There’s a set of distinct insults used by racists that can only really be thrown at mixed-race people in the UK. “Mongrel”, “mule” and “half-breed” hold a special place of hatred in my heart. They make me think of animals ready to be led to slaughter; dangerously inhuman terms, placing mixed-race people outside the bounds of compassion.

Last week, I went to see a play named after perhaps the most offensive of the insults in the same context, Half Breed. As might be expected, this brilliant one-woman play, starring Natasha Marshall, tells the story of Jas, a mixed up, mixed-race black girl, growing up in very white Wiltshire: the only “black in her village”, as she puts it.

The audience was littered with brown, not fully black faces, coiled afros that sprang out and down rather than out and upwards. Mixed-race black and white people like myself, all seeking out creative representation. As lighter-skinned black people and beneficiaries of that privilege, we may be disproportionately visible in the media, but richly woven stories relating to our literal “mixed-ness” are still pretty sparse.

She was that brave mate who took the first sip of alcohol, taught me to swear and to harness the little confidence I had

What I wasn’t expecting, however, was for my most intense moment of relate-ability with Half Breed to come not from Jas’s character, but Marshall’s portrayal of Jas’s bolshie best friend, Brogan – stubborn, hilarious, loyal and just a little bit racist herself. Growing up in Scotland, I had the fortune to have quite a few friends like Brogan, and I believe my life is better for it.

Half Breed cast me back in time to a place where I was a shy teenager, feeling out of place for reasons I couldn’t always put a finger on, but definitely that had something to do with my skin colour.

Back then, one particular best friend, Roxy, always had my back. When I was eight, we met when I spent a day at a local school. My parents were thinking about relocating to Edinburgh so we were visiting the area. Roxy decided (and, yeah, it was totally her decision) we were going to be mates, and crossed her fingers all day, in wishing my parents would actually move.

After this moment of securing our friendship, and my presence in her life, Rox never let anything pass either of us by. She was that brave mate who took the first sip of alcohol when we were 14, the first toke of the joint, had the first long-term boyfriend, taught me swear words, but also how to be a good friend and how to harness the little confidence I did have. I would watch and learn from her easy interactions with our peers, with boys she fancied, with people who were “cooler” than my awkward self.

Unlike Brogan, Roxy was actually mixed race, too – but often white passing, blending more easily with her Iranian heritage and white skin compared to my brown. But I do remember one time at a club when we were 16 she was called a “Paki” and exploded in the man’s face, slapping him. I dragged her away, admiringly.

Once, when I thought I overheard someone calling me a “nigger” at a party, her reaction was much the same. She bollocked the whole room, shouting over the sound system. I’ve certainly never been passive, but my friend was always more willing to stand up for herself and the people closest to her than I ever could be.

Like Brogan in the play, my friend was upset when I decided to move away from Scotland for university when I turned 17 – just as I was upset to move away from my home. The thing is that oftentimes bolshiness is a thin veneer over vulnerability. My friend didn’t used to cry publicly that often, but when she did her tears were painful to watch, as raw and brave and beautiful as she was when at her most sassy. For years, every time I visited home she would ask when or if I would ever move back. Here’s to hoping one day we’ll live in the same city again.

So, even though sometimes she’s a bloody nightmare, I am indebted to her for my confidence, for holding back my hair the first time I drank too much and vomited, for always being a shoulder to cry on. We should all celebrate our bolshie best mates, because I reckon they sometimes need celebrating more than we know.