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‘I told you,’ he snaps, eyes flaring, not at me, I know, but anger at whatever he’s clearly hiding from me. It’s bitterly familiar, a refusal to let me in, shutting me out like I’m a casual guest in his space, not someone whose contours he knows. ‘I’m just stressed. Like I said. There’s a lot of pressure with this job, and we don’t have a lot of time. Look, I’m sorry, I don’t wanna put this on you. I’ll just go out there and explain—’

I pull at the niggling thread in my mind, and watch it unravel into something that might possibly work. It’s a risk, but it’s the only choice we have right now. ‘No. I have an idea.’

‘Sákárà? Your parents’ restaurant?’ Taré is sceptical as she walks into the dining room, shades pulled from her face to nestle in her ’fro. ‘Was this planned?’

Malakai and I exchange a look before I laugh in what I pray sounds like we have our shit together. ‘Of course! We knew that other place was probably not going to work out, but we wanted to explore all our options before showing you our perfect choice. Right, Malakai?’

Malakai nods, slightly dazed, clearing his throat. ‘Exactly.’ He becomes more alert as Taré takes a turn around the premises, curious. ‘It’s cosy and authentic, has so much potential for creating a speakeasy vibe, and it’s unique. Also, the space’s history speaks to what you want to do. It represents community, culture—’

I nod, smiling at our part-time manager, Chidi, as we walk up to the front of the restaurant. ‘We actually used to throw live shows here back in the day. There was an entire band, and people would come here on the weekend to relax, gist, dance. I really think with a little tweaking Sákárà can provide exactly what we need for the lead video. Any sale that happens won’t be processed till after the date of the shoot, so we’re good for time, and it would be a great way to send the space off. Also, it’s a lot cheaper than the other options.’

Taré walks around the space, inspecting it shrewdly, casting her gaze across the room. Eventually, a smile slowly begins to grow on her face. ‘Listen, I don’t know what you guys pulled, but it’s working. I like it. It’s personal, has a story, has potential.’ She pauses and flicks her gaze between Malakai and I. ‘Fine. Start figuring it out.’

Malakai’s brows shoot up, throwing me a surprised glance. ‘You’re sure?’

Taré shrugs as she makes her way to the door. ‘I’m sure that I trust that you both care enough about this project to not let this shoot flop. I’m heading back to the studio–are you guys coming with?’

‘Uh, I think I’m going to hang back—’

‘Same,’ Malakai says. ‘I think we’re going to get a head start on locking down the direction now we know where it’s going to be.’

Taré’s gaze jumps between Malakai and I before she nods. ‘OK. Cool. Good work, you guys. I’ll see you Monday.’

As soon as she and the rest of the crew leaves, Malakai turns to me, body sagging with relief. ‘Scotch. . .thank you.’ He steps closer to me, eyes sincere, ‘Seriously. I don’t know how I would have pulled this off.’

The fact that we’ve now secured a location barely registers with me; I’m still rattled by whatever Malakai was going through. ‘I told you. We’re a team. Now, in the interests of us being a team, can you please tell me what happened earlier? Have you had panic attacks like that before?’ I had a couple in school when my mum was sick, I recognise the patterns, the tells.

Discomfort shadows Malakai’s gaze. ‘It wasn’t a panic attack. I’m fine. I’m just tired. Kiki, I’m grateful for everything you’ve done today. It means. . .it means a lot, but please... please, can we drop this?’

I shrug, my hands dropping to the side of my thighs with a slap. ‘I wish I could, Kai, but unfortunately I find myself giving a shit about you– whatever that means in the context of this– I don’t like what I saw in your face. The last time you looked like that was when—’

‘Kiki.’ My name shoots out sharp, like an arrow, stopping me in my tracks. He squeezes his forehead between his thumb and forefinger, massaging it slightly. ‘I’m begging you. I can’t do this today.’ Malakai’s gaze is torturous, almost fighting itself, reaching out to me and then smacking itself away. ‘Leave it,’ he says eventually, sinking an icicle into my chest. I don’t know what this masochism is, needing to involve myself with someone who is doing everything to push me out. I say nothing, baring my palms and then bringing them together with a shrug of acceptance. Malakai nods, before he leans forward to kiss my cheek. It sends a rapier of yearning through me, cold and painful, as he whispers, ‘Thank you, Scotch,’ before he leaves the restaurant, in almost the exact same manner with which he left my life the first time. Turns out, we already have an answer to what would happen if we got to have a do-over.

Exactly the same thing.

Chapter 13

Live at Sákárà, Roses Really Smell Like Poo

‘Guys, youhaveto stop staring. This is technically my job, and I would prefer it if she didn’t hit my friends with a restraining order.’

‘She’s just so beautiful,’ Aminah says as she looks on starry-eyed at Taré on the small low-level dais we’ve set up in Sákárà. ‘That’s custom Dye Lab she’s wearing now, right? And she was wearing Ahluwalia earlier! That collection isn’t even out yet! Do you think she can get me an in? I wanna get some bits for the bachelorette next week. Actually, could I just have what she’s wearing? We look about the same size. Although she’s done a lot for us already. I can’tbelieveshe offered up her South African house to us for the bachelorette.’

When I’d offhandedly mentioned to Taré that I was looking for locations for my friend’s bachelorette do, she didn’t blink or stop smoking her blunt as she husked, ‘Oh, baby, why didn’t you say earlier? I got invites to the Afrotopia Festival. I won’t be going because I’ll probably be working on finalising album stuff, but since it’s after your job is mainly done you should for sure go. I got VIP, of course. I can hook you up.’ And since all the girls had already saved, thinking that we were going to have to pay for accommodation, and with air miles, a well-timed online search and a mutual decision to use it as our annual girls trip, we’d managed to find reasonably priced flights to Cape Town. It’s a relief to have something to look forward to after months of working on the documentary, planning this shoot and show at the same time, whilst engaging in an emotional tango with my ex-boyfriend, who happens to be jarringly excellent at scattering my senses before reverting into cool professional aloofness.

I watch him now as he bounces across the room, wired with game-day energy, sleeves of his flannel rolled up, talking to Taré as she gets her make-up fixed, instructing and bussin a quick joke with the sound guy, before dapping up a couple of his friends as they walk into the restaurant, a part of his personal guestlist. He’s totally in his element, shining with it, easy in his skin and it’s hard not to be mesmerised by the sight. Looking at him now, it would be easy to forget that a month ago he was walking around with shadows across his face. I haven’t though. Despite his command for me to ‘leave it’, a week after what was definitely his panic attack, I texted him the details of a therapist that Chioma dated once. He was down-to-earth and funny and we all liked him – the only reason it didn’t work out between Asani and Chioma was because he wanted to be exclusive and Chi had said she had a ‘few more souls’ she wanted to ‘experience intimately’. Kai didn’t respond to the link, but he did ‘like’ the message. I have no idea what that means materially. We haven’t spoken about it, because that’s what we do, allow the Unsaids to pile up, skate on superficial civility. Thankfully, my friends are too distracted by Taré to notice what I now realise is me actively thirsting and attempting to emotionally dissect the very same man they (Aminah) warned me to stay away from.

‘Is her skin actually glittering? Look at that glow. I need to locate the body oil. Do you know where her MUA is?’ Shanti continues on their collective sonnet on Taré’s beauty, from where we’re sat at our usual table.

‘Please, Shanti.’ Chioma looks like the humanoid manifestation of a heart-eye emoji. ‘This is not a cosmetic thing. This is an inner thing. There’s, like, an aura. I’m gonna ask her how she centres herself spiritually.’

Oh, this is amercifulabundance of kindle to roast them with later. I laugh as I lean a hand against the back of Aminah’s chair. ‘Yeah, maybe do it after the show?’

Malakai, Taré and I had come up with the concept together. She wanted something reminiscent of West African countries in the sixties, the air of freedom, liberation, women in short skirts, men still understanding the power of the woo, nations flexing their muscles. I’d thought of an old club my dad had told me about, onehisdad had told him about, Kakadu in Yaba, Lagos, a bar and salon where people like Wole Soyinka and Chinua Achebe would come to gist, whose stage saw the likes of Fela and Sunny Ade. It’d been the heart of Lagos nightlife, the place to be, or to be seen at. It’d been destroyed in the civil war, and it had never re-opened. I felt that paying homage at Sákárà worked perfectly, a place where my parents had planted my hopes, found their freedom. It was a win–win–win–we’d found a location for the shoot, got to have a special send-off for the restaurant and I’d also secured a pre-bachelorette treat for the girls. The guest list was specifically curated to include writers, artists, activists, journalists, some tastemakers who went against the grain and our friends.

Taré had said, ‘This ain’t about who has the most followers. This isn’t about influencers. This is aboutculture.People who wanna retain and maintain and innovate.’

So with that mission statement we didn’t change Sákárà’s interior too much, but rather amped the homey feel–Janet Jackson’s ‘Got Til It’s Gone’ featured heavily on Kai’s mood board. We wanted it to feel like a living-room jam crossed with an intimate hang-out spot, and so rugs and mats were laid down, more lamps added, Ankara tablecloths, framed photos taken from our parents. It’s early, about 10 a.m., but the lighting and window coverings makes it look like early evening. There’s a bronzed, sensual look to everything, everyone, a warmth, congeniality, and we encouraged everyone to dress in earth-tones, with Shanti helping us source Black designers to provide the outfits.