I hear knocking on the downstairs door but ignore it. We’re not expecting anyone and my fingers are covered with onion juice. I’ve chopped the onions fine fine so they break down more easily in the blender with some water. Grandma even got some white tomatoes so the stew will remain white. I’ve never seen white tomatoes before. She must have ordered them specially. That was a kind thing to do. We can use the same stew for the jellof rice and moi-moi.

Someone’s knocking again, more persistently this time, like it’s the postman and he’s got a parcel that’s too big to fit through the letterbox. Grandma looks at me.

‘Elle, answer the door!’

I’m cross because I have to wash my hands and I haven’t finished chopping the onions but I do what Grandma says. I never disobey her. I trudge down the stairs and have to sort out all the latches before I open the door because we had a break-in a month ago and the thieves stole some stuff from downstairs. They never stole anything from our flat. We don’t own anything they would want to steal.

It’s Big Ben!

‘You didn’t text,’ I say.

Big Ben’s only visited our flat twice and both times he texted before he arrived. He shrugs his shoulders.

‘Left my phone at home. Haven’t been home yet.’

Big Ben follows me up the stairs. Our flat door is already open.

‘You are welcome!’

Grandma gives Big Ben a big hug and a huge bowl of pepper soup. He eats it in two minutes without coughing and asks for more. Maybe he’s a Nigerian in disguise.

‘Make tea for this your boyfriend!’

‘Grandma, he’s not my boyfriend.’

Grandma smiles as if she hasn’t heard me and continues to blend the onions, singing as she does. It’s a bit noisy but we can cope with the noise. I can hear knocking on the door, AGAIN. I can’t remember the last time it was so busy. I check my phone for the time and realise there’s several texts, all from 2048.

AMA SENDS HER LOVE

SEASON AND EWE SAY HELLO

CAN WE VISIT?

HAVE CHRONOPHONE FOR YOU!

More knocking. I don’t think Big Ben heard it, he’s so busy slurping his soup, devouring the huge chunks of white fish. I go downstairs to answer it. MC2 and GMT! It feels odd seeing them here, outside my flat, in 2020. Wrong. Like an Anachronism. I stare at them, not sure what to do. They belong in 2048.

‘Party time!’ says GMT. She’s wearing a full-length turquoise velvet dress with mermaids embroidered on the sleeves. MC2 has a bag slung over his shoulder that looks exactly like Big Ben’s but much newer.