The Colour of the Night. Robert Hollingworth

appearance of a woman’s bare legs. Shouldn’t they remain covered? Either way, women did not interest Arman at all, even though he had tried so hard in Kabul to be dutiful. As the Quran expressed it: After fear of Allah, a believer gains nothing better for himself than a good wife …

      Was there any other way? He knew of his exiled cousin who had fallen under the spell of another man. Such an abomination cast anyone so-touched into the bowels of hell to burn for all eternity. Arman would never contemplate such an idea; he would not fall prey to the evils of Sodom and Gomorrah. Better to enter into an arranged marriage, though in this new country, thank Allah, that imperative was no longer imminent.

      In the little kitchen, by the light of a single incandescent globe, Arman felt he’d discovered in Ben an enduring common interest, seated as they were, side by side observing the waiting commuters, or in their absence the passing foot-traffic. Arman was learning Western ways, Ben was awaiting something else, and from time to time even their landlord joined them. Nikos, also a bachelor, quickly fell into the spirit of things.

      ‘There’s them Asians again!’ he declared. ‘Never used to be any around here. My opinion: the Chinese are looking to take over our country. Know what I mean?’

      ‘Yes, yes,’ said Arman, with some confusion, attempting to juggle the apparent hierarchy of nationalities.

      Benton nodded and smiled. He liked the idea that the other two were entertained by his unusual innovation. With a flourish towards the screen he would regularly repeat, ‘What do you say, chaps, can we imagine a more thorough embodiment of reality TV?’

      Friends at close quarters. It was a new concept for Benton and it required practice. There were still times when the proximity of others elicited a strange and disconcerting nausea. On these occasions he was obliged to retreat upstairs, and it was here behind closed doors that he took out his special Irish tumbler and a four-sided bottle that shone liquid amber even in the bad bedroom light. He did not much appreciate the taste, but that wasn’t the point. With glass in hand, he would turn on his computer, log on to his regular internet site – the one with the children – and there at last he would feel truly inspired.