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‘I mean you do. I’m ready for your world-class-performer era. Killa Keeks on tour. You’re going to be in amusicvideo. You killed it. Must have been awkward dancing with Malakai, though. You OK?’

Aminah dips her fork daintily in a bowl of abula in the only way she knows how, voice casual with enquiry.

Chioma laughs as she pours herself a glass of Chapman. ‘Um, well, it definitely didn’tlookawkward. The erotic energy was crazy. I actually think I was turned on a little. I mean I’ve always said that I would watch—’

I narrow my eyes at her in slight perturbation.‘Yeah I know, and I’ve always said that was weird. Besides, I don’t think I would perform well physically under pressure.’

Aminah stops chewing. ‘Why are you acting like Chi watching you and Malakai having sex was ever a possibility?’

Shanti smirks slyly, sipping her drink. ‘Well, anyway, you defperformedwell just then. You and Malakai were, like,init.’

Aminah shakes her head. ‘OK, can you give credit to Kiki’s artistry? Because Malakai may have been in it, because, let’s face it, Kiki’s a spice. How can he not be? But Kiki’sevolvedand doesn’t succumb to, like, emotional whims. Also, physical chemistry is a given. It’s this, like, idea of the taboo. Forbidden. The fact that nothing’s going on is what makes it hotter. It worked for the scene, but it doesn’t mean anything. Now will you get off her back?’

I shrug and focus on carefully piling some plantain and fried rice onto my fork. ‘Look, we were just doing our job. Taré wanted it, so we did it. It’s all for the vision. Nothing more, nothing less.’

Shanti raises a brow, but says nothing at this. ‘Uh, anyway, how was your talk with Bakari?’ she asks instead. ‘I heard he came around.’

I smile. ‘OK, you know I saw you guys pretending to come in and out of the wardrobe trailer during our conversation, right? Doing up Chalé’s Angels.’

Aminah nods unashamedly. ‘Thank you for shouting out my Ghanaian culture fusion, but yeah we did and we heard nothing. You guys were speaking very quietly. I was just there for emotional reinforcement, so I could, like, jump in if you looked distressed. Which you didn’t at all. Actually you seemed to be smiling a lot—’

‘Well, for the record, I objected out of ethical reasons.’ Chi spears a plantain slice on her fork, ‘but also I hate being the last to know things, so...’

I adore my friends, however, the conversation with Bakari is still too raw for me to unpack–not the break-up part, that was actually a breeze and kind of therapeutic–but the part where he offered me my job back. If I’m honest with myself I haven’t missed The Heartbeat - it’s been freeing to live my life beyond the prism of filtering it for the podcast, to explore my creativity outside of it. But, am I really in a position to say no?Phoenixis nearly over and I still don’t know what I’m going to do next. If I take the role, it would be a fixed salary and a way to save the restaurant–it’s a no brainer. So why am I beginning to get a stress stomach ache about it?

My mum’s soothing voice flows into our purview, as she places her hand on my shoulder. ‘Hi, ladies–can I borrow my daughter, please?’

‘Of course, Mama B,’ Aminah says, ‘and, please, when it’s time for her to come back, will you sit with us? I feel like this table needs to be classed up.’

‘I was going to do that whether you liked it or not. I’ve missed my girls, and my husband keeps bragging about how he knows all your gossip.’

‘That’s what we want him to think,’ Shanti says. ‘We save all the juicy stuff for you.’

‘I knew it. We’ll be back.’ My mum winks at them before she shepherds me to our small reception room at the back of the bar.

My mum shuts the door behind us, and looks at me with eyes that are soft and knowing. The intermittent combination of relief-gratitude-love surges through me, like it has done these past few years. Relief that she’s still here, gratitude that she’s healthy, and love, so much love for the person who reads me like she’s breathing.

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I say in response to her look.

My mum tilts her head to the side, folding her arms across her chest, and the sweetness of the image of her in her black jeans, sparkly T-shirt and Skechers combination counteracts the fierceness of her gaze. ‘Kikiola, don’t lie to me. You’ve had this look on your face for the past couple of hours. You’ve done an amazing job today. You should be proud. It’s such a wonderful way to send off the restaurant–and, see, there’s that look again. What’s the problem?’ She walks across the small living area, sneakers scuffing against the laminated flooring and lifts my chin so I’m looking at her. ‘What is stressing you?’

I swallow, powerless under the loving steely stare. ‘Uh, so I may have the chance to work for SoundSugar again–’ I had eventually told my mum the specifics of what had happened with them–‘get my podcast back. It will be loads more money. Likeloads.’

The expression on my mum’s face, so much like mine, doesn’t change. ‘And isn’t SoundSugar the place that disrespected you? That you walked away from?’

‘Um, yes, but the money could help me buy Sákárà. Hire people to run it. And I have so many plans for it, Mama. It could really be great—’

My mum nods carefully, her classically red-painted lips pulled into a line. ‘But you would have to work for SoundSugar. Is that what you want to do?’

‘No, but—’

‘Kikiola, is that what you want to do?’

‘No.’

My mother shrugs. ‘So there’s your answer.’

‘It’s not that simple, Mum. The restaurant—’