‘Ah,’ says the voice from the phone somewhere in the darkness. ‘Praise be to the utility company! The power is back on.’

Jacob takes a couple of hesitant steps onto the roof. In front of him the neighbourhood of Mar Mikhael stretches out and down towards the harbour. Dim lights in windows, broken walls, and loading cranes and then a vast darkness that has to be the Mediterranean.

‘You must be Jacob,’ Alexa says. ‘Welcome to Beirut.’

She steps out of the shadows and before Jacob can say a word she’s kissed him on both cheeks and put a glass of red wine in his hand.

‘Is this your first visit?’

Jacob nods slowly and looks at her. She’s probably ten years older than him and about his height. She’s not exactly overweight, more like solidly built, with a halo of dark, curly hair that she has pulled back from her face with a wide reddish scarf. She’s wearing a long, green dress and sandals.

‘Let me guess,’ she says. ‘This is your first time in the Middle East? You’re shocked and just a little worried about all this mess?’

She laughs and tilts her head to the side. Jacob’s mouth goes dry, and he can feel his face flush. She’s treating him like a child, like some raw, naive newcomer. This is not what he imagined for his first evening. He expected an embassy, not electricity flickering on and off, not some rooftop with this woman.

Alexa laughs and puts an arm around him.

‘Drink, habibi,’ she says. ‘It’ll pass. When you’re done drinking, you can help me carry up the food. It’s better not to think.’

Jacob drinks a glass, then one more and then another, while helping Alexa transport plates and dishes up from her apartment. It’s her farewell party apparently. She’s going to start working at a youth centre in the Palestinian refugee camp of Shatila in southern Beirut next week. While they set the table, she tells him she’s from France and Morocco and that she’s lived in Beirut for almost five years.

‘I started as an intern at the Red Cross,’ she says. ‘Putain, what a bunch of whores. Watch out for diplomats, baby.’

She stops and puts her hand to her mouth.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean… Well, you’re just an intern? You still have some time to reconsider.’

But Jacob laughs. He doesn’t care, he just wants her to keep talking in an English that blends Arabic and French and flows like a wild river of swear words and strong opinions. Every word she speaks lessens the emptiness inside him. With every glass he drinks, he feels more inspired.