‘So here’s the thing, guys. We invited people tonight because we want to show them this new way of being we’re creating. The ecology of what we’re trying to do here – the free shop, the drop-in centre, the zine – it all depends on the support we can generate on evenings like this. We need to build on the community we’ve got here and not take anything for granted just because we’ve made the first step and found this place. And that means all of us, working hard and being continually mindful as we bond this, the first tribe, together. If, for now, that means letting go of an argument, getting on, pulling together to create a space that we know will work for the interests of the greater good, then that is what we need to do in this moment.’

As they unclenched, as the tension hissed slowly out of the room, Mark turned around and winked at her, a split-second shaking off of his sincerity. And Sammi, who had been nodding along, letting his words carry her into visions of their sunlit community growing stronger together, felt sick in her belly. She looked back again; his face was at peace, the mask back on. Maybe she’d been imagining it.

The party was huge. Gaz had got his mates to help him set up a sound system, crackling as it soaked up almost everything in their generator. Bulky cider bottles and towers of paper cups lined the kitchen unit and floor, and the air was fat with weed. Almost too heavy. The fairy lights Spider had nicked from the discount shop flashed off if the bass got too loud. Xanthe held court in the free shop, her baby rolling about on cushions, and a group of young women sitting cross-legged as she explained the exchange system. ‘It’ll be good for nappies, baby stuff, all of that. We need to support each other on this, you know? Old toys; when they grow out of their shoes, we’ll get the local women here and they can drop off their stuff and take what they need. It’s not like those bastards are going to do it. You know the saying “It takes a village to raise a child”? Well, this is gonna be Dido’s village, isn’t it, darling?’

The baby chuckled at the attention and the women smiled at it, through the haze of a shared joint. This had been a tactical move that she, Fran and Xanthe had worked out earlier in the day: keep the free shop as female a space as possible, so that the worst of Gaz’s mates would be scared off, wouldn’t trash it.

Sammi stumbled about between the rooms, just taking it all in. It was happening. Just like they’d hoped.