Mark was sitting in the middle of the sofa, playing that brilliant trick he always had of being the centre of the conversation whilst not leading it. It flowed through him – he was the joining point, the connector, but he was mostly listening, mediating, making sure everyone was heard. Those teenage girls Sammi had stopped with a flyer in the street had come along – probably more after free weed than having their consciousnesses raised, but the important thing, as she knew from her own experience, was that they were here. That they were exposed to a way of doing things different from their mothers, their school social order. They were sitting around Mark’s feet, half-following the chat (a couple of crusty guys from Greenpeace and Mandy from the ALF were in a gentle argument), giggling occasionally and rolling their eyes at each other when it got earnest, passing a joint between themselves and making faces if it had been left wet with saliva. One of them was leaning up against Mark’s legs. He caught Sammi’s eye and shrugged, stuck out his tongue, absolving himself. Sammi grinned, to let him know it was all right. They were working towards non-monogamous harmony. Jealousy had been hard for both of them at first, but Sammi was pretty sure it was a hang-up from a social order they’d been conditioned to and were rejecting. If that was how it was tonight then that was how it was.

She felt everything loosen as the party opened up for her, began to move her legs with purpose. It was a very white crowd, natch. One of Gaz’s dealer mates picked up on what she was sending out, began vibing her. He wasn’t bad looking – bigger than Mark – broad chest, hefty arms. The sort of bloke her sister would have brought home. What would it be like to have a man like that in your bed, she wondered, throwing you around? He seemed to read her thoughts. Something flicked on behind his sleepy eyes, and he made his way through the tangle of legs on the floor, the lone crusty dancing wildly to some blurred, fuzzy dub, a slow, easy swagger she’d seen before, hanging around outside the tube station.

‘Well then, little sister,’ he said, as he reached her. ‘What you doing here, baby? With all these lily-white fools?’

‘I live here,’ she told him. She was bored of him already. Sure, he looked good; sure, she could take him into the sleeping space and fuck him now; but she knew he’d just give her the same attitude as the boys at school had in the same fake patois. Same attitude her brother had had, when she’d been spotted with a white boyfriend.

‘You live in this shithole? Nah. This ain’t no place for a sister.’