Akila looks thoughtful. ‘I think it got better when I did some work in the States. Over there, I was taken more seriously, and because I didn’t have to beg for status validation, I could relax a bit. And I think that gave me space to show I was good, without having to tell people, and so more and more work came my way. I’d got so used to being overlooked, ignored and spoken over that I didn’t realise there was so much racism in the UK. I thought it was just work.’

Akila sips her drink, and I feel a little awkward, a little ashamed. I can’t imagine anyone ignoring her or speaking over her in a meeting. But when I really think, I see Lily and Katie—who are sneery, rude and dismissive of everyone, but sometimes speak to Akila in a way that makes their relationship with Harri look downright deferential. I see my own working history, a sort of living CV flashing before my eyes, and realise that the biggest, most visible difference between working in bars and factories and working in magazines might be my colleagues. In publishing, the world looks overwhelmingly white.

I let myself dream for a minute. ‘One day, I’d love to work in the States. Why did you come back? Obviously, I’m thrilled you did, but…’

She nods. ‘Sometimes I wonder! I suppose I was beginning to feel a bit lost. I kept agreeing to things because I thought it proved I was ambitious. I thought I’d keep saying yes until I’d figured out what I really wanted to do, and that was taking me further and further away from working it all out. Then I heard from Harri, and I was intrigued. I loved the idea of The Know being a bit of a blank slate. Less money, bit more freedom. I definitely have more autonomy, more creative licence than I have done in a long time.’

I get the impression that Akila is trying to convince herself, as much as me. ‘How is it going, though, really? I know our launch was slow, but traffic has really picked up. Everyone must be pleased?’