‘Backpacks for Africa.’ Emma drops her jaw as if to say, ‘wow’. ‘Yvonne and I have been trying to work it out ever since we met.’

He pulls himself up straight and smiles across at Yvonne. ‘Really? Keep talking.’

‘So,’ Emma explains, ‘remember how at the start of a new school year your mum would take you to Woolworths to buy you a pencil case and stationery, ready to start fresh? Remember how great it was? How it made you excited for school? Well, the kids where I grew up—’

‘You mean the kids of your maids,’ interrupts Bethany.

‘Fuck you, Beth. Everyone has help in Kenya, okay? It provides jobs. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’

‘Everyone? Were you seriously that cocooned in your privileged little expat bubble to think that’s true?’

‘Look, my parents aren’t rich. They’re not these oil tycoons or whatever you think. My dad’s a normal hardworking man, he just happens to work in—’

‘A former British colony,’ Bethany laughs.

Lewis steps in. ‘Let’s talk about something else. This is a bit heavy.’

Emma looks relieved. ‘Yeah, you’re right. Proper vibe killer. Back to fashion talk.’ But since when did she care about fashion? Her wardrobe mostly consists of things she’s borrowed from Yvonne and never returned and even the suggestion of going shopping causes her to start quoting passages from No Logo. It’s as if, with him, Emma’s a completely different person. There’s nervousness in her voice, an exaggeration in her laugh and the way she keeps packaging up whatever he says and giving it back to the group with an excess of enthusiasm is pathetic. She must really like him. A lot.

His phone rings several times and cuts out. ‘The reception is terrible down here.’

Yvonne wonders if her name and number ever made it into his phone. If he ever intended to call her.

He stands and makes his way out of the bar. She considers following him, but for what? Her stomach lurches at the thought of being alone with him, away from the eyes of everyone.

‘So?’ Emma slides in next to Yvonne and wriggles her eyebrows comically, like a children’s TV presenter. ‘What do you think?’

‘That you need to stop drinking.’

‘I’m talking about Sweetboy.’

‘Yeah. He seems nice.’

‘Nice? Is that all?’

‘What do you want me to say? He’s not what I expected.’

‘How comes?’ Emma’s eyes fall down to the now crushed paper boat, smeared with grease, she pushes it back and forth with a finger. ‘You knew he was black.’

‘I didn’t mean that. But, I am surprised by how all over him you are. Do you even know his last name?’

‘Dude, I’ve only just found out his first name. We’re taking things slowly. And I like having an older man, he’s so focused too. Not like boys our age.’