Yvonne stays quiet, though every so often she takes a sip of her drink and frowns. She looks so uncomfortable perched on the stool, her nose turned up like nothing is good enough for her.

A sharp pain shoots up Kiama’s left arm again causing him to squeal. It started on the bus back. ‘I think I’ve pulled a muscle,’ he says when everyone looks over at him.

‘Have you been doing any heavy lifting?’ Delia strokes his arms and laughs. He could tell straight away she was that sort of girl, a flirt. Usually, he’d be well up for it, but the day has already been too exhausting, plus he can feel Yvonne’s eyes on them both, judging.

‘I love your tats by the way,’ she says, ‘how many have you got?’

Yvonne rolls her eyes. ‘It’s from all the swinging,’ she says. ‘You were lifting and swinging the children for about an hour today, children are heavy.’

Alice gets in a round of Tusker beers and Kiama drinks his quickly. He’s never had it before, but both Granddad and Mum used to drink beer and the smell of it is familiar.

Delia hands Yvonne her phone, ‘Will you take a photo of us, please? We need a snap of us.’

‘Yeah, hashtag activism,’ Alice says.

Yvonne puts zero effort in and when they check the single shot, it’s blurry.

‘So tell me,’ Delia says, ‘are you Kenyan?’

It’s a question he’s been asked before, especially if someone picks up on his name. ‘Nope. I’m English.’

‘But you’re mixed race?’

Kiama’s rolls out his usual, ‘My mum’s white, my dad’s black,’ line but Delia carries on. ‘So your dad’s from Kenya?’

‘No. My dad’s from Harrow.’ He picks up his bottle but finds it empty, so takes Yvonne’s untouched one instead.

‘Oh, so what’s the connection to Kenya? Why did you live here as a kid?’

Yvonne yawns loudly and the girls turn to each other and laugh. Was she trying to help him out there or just being rude?

‘I think we’re keeping her up,’ Delia says.

Kiama thinks of the photos he’s seen of Mum and Yvonne on nights out, both of them in tiny little dresses and too much make-up.

‘It’s funny because if I hadn’t seen all the photos of you and Mum at uni I would struggle to imagine you as a party girl.’

She looks at him briefly and smiles.

‘Maybe she’s a retired party girl,’ Delia says. ‘University in the Nineties sounded so fun. It was cheap back then too, like a grand a year. No wonder they just partied all the time.’

Yvonne stands up, ‘I think we should go back now.’

She’s doing it again.

‘Actually,’ he says, ‘I think it’s time to switch from beer. Get some tequila in?’