‘I don’t want to go home,’ Julius said longingly, casting an eye at his backpack with the unused skateboard poking out.

‘We’ll sort something,’ Duke said. ‘Somehow …’

Julius ached at the thought of how difficult that would be. ‘It’s rare that my ma goes on weekend business.’

‘Might have to run away,’ Duke joked. ‘Scam one of your rich relatives and ride trains around Europe …’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Julius said.

He stepped past the sofa, intending to put his arms around Duke, but a key sounded in the door. While Duke glanced about, chasing evidence of bad behaviour, Julius envisioned Adebisi family guards powering through the door and dragging him home for a whipping on his mother’s orders.

But it was Duke’s Uncle Remi. Heavier than the man Julius watched on television as a small boy. Waves of processed newsreader hair had been traded for a simple razor cut with tufts of grey, but he’d retained bleached-white teeth and studious good looks.

Remi was abuzz, zipping through the door, pirouetting a large tan briefcase onto the sofa, then rushing to the fridge to gulp from a carton of pineapple juice.

Julius anxiously kicked his towel back into the bathroom and tried to locate his T-shirt. But it wasn’t unusual for boys to sit about in shorts when there was no air conditioning, and Remi’s mind was on a higher plane than stray towels and rearranged cushions.

‘I thought you were in Lagos till Monday,’ Duke said.

‘Drove back when I heard there was trouble in town,’ Remi explained, draining and refilling his glass of juice. ‘Have you seen?’

‘Things kicked off, so we stayed indoors,’ Duke said. ‘This is my friend Julius, by the way.’

‘Julius Caesar!’ Remi said as he spun extravagantly and grabbed a little FM radio out of a cabinet above the sink. ‘It’s pleasing that you have company. My nephew spends too much time with a tin of pencils.

‘I had Radio Tango International on as I drove into the garage,’ Remi continued. ‘They had people phoning in, talking about the situation across the city. Rotimis and Adebisis have been spraying election money like confetti. The Godmother must have given the area boys an absolute fortune to make them cocky enough to start a war with the Transport Union.’

‘Casualties?’ Duke asked.

‘All over.’ Remi nodded. ‘Unconfirmed reports that three people burned to death inside a shop close to the precinct. There are brawls and smashed glass all through the city.’ Remi looked frustrated as his radio stayed silent. ‘Fresh batteries?’ he asked, agitated, as he pulled a kitchen drawer hard and began to rummage. ‘Or can you get radio from that box under the television?’

‘Not Radio Tango, Uncle,’ Duke said. ‘It’s an unlicensed station and we’re out of diesel for the generator. There might be a website I can stream through my phone, but I’ve almost used my data allowance …’