CECE, DISRESPECTFULLY | ✓

44: BREATHER HOLES

            I do my best to ignore Beewolf's nagging as I wait outside Diwa's door. But I rang the bell several seconds ago and no one's come so what if–?

The door opens. Mrs Atangan's face twists the moment she recognises me, a flash of amber in her eyes warning me away.

But I don't cower. I've prepared for this.

'Hello, Mrs Antangan.' I hold up an old ice cream container. 'I brought you empanadas I made with my brother. Colombian ones... I were hoping I could talk to Diwa.'

'Diwa's grounded.' Her clipped tone is more than sufficient but, just in case I'm too dumb to add two and two together, she adds, 'And I don't want her around you.'

After I bribed her with empanadas and everything?

I rack my brain for summat to convince her that I'm not here to turn Diwa into a reprobate but I do look like I could belong to a pyromaniac cult.

'Cece?'

Both I and Diwa's mum look to see her rush down the stairs. She dodges her mother's scolding stare to squeeze into the doorway, gaze raking my frame to check that it's solid.

'I'm so happy to see you,' Diwa says, and I don't think she's lying. 'Please, Nanay, we're just gonna talk.'

They bicker in Tagalog before Mrs Atangan lifts a hand to silence her.

'Thirty minutes. Then I want you home.'

'Okay.' Diwa throws her arms around her mother. 'Thank you, Mama.'

She grabs her coat and shoves on the mary janes she used to wear before her, I suppose, makeover. At least one pair of eyes nails to the back of my head as we walk down the front garden.

I follow silently beside her with my hands stuffed into my pockets until we're out of Red Bricks and I realise we're probably not going anywhere. There's nowhere near here we could go less we wanna hang out on the side of the motorway like roadkill.

We stumble into conversation and exhale laughs when we interrupt each other. Diwa gestures for me to go first.

'How are you?' I ask, not un-awkwardly. 'Did you manage to sleep fine and stuff?'

Her focus lingers on the road before she ventures to look at me. 'I'm okay. Glad to see that you're okay.' She attempts a smile.

My fingers itch to light a cigarette but Diwa hates the stench so the only thing I've got to ease my anxiety is counting my steps. Whatever speech I tried to prepare is lumpy under my tongue.

Get it together. I've got thirty minutes.

'I'm sorry for making you deal with that,' I say, exaggerating the yo-yoing of my voice in an unfortunate go at humour. 'I didn't mean to, like, freak you out. Or be a complete wanker all week.'

We drag to a standstill on the patch of grass outside the Brooks Building of Manchester Metropolitan.

'Um...' My fingers lift instinctively to my teeth only to remember the gauze. 'I know I've been especially shit lately. It's not an excuse but... it were the anniversary of my parents leaving on Wednesday.'

'I'm sor–'

I smack away her sympathy before she can offer it. 'That's alright.' I hope I sound as reassuring as Nicolás does.

I allow her to study and observe and prod so she knows I'm being honest and not bandaging a wound in duct tape to appear tough. It really is alright: that's not where I'm bleeding.