The real Poppy is cool, it seems. That effortless sort of cool people pay a lot of money to emulate but never quite achieve. Her hair is down today, a mess of thick, untidy waves that spill over her shoulders and down her back. When she takes a swig from her latte, I notice that there’s a different silver ring on each of her fingers, some of them stop at her knuckle, and others are thick and weighty. A crescent moon. A cat’s head. An anchor. A red heart-shaped stone with a dagger going through it on her right thumb. She’s wearing a couple of silver necklaces as well, one long with what looks like a St Christopher medal layered over a shorter, chunkier one with a silver padlock.

‘I only had time to change because I skipped netball,’ she adds and I chuckle.

‘That’s where I told my parents I am.’

‘How come? Wouldn’t they have let you come?’

‘It’s a weekday, so probably not.’

‘Are they really strict, then?’

‘Not really.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘They’re way more laid back than my grandparents.’

‘Were your grandparents born here?’

I shake my head. ‘My parents were, but my grandparents are from Guyana.’

‘In the West Indies?’

‘Yeah.’ I’m pleasantly surprised that she knows that.

Most people think I mean Ghana.

‘I love my parents. They’re cool.’ I tilt my head from side to side as I try to think of a way to explain it that doesn’t make them sound like clichéd Indian parents, because they’re not. ‘My mum just worries. She’s an A&E nurse so she’s seen it all. Teen pregnancy. Stabbing. Overdoses.’ I stop to take a sip of hot chocolate then raise my eyebrows. ‘Yesterday I had a headache and she checked my pupils to see if I’d had an aneurysm.’

Poppy chuckles. ‘Is your dad the same?’

‘No. He’s the complete opposite. He balances her out.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He used to be a psychiatric nurse, but a patient had an episode last year and he hurt his back. He’s absolutely fine now, but they said that he wasn’t fit to go back to work. They did the same to another nurse so he’s convinced they used it as an excuse to get rid of him because their budget was slashed and they couldn’t afford to keep him on.’

‘That’s so shit.’ Poppy looks genuinely sad. ‘What’s he doing now?’

‘He’s a gardener.’

‘A gardener? How did he go from a psychiatric nurse to a gardener?’

‘No idea.’ I chuckle to myself. ‘But he works in the Kempton Enclosures now.’

‘No way!’ She points her coffee cup at me. ‘My parents have access to the Kempton Enclosures!’

‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah. They live on Chichester Terrace.’