . .’ He let out another anguished sob. ‘I hate you to see me like this.’