Noel pursed his lips in a closed-mouth smile. ‘Yes, Max. You good?’

‘Yeah. Come.’

Noel entered. Sagging skinny jeans, fresh black Adidas, a matching T-shirt and black hoodie. Noel always had the manners to remove his snapback when he came in the house, which Max’s mum never stopped going on about. His haircut was barbershop fresh, a day old at the latest, making his small head gleam like a water chestnut. Max, in contrast, had on worn trackies from last year, a fraying polo shirt, and his Afro hadn’t seen a barber in months. His cheeks warmed as Noel looked for somewhere to sit, opting for the single bed. The room was small, barely space enough for the thin bed. A single wooden chair was filled with a pile of folded clean clothes. Posters of street murals, Hubble photographs and rap stars surrounded them.

‘Why you lyin’ on the floor?’

‘It’s comfortable. Plus it’s the best place to draw.’

‘Don’t you hurt your back an’ shit?’

‘Sometimes. I haven’t got a desk, so …’

Noel craned his neck, tracking the walls.

‘Man can draw fam.’

‘Thanks. It’s just practice.’

‘Nah, it ain’ practice. I could practise years and not draw like that.’

‘Everybody’s got their thing, innit?’

Noel wrinkled his nose.

‘You reckon?’

‘Blatant.’

A wait, the distance between them more apparent with every second. Downstairs, a clang of kitchen utensils. The aroma of melting coconut oil. Frying onions.

‘Bruv, I pree something, you know.’

Max rolled onto his back. Noel was staring out of his window. At the underground tracks beyond his garden.

‘What?’

‘I dunno.’

He laughed, stopped. There was a thin shadow of hair along Noel’s jaw Max hadn’t noticed before.

‘You dunno?’

‘Yep.’

‘Where?’

‘The industrial estate. It’s proper mad. As soon as I see it I thought, that’s Max. He’ll know what to do. It’s peak.’

His skin began to tingle. It came from nothing, nowhere. He felt pressure in his veins, the sparkling sensation of a dead arm, and realised he was leaning on his elbows. He sat up. The barricade lifted, blood rushed back where it belonged.

‘What is it?’

‘I can’t explain. You gotta come, trust. You’re the only man I’ll let see this ting, believe me. Everyone else’s too stupid. They’ll ruin it.’

‘Is this a joke?’

Noel stared. His eyes were dark marbles.

‘Bruv. Do I joke?’

They held each other’s gaze, and burst into spluttered laughter.

‘Nah, but really,’ Noel said. ‘Do I joke about seriousness?’

He was already on his feet, easing into trainers that were blackened like plantains, a sweatshirt lined with creases and, over that, a gilet vomiting cotton from the loose jagged teeth of torn seams.

‘Come then,’ he said, avoiding Noel’s smile.