‘The house is made of red brick,’ Rohan told his wife. The cheap connection to India gave his voice an echo. ‘There is a yard and three bedrooms. And a secure fence around the area so it’s very safe.’

‘I can’t wait to see it.’ Prima sounded distant, which Rohan used to blame on the poor connection. But now he knew that she wasn’t keen on coming to Australia. She’d heard that Melbourne and Sydney were dangerous cities, places where Indian students were being bashed by roaming youths. ‘That’s just the media exaggerating a few isolated incidents,’ Rohan assured her. He neglected to mention that last week, returning from his first closing shift at Coles, he had run the entire way home, his black loafers thumping heavily on the shady paths of a local park. By the time he arrived home, he could not tell whether his chest was bursting with physical exertion or fear. The next morning he asked Glen, his manager, if he could work only daytime hours. Glen shook his head slowly. ‘I can’t have favourites. If I let you choose your hours, everyone will start coming to me with special requests. I can’t have that, mate.’