NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY | ✓

bonus: the worst interview of all time

              'It'll go well. Parents love me.' I think for a moment. 'Other people's parents love me,' I mend.

'My parents don't love anyone,' Joe huffs. 'You're not a doctor, or Caribbean, or Catholic. There's nothing good about you.'

'Well, my confidence is soaring.'

Her face screws up. She stops dragging herself forward to fall into me instead, hugging me in apology.

Her parents' house is meant to be three minutes from the West Finchley underground but I reckon she's taking me along the scenic route cause it's definitely been more than three minutes. I don't mind. These houses have massive gardens. And I may have daydreamed at least four scenarios of living in one of them.

Though the peace lily I'm carrying is starting to get proper heavy. At some point I'm gonna need to put it down. For now, I switch it from my left arm to my right.

Joe takes my newly freed hand, holding it a little tighter than usual as she tugs me onto a street we definitely passed once already.

I tap my fingers on her knuckles. 'What have you told them about my parents?'

'Just that you were in foster care, like we agreed. And that you take care of Cece.'

I nod, though the knot in my chest isn't eased. 'Are they gonna ask me?'

Joe cringes. 'Probably.' She stops walking again to nail me with a stare. 'But just because they ask does not mean you have to answer. Okay?'

I nod and we walk past a few more houses until her feet start to drag.

'Whatever they think, I love you.' With our hands still interlocked, Joe lifts them up to kiss the back of mine. Falling still, her gaze caresses mine. 'Just remember that.'

It can't be that bad. As long as I manage not to desecrate their grandma's grave or set the house on fire, it can't go that bad.

Right?

'Also, no PDA. I know it's different with Shayna and Desmond and Caleb's mums but don't kiss me or hold my hand. Don't even look at me affectionately.'

'Wouldn't they be happy that I love you?'

'No, Nicolás–'

The front door of the house we're in front of is thrown open to reveal Jazmine. 'Are you two ever coming in or were you planning to camp out here in the garden?'

Heads peer over both of her shoulders, making them look like some sort of Sister Cerberus, the guardian of the menacing House of Rawlins. Jaycee and Janelle try to shove past Jazmine, who's the tallest of the lot, to get a better look.

Finally, one of them manages to squeeze past her and out of the door. She crosses the tarmac in bare feet, grinning in a way I'm not entirely sure I like.

'Nicolás,' she sings, catching Joe's eyes for a moment. 'How nice to finally meet you. I'm Jan.'

Janelle: The eldest, a financial manager, married to Fayemi with two kids, Sikiru and Precious, lives in Battersea, used to do gymnastics competitively, protective but impatient.

She sticks out a hand. I let go of Joe's to shake it.

Jazmine, who I've met a total of two times before this, greets me with kisses on both cheeks like we're in France or summat. 'Lovely to see you again, Nicolás.'

Jazmine: Second eldest, un-married but ten years into a relationship with Dylan, no kids, owns an art gallery in Dalston which is horribly successful, eclectic and dependable.