So I went with it. ‘Yeah, we’re just the full culturally bereft Euro-Anglo-Australian mutt.’

Nassim put his arm around my waist and pulled me close. ‘Don’t be a dope,’ he said. ‘You don’t think Leb culture is made up of every little influence it has had since the dawn of time? Nothing wrong with loving your mutt.’ He planted a kiss on me as we reached the gate and I noticed there was still mail in the mailbox. What did that mean? Was Mum not home? Or had she got home super early? How long had she been home? That was important.

It was just a mailbox. It meant nothing, probably nothing.

Nassim saw my discomfort. ‘Don’t stress,’ he said. ‘I’m good at parents.’

‘I wish Dad was around,’ I said. ‘You two could talk cooking.’

‘Nah, it’s good this way. Better for me – divide and conquer.’

I took the mail from the mailbox and slid my key into the lock. The door swung inwards. Inside, the kitchen was empty and the house had an abandoned feel.

‘Mum?’ I called up the stairs. There was no response. The ticking of the clock seemed loud.

Nintendo, however, was home. Nintendo already loved Nassim. Every time we had been here alone Nintendo had spent endless moments winding himself around and around Nassim’s legs, pushing his furry forehead under Nassim’s gentle fingertips.

Nintendo jumped up on the bench and headbutted Nassim in the face and Nassim brought his arms up to pat him. ‘You might have been stressing about nothing,’ he said, which was a bit rich, considering that I would have been quite happy to keep him away from my mother for the rest of my life.

‘Might have to be another time,’ I said, actually blushing with relief.

‘Oh well, that’s a shame,’ Nassim said. ‘But it does open up other possibilities.’ And he left the cat alone and took my arm, leaned me back against the kitchen counter and pressed his soft lips against mine. The tingle went through me. Our bodies drew close, pressing together through clothing. My breathing deepened. I fumbled at his jeans.

Just then came the sound of an upstairs door opening and Mum appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘Mum! You’re here,’ I said, springing away from Nassim and feigning getting something from the fridge.

Mum had obviously seen. A smirk played around the edges of her mouth as she came into the kitchen.

‘Oh, hello,’ she said and held out her hand. ‘I’m Cathy. Are you a friend of Anna’s?’

Nassim took her hand and shook it. ‘Yes, Mrs Krau–’

‘Oh please, call me Cathy. And you are . . .?’

‘Nassim.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Nassim. You’re not trying for medicine too, I hope?’ She had that air she sometimes put on of just-having-thought-of-something, her snappy delivery like she was grabbing ideas out of the air around her, like she was one of those fast-talking broads in those old movies.

‘Me? No.’