‘You’re very new,’ he continues. ‘This is your first international posting, and you’re a bit confused. You’re used to being in control. Good at school, best grades all the way through. You probably speak perfect Arabic, but don’t know any slang.’

Yassim’s smile widens, he’s really getting going now.

‘You play squash and tennis and like German white wines, and when you’ve had a couple glasses you let go of that polished surface and dance on the table to ABBA.’

Jacob blushes a little. He doesn’t know if what he feels is pride because Yassim sees him as he wants to be seen, or if he thinks Yassim might be teasing him, thinks he’s a stereotype.

‘What do you think so far?’ Yassim says. ‘Looks to me like you’re blushing, so I can’t be too far off?’

‘Go on,’ Jacob whispers. ‘I want to hear more.’

Yassim nods and moves a little closer, so Jacob has to stop himself from gasping. He wants to close his eyes and open his mouth, pull Yassim close, but he knows that’s not his role. It’s Yassim who decides, that much is clear, and Jacob allows it to be that way.

‘You come from a good family,’ Yassim continues, whispering now, as if he were telling a story, and he is, in a way. ‘A penthouse in Stockholm, perhaps? Your father is a politician, maybe an ambassador? You know which fork to use at the embassy’s dinners, anyway. Your mother has money, maybe an estate in the country. You have a fancy last name, maybe even two.’

Now Jacob is no longer blushing; instead he’s just letting confirmation wash over him. It’s working. This is the first time he’s tested out his persona, and it’s working. Everything he constructed so carefully and planned and studied while he was growing up. Everything he learned to imitate to the most minute detail in order to succeed at escaping, heading for something else, something bigger and better.

At the same time, it feels so insignificant now, completely irrelevant. It feels like he made the wrong bet, as if he’s misunderstood something fundamental. He remembers the picture of that young lawyer in Dagens Nyheter, her obvious determination and conviction. He can feel his blood burning, here in the garden. Can feel chaos and risk trembling around him. Everything he believed about the world. One day in Beirut, one night in a garden, and all the old stuff feels meaningless. For the first time, he wants to tell someone who he really is. And he opens his mouth.