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I angrily blink away my tears. ‘Shit.Shit.Why would he do something so kind? Why would he do that for me whilst pushing me away? Like this is probably the best thing anyone has ever done for me. It’s fucked! Excuse my language, Mej.’

My old friend is looking at me with a smirk. ‘What?’ I demand.

Meji chuckles warmly, shaking his head, the twinkle in his eyes dancing, ‘You both are funny. Just walking around with that sweet heat. You know when something is peppery and hot and makes you sweat, but it’s also delicious? Addictive? And then the fire cools down, down, and it somehow tastes even better in your mouth? Still hot, but less hectic. The flavour deeper. Something that lasts. Has different lives.’

My laugh comes out stiff, stilted. ‘Meji. Malakai and I are over.Beenover.’

‘Yes. A phase you had was over. The first version of you is over, but let the second round come and you will see it might taste even better.’

My mouth parts to refute this, expecting my logic, my sense, to slip against the absurdity of the notion, but instead it wraps around it, holds it.

I suddenly have something very urgent to do. ‘Sorry, will you excuse me for a second?’

Meji grins as a waiter brings his pounded yam and égú?í plate. ‘Please, go ahead. I’m very fine over here.’ He shoos me away. ‘Go and do what you need to do.’

I plant a kiss on his cheek, before winding my way through the tables to where Malakai and Taré are stood by the bar. ‘Sorry to interrupt–Malakai, can I have a word with you? It’s, um, a work thing, really boring, logistical stuff,’ I say to Taré quickly, ignoring Malakai’s quizzical face at my franticness.

‘Oh, Malakai and I were just talking about work. My friend’s looking for someone to direct a thing here in December, but our pretty friend here has just let me know that he’s going back to LA. Why, I will never know. Can you tell him to stay, please? He won’t listen to me. We need the presence of fine men in this country to boost national morale. This is, like, treasonous to Black Britain.’

I turn to him, dizzy from drastic emotional lurches, desperately trying to keep my feelings from my voice, transfer the dryness of my throat to my eyes. ‘Why would you leave?’

Malakai swipes at his jaw, and glances at me in a way that has time-slowing effects. I’m sure it’s a brief moment, but it feels like both now and forever, hurtling into an unnameable emotion that wraps around my heart. Then, his eyes drop to my neck, bare of the chilli pepper pendant. It’s been lying on my dresser ever since that night at the pool. When his gaze meets mine again, they’re cooler.

‘I feel like I’ve done what I needed to do here.’

I shake my head, baffled. ‘I don’t understand why you’re sounding like a superhero on the way to his home planet. What does that evenmean?’

Malakai’s gaze flares into mine. ‘I feel like it’s clear. There’s nothing really for me here—’

‘Um, yourmum? Your brother?’

‘They’ll visit, and mum’s planning to move back to Lagos anyway.’

I feel like I’m living on a different planet. Perhaps Malakai’s home one. I have no idea what he’s talking about, and I’m feeling frenetic, panicked, because what does he mean he’s leaving? He just got here. He just came back (to me). He’s supposed to be here (with me). Parentheses are flying around my mind, intrusively, obnoxiously. I remember that I’m still in front of Taré, still have a mask to uphold, still have to pretend that I’m not sluicing parts of my heart away in order to be around him, them.

‘So–’ I manage to keep my voice even, throwing a shaky smile at Taré–‘you’re just going to give up?’ I pause. ‘On, um, London?’ (On me, me, me.) Malakai’s neck tilts by a fraction, and I see the shutters lift. Like a tide rising, I see a glimpse of what he’s been hiding, a wave of heartbreak mingled with the swell of something sweet and hot that surges through me, reaching out for me, looking for something to hook into, to believe and hope for.

‘You can’t give up on something that isn’t yours, Kiki. London’s grown, you know? Moved on. I don’t know where I fit in here any more. And that’s OK. It’s good, even. You have to know when to let things go, and I think I do now.’ I feel like I’m choking. Like everything I’m supposed to say has become a lump in my throat and I’m supposed to act like I’m OK, because I told everyone that this was OK. We’re trapped in this pretence. And why is he acting like he’s doing this incredibly noble thing while ignoring the feelings that I haven’t told him about yet?

Taré laughs into our quiet, unaware of the barely contained explosive intensity before her, her eyes bouncing between us. ‘See,thisis why your dance sequence was hot. It was my favourite part of the shoot, you know? You have a synergy. It’s been so cool watching you guys create something incredible. After this, you two should get back together and—’

Aminah, who is walking by, sipping her Chapman through her straw, splutters slightly. ‘Oh no. No, no, no. Kiki cried formonths.I once went in her room and she was crying into hishoodie.And then she wore that hoodie to brunch. Tobrunch.My best friend is absolutely not going through that again, not on my watch.’

It’s possible my body has turned to stone, because I’m suddenly finding it extremely hard to move, and actually breathe. Malakai seems to be very still too. He looks at me, eyes almost numb with horror, if possible and questioning. I almost laugh. He thinksIknow what’s going on? I don’t know the answer, because I don’t know what I should even be asking. I didn’t tell her that Taré didn’t know about Malakai and I because I didn’t think I had to. Somehow, I didn’t think my best friend would bring up my break-up to my boss, and now I’m feeling something that I never thought my best friend would catalyse: humiliation.

Her eyes immediately widen upon seeing my reaction. ‘Oh no. Ohno.’

‘What I actually meant to say,’ Taré says, voice chillingly calm, ‘is that I think that after this project they should get back together and work on something again, but I don’t think that matters any more. Team, shall we have a quick meeting?’

‘Do I look like a prick? I have eyes. About three weeks in I knew you were the ex that Malakai had been cut up about that month we hung out.’

She sits herself down on my ocean-blue velvet sofa, tucking her legs beneath her, looking more hurt than angry. It’s kind of awkward that the ‘production office’ also doubles as my flat. Malakai and I position ourselves gingerly opposite her like school kids in the headteacher’s office. I cannot believe I’m about to get told off in my living room. My cheeks flame and Malakai holds rigid.

‘Taré,’ I say, leaning forward, ‘nothing’s going on between us right now. And we’re sorry we hid it from you. And we get that you’re feeling disrespected. And, honestly, it was my idea–Malakai would have told you—’

‘Kiki.’Malakai tries to jump in, but I put a hand on his knee, quietening him.

‘He would have told you, but the truth is this job meant a lot to me and I was worried that your previous, um, history with him would interfere with your thoughts on us working together. Which I know issoinsulting, but I really didn’t want to jeopardise what I knew would be an amazing thing—’