‘Oh, there’s mine,’ said Morenike.

She hoisted a Louis Vuitton case off the conveyor belt then turned to give Simi a hug.

‘Okay, lovely, thanks so much – for everything.’

‘Thank you and don’t be a stranger, Morenike!’ Simi said with a playful wag of her finger.

‘It’s Sandra though,’ said Sandra, plastering on her professional smile. ‘What goes on in Dublin stays in Dublin.’

Simi felt time stop. ‘Oh… right.’

And with that, Sandra about-faced towards the exit and was gone.

Simi stood by the carousel in a stupor watching bag after bag drift past her until, finally, the conveyor belt regurgitated her holdall. She yanked it off the carousel. What had just happened? Did Sandra consider her heritage a dirty secret not for public consumption? Simi remembered a girl at school who had done everything to hide her African heritage, even pretending she was from French Guyana not Ghana. And in her teens, Simi had been teased for everything from the tight kinks in her hair to her shapely behind and defined muscles. No one told her those strong Nigerian features were beautiful. She’d had to discover that for herself and was still learning. After so long undoing those negative messages, how could she befriend someone who wanted to bury that ancestry?

‘Bye, Sandy,’ Simi said under her breath as she too headed for the exit.

As usual, the arrivals hall was a criss-crossing confusion of bewildered travellers. Simi braced herself for the trek across town to South London. By the barriers were rows of private hire drivers. She examined their nameboards, teasing herself that someday one might be waiting for her. As she did, her attention was caught by a board behind all the drivers. Clearly written in black ink on a wipe-clean slate was her name. Her face creased. Was it possible another Simi Oladipo was travelling at this exact same time, to this exact same airport, on the exact same day? But then she looked up at who was holding the board. Shock turned to surprise which became a smile then a grin that gave way to tears as she hastened through the crowd towards Jemima.

‘What are you doing here?’ Simi gasped.

‘Trying to make your dream come true,’ said Jemima, uncertainty in her eyes.

Simi bit her lip, hoping somehow to contain her sobs but she couldn’t.

The girls held each other as though holding on for their own survival, as though the harder they held on, the more love they could squeeze from each other.

‘I am so sorry,’ said Jemima wiping tears from Simi’s face.

‘I’m sorry too,’ said Simi. ‘I want you to use those stories. You’ve given me so much and I know Beverley means the world to you. It’s the least I can do. They’re yours and I won’t take no for an answer.’

Simi held Jemima again. Ultimately, she could see, no one would ever know the source of these stories and they were great stories. They would simply become part of the Beverly Blake canon. But this wasn’t only for Jemima. Just as Meagan had said, this was a chance for everything Simi had been through to count for something, help others to grow, do things differently. After all, why learn from just your own mistakes when you can learn from someone else’s too. Simi pulled away from Jemima for a moment, sensing that the news hadn’t landed as she’d imagined.