Yassim sighs deeply and shakes his head. ‘You didn’t know. I should have told you who I was, of course. But what I’m doing is dangerous, Jacob. I didn’t want to drag you into it. Not before I knew you better. Mostly for your own sake. I felt I could trust you right from the start.’

Yassim leans in and kisses him lightly near his temple, and Jacob puts his hands on Yassim’s knee.

‘You are so innocent, Jacob,’ he whispers. ‘That’s your strength here, where nobody is innocent. Don’t forget that.’

They sit for a while listening to the rain. They’re alone, apart from the old woman who runs the cafe who’s sitting behind the counter watching reruns of an old Syrian soap. Yassim pushes him away, holds his head in his hands, stares deeply into his eyes. He’s preparing for something, collecting strength to say something.

‘I like you so much, Jacob,’ he says quietly.

And it’s as if the whole cafe with its dirty plastic chairs and bleached and tattered tarp fades away, as if the rain stops and night turns to saga and myth. It’s like that first night in the garden, as if the only real thing is the two of them.

‘I like you,’ Jacob says.

His mouth is dry, but he doesn’t want to free himself to take a drink, doesn’t want Yassim to let go of his face, doesn’t want this to end.

‘You’ll come with me to Europe, promise me,’ Yassim says.

‘Yes,’ he says, nodding his head in Yassim’s hands. ‘Anywhere. I’ll follow you wherever you want.’

‘I have to go back soon,’ Yassim continues. ‘After what you told me… I can’t risk staying here now.’

His voice breaks suddenly, and he has to clear his throat. ‘I can’t risk you either, Jacob. It’s dangerous. They’re dangerous. It’s better if I’m not here.’

Jacob nods, he understands, but feels empty at the thought of Yassim disappearing again.

‘I’ll wait for you in Europe, in Brussels, darling,’ he says and smiles weakly. ‘Don’t be sad.’

‘I’m not sad,’ Jacob says. ‘Not when I know I have you.’

‘You do,’ Yassim says, stroking his cheek. ‘You know you do.’

He finally lets go of Jacob’s face and then takes a drink of his soda. He seems to be preparing himself again. Maybe to say what he tried to say before. It feels solemn; Jacob can feel it in the air, a glimmer of something large, something important.

‘The information we’ve collected…’ he begins. ‘We’ve been immensely careful about it. We don’t save it on computers that are connected to the Internet, we don’t send emails, don’t make calls. We always meet eye to eye, never use any intermediaries.’