The men stop and look at him. The echo of stories of robberies, disappearances and kidnappings bounce around inside his head. What is the actual name of the centre where Alexa is working? Why did he come in here so unprepared? What the hell was he thinking? He should have gone to the Four Seasons or some other Western hotel, tried to disappear into the crowd. This is folly and naivety, nothing else.

‘Who are you?’ asks one of the men.

‘My name is Jacob,’ he says, but his mouth is so dry the words barely make it over his lips. ‘I’m a Swedish diplomat.’

It’s not exactly the truth, but perhaps it might function as a shield of some kind. The expression of the man who asked doesn’t change, but he nods almost imperceptibly to the man standing behind Jacob, who slowly closes a hand around Jacob’s upper arm.

He gestures with one hand to the man behind him and then turns around and heads into the alley. Jacob is dragged in the same direction, his feet moving without choice, following the two men, deeper into the labyrinth of Shatila.

Is this a kidnapping? He tries to memorize the path they’re taking, that’s all he can do. Past some kind of workshop, a mural in the PLO’s honour, a small opening between houses that are barely more than hovels; he sees four children kicking a ball in the shadows. But it’s useless.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he says to the man holding him by the arm.

But the man just glances at him without answering and quickens his steps. Suddenly, the two men in front of him head to the door of a concrete building, which seems more substantial than most. One knocks.

The other man turns to Jacob. He no longer seems threatening; he’s almost friendly, almost harmless. He points to a sign above the door. It’s slightly illuminated by a fluorescent lamp that sways in the chilly breeze.

Palestinian Recreational Youth Centre, PRYC, it says on the sign. In English and Arabic.

‘This was where you wanted to go?’ the man asks. ‘The Youth Centre?’

Jacob swallows again. He can’t believe it’s true. They’ve taken him where he wanted to go. This wasn’t a kidnapping; they just wanted to help.

‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘I didn’t know…’

He doesn’t get further before the door opens and he sees Alexa’s worried eyes in the gap. She looks at him, trying to place who he is for a moment.

‘Jacob?’ she asks. ‘What are you doing here?’

*

They sit down at one of several long tables with linoleum tops in a room that’s used both as a cafeteria and a classroom. A woman is wiping down another table on the other end of the hall. Alexa puts a cup of tea in front of him.