From Pasta to Pigfoot Read online

  Despite her misery, Faye couldn’t help but smile. Caroline’s nineteen-year-old brother had a huge crush on Faye and could always be counted on to boost her spirits when she felt low. Sabotaging his father’s dream for him to go to university and become a lawyer, Dermot had instead formed a rock band with three Irish boys he had met in a pub after leaving his expensive public school the year before. To his father’s disbelief and intense annoyance, the group – Guns in Clover – had found almost instant success on the small club circuit and were being snapped up to play by club owners around the country. Although his mop of mad, curly red hair made Dermot look more like a comedian than a musician, his cheeky smile and undeniable talent made him an irresistible front man. The band’s fan base was growing daily and Dermot was proving particularly popular with the young girls that queued up for hours to get into their gigs.

  Faye sighed with regret. ‘No, Caro, much as I love Dermot, I don’t think I would be very good company at the moment. Besides, I’m sure Marcus wouldn’t mind an evening out alone with you for a change,’ she giggled. ‘Actually, just getting you out of the house at all will be excitement enough! You two are such a boring couple and you’ve only been living together for a year.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ Caroline said indignantly. ‘We go out loads of times.’

  Faye was silent for a few moments waiting for her friend’s honesty to get the better of her. Caroline was legendary for her total dedication to the cause of lounging. She loathed any kind of physical exertion with a passion and had even been known to pretend not to hear the fire alarm at her office because she couldn’t bear the thought of climbing down four flights of stairs. She loved watching television as much as she hated physical effort and was guaranteed to be found on the sofa, TV remote in hand, within minutes of getting home from work.

  ‘Okay,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘So I can be just a teeny bit addicted to watching telly.’

  Faye snorted with laughter. ‘A teeny bit?’ Speaking with a fake whine in her voice, she went on. ‘“I’m sooo sorry, Faye, Corrie’s on tonight and I’m already recording two other TV shows, so can we go to that exclusive concert that you’ve only got once-in-a-lifetime tickets for another day…?”’

  ‘Okay, okay, point taken,’ Caroline laughed. ‘Mind you, now that Marcus and I are together, we don’t need to go out looking any more. So why bother?’ She sighed blissfully, her voice dripping with smugness.

  Faye rolled her eyes but had to admit that Caroline had a point. Marcus O’Neill was a successful stockbroker who met all of Caroline’s father’s marital aspirations for his daughter. Marcus was both Irish and very wealthy, having co-founded a successful hedge fund in his early thirties and Mr Duffy had fallen in love with him at first sight. Fortunately, Caroline had also followed suit and, after two years of dating, she had moved into his spacious bachelor pad, having first insisted that he order a bouncy new sofa and the full Sky TV package.

  Dr Bonsu, who was fond of Caroline, had shaken his head in sorrow when Faye had excitedly broken the news to him. Like many Africans of his generation, the thought of his daughter living with a man without the benefit of marriage went against both his Catholic upbringing and the norms of his society. Although William and Lucinda had been seeing each other for over three years, William continued to live at home, although only in deference to his father’s wishes. Any suggestion of moving out to live with Lucinda inevitably led to the ‘road to moral decadence’ speech from the doctor. As far as their unrelenting father was concerned, both Faye and William would live with their future partners only after marriage.

  Just then Faye spotted her boss approaching her desk with more speed than his heavy frame usually allowed.

  ‘Caro, I’ve got to go!’ she whispered urgently. ‘I’ll call you later!’ Sliding her phone under the papers on her desk, she smiled guiltily up at her boss.

  ‘I’ll just print the agreement out now and bring it through to you, Mr Fiske,’ she said brightly, trying to sound efficient.

  Peering at her anxiously through his round rimless glasses, her boss made no move to return to his office and continued to hover at her desk. The meeting with his client was scheduled to start in ten minutes and the signing of this agreement was the main reason for the appointment. Faye glanced across at him and felt a pang of guilt as she saw him look at his watch yet again. There was now very little time for him to read through the final document and his agitation was increasing visibly.

  Referred to among the staff simply as Junior, the younger Mr Fiske was an extremely large man and prone to anxiety attacks whenever he felt under the slightest pressure. Faye had worked for him for five years as, despite her heavy hints to HR about the possibility of working for a more dynamic boss, he was actually the only partner at Fiske, Fiske & Partners who was prepared to put up with her constant daydreaming and ‘creative’ typing skills. Junior, despite the occasional panic attacks brought on by her lack of concentration, was fond of Faye, and found her extremely soothing and comforting to be around, as well as always ready to listen to the detailed descriptions of his numerous health problems. Although the senior Mr Fiske, the son of the firm’s original founder, had technically retired almost five years earlier, he had prudently retained his hold on the company. His only son was, therefore, still only one of the several ‘& Partners’ on the company’s letterhead – a key reason for the firm’s continued success.

  Just as the last page of the agreement curled out of the printer, Faye’s office phone rang. Snatching the receiver, she muttered impatiently, ‘Faye Bonsu speaking.’

  ‘Faye, it’s me, Michael.’ His voice was cool and he sounded less than friendly.

  Pushing the sheaf of papers impatiently into Mr Fiske’s outstretched hand, Faye turned her back on him and hissed into the receiver.

  ‘Michael! I’ve been trying to get you for days. Why haven’t you called? I’ve left loads of messages on your phone!’

  There was a brief pause before he spoke.

  ‘I’ve been up in Manchester covering an arts festival,’ was his frosty response. ‘Besides, I needed some time to think some things through. Your behaviour on Saturday was appalling.’ His self-righteous tone wiped away any lingering guilt about her part in the Brixton fiasco and she felt her blood starting to boil again.

  Struck by the difference in his accent now that Wesley and Jiggy weren’t around, Faye listened without interruption, chewing on her nails and trying to hold her temper in check.

  ‘You’ve been on at me for ages about wanting to know my friends,’ he said, his voice thick with reproach. ‘And when I take you to meet some of the most intelligent, conscious black people – that frankly it wouldn’t hurt you to spend more time with – what do you do?’

  Not pausing for an answer, he carried on while she listened mutinously until a soft cough from Junior sounded behind her. She turned back to her long-suffering boss who was now pointing frantically at several errors on the agreement that he had marked with a red pen. Faye seized the pages and nodded at him with vigour.

  ‘Michael, hold on just a minute.’ Cutting into her boyfriend’s interminable tirade, she tucked the handset under her chin and looked up at her boss whose forehead was now covered with a light film of moisture as he glanced anxiously and repeatedly at his watch.

  ‘I’ll just make the corrections and bring this right into you, Mr Fiske,’ she said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone.

  ‘Please do so, Faye,’ he said heavily, the light film turning into distinct drops of moisture as he spoke. ‘I’m sure Mr Carmichael will be here for the appointment momentarily.’

  Wiping his wide forehead with a large white handkerchief, Junior lumbered back towards his office.

  Her eyes on his retreating figure, Faye spoke back into the phone. ‘Michael, I’ve got to finish a document for my boss. Can I call you back in five minutes?’

  His voice was glacial. ‘Well, I’m very sorry to interrupt your busy schedule.’


  Faye sighed loudly, scrolling up and down the document on her screen as she searched for the pages where she needed to make the changes. Finally sensing her growing impatience, his tone now sounded slightly more conciliatory.

  ‘Anyway, I was calling to see if you wanted to come with me on Friday. I’m reviewing a new Caribbean restaurant for the paper and I’ve asked Luther and the other guys along. I know they’ll love the food and...’ he paused and added, ‘I think it will give you a good opportunity to apologise.’

  The sight of Junior’s client, Mr Carmichael, stepping out of the lift and heading towards her desk cut off Faye’s instinctive response to that suggestion. Opting for the path of least resistance, she quickly agreed to Michael’s invitation before slamming down the phone and hastily printing out the corrected document.

  Later that afternoon, she slipped into the small staff room, replaying the phone conversation over and over in her mind as she made herself a strong cup of coffee. While she felt less than happy at the thought of another close encounter of the Wesley kind, it was a relief that Michael had finally called and that they were back on speaking terms. Maybe it was time to be gracious and try again with Wesley, if only to keep the peace with her disgruntled boyfriend.

  Clutching her mug, she looked around the poky room, optimistically described as the ‘Staff Sitting Room’ by the Partners, and wondered for the umpteenth time what she was doing in this place. Unlike William, who had always known that he wanted to be a lawyer, Faye had left school with absolutely no idea of where her future career lay. Trying to please her father, she had looked up multiple possible training courses to take at college and ended up even more confused than before she had started.

  Finally deciding that even she could handle office work, she had signed up at a local college and to her own surprise, and the secret astonishment of her father, actually completed the one year IT and secretarial course. The real challenge came after she had registered with a few agencies hoping to find an entry level job. Some of the other girls on her course, well connected to the right social networks, quickly found themselves jobs in advertising, media and PR firms, with the others almost effortlessly finding PA roles at investment banks in the City. Faye’s job applications, on the other hand, seemed to come to more dead ends than she could have believed possible. Despite the fact that he lacked the type of contacts she needed for an admin job, Faye’s father was totally against nepotism of any kind and resolutely refused to get involved in her job search. Trying desperately not to care about the number of jobs that she had been ‘perfect’ for during telephone conversations but which were subsequently ‘not really very suitable’ once the recruitment consultant had actually laid eyes on her, Faye had nevertheless persevered.

  She still winced whenever she thought about her first real interview. The job was for a PA in a fast-growing advertising agency and she had stayed up half the night researching the latest issues in the industry and Googling information about the founders of the agency, absolutely determined to impress the recruiters and show that she was up to date with the sector.

  But from the minute she entered the luxurious reception area of YMBJ Ads in Chelsea, Faye had felt distinctly uncomfortable. Dressed in smartly tailored navy trousers and a cream top, teamed with the striking navy and gold Hermès scarf her father had given her the previous Christmas, she knew she looked fine but she still felt out of place. Her uneasiness increased tenfold when the elegant blonde sitting behind the reception desk smiled frigidly at her and gestured back towards the lift from which she had just emerged.

  ‘The interviews for the facilities department are being held on the ground floor,’ she said. ‘You’ll need to take the lift back down, I’m afraid.’

  Resisting the urge to box the woman’s pearl studded ears, Faye had politely but firmly insisted that she was there to interview for the PA vacancy for the Creative Director, standing her ground until the disbelieving receptionist finally phoned through to the Human Resources department. One look at the HR Officer conducting the interviews, a glossy blonde called Petra who spoke with an accent that could have cut a two-inch pane of glass, told Faye that this was not going to end well. Petra seemed slightly taken aback at the sight of the young impeccably dressed black woman waiting for her, but smiled brightly and gestured for Faye to follow her into her office.

  When they were both seated, she continued smiling vaguely in Faye’s direction as she offered her coffee, looking slightly relieved when Faye shook her head. Continuing to avoid direct eye contact, Petra rattled through a series of questions, barely waiting for the answer to one question before firing the next one.

  After ten minutes, Petra sighed, leant forward and shook her head, her smooth blonde bob bouncing gently in sympathy. Gesturing helplessly with long pale fingers tipped with nails elegantly coated in rose pink varnish, her voice took on an earnest and almost conspiratorial tone.

  ‘Look, the thing is that Conrad – that’s our Creative Director – is absolutely insistent that he needs someone with at least two years’ experience doing this kind of thing. I’m positive I told the agency about that. So, Fern, I’m so sorry but you’re not really—’

  ‘Very suitable,’ Faye interrupted her grimly. Fighting back tears, she held her head high and scrambled to her feet, leaving the office without another word. Reluctant to wait out on the street for William, who had offered to meet her and take her out for a celebratory drink, she was forced to sit in the reception area, where she tried to ignore the smug ‘I-told-you-so’ expression on the receptionist’s face. She sat bolt upright in a very stylish and equally uncomfortable armchair and buried her face in one of the glossy magazines featuring horses, dogs and very large country homes that were scattered carelessly on the glass-topped centre table.

  When her brother strode into the reception area twenty minutes later, she had her revenge. The receptionist, taking in at a glance the tall athletic man with the handsome chocolate features and strong muscles clothed in a beautifully cut dark suit, immediately sat up straighter to emphasise her cleavage and patted her already perfect hair. Smiling invitingly at William, she was just about to ask how she could help him when Faye jumped to her feet and walked quickly towards him.

  ‘Darling!’ The word came out in a seductive husky voice totally unlike the normal tone she adopted with her brother. Before the startled William could say a word, she had flung her arms around his neck and whispered urgently in his ear. ‘Bitch alert!’

  Instantly picking up on his sister’s signal, William turned to the receptionist, whose smile had now frozen comically on her heavily made-up face.

  ‘Looks like I’ve found the one I was looking for,’ he said, grinning engagingly at the now sulky blonde, before turning back to Faye. ‘All set, angel? Are you ready to leave?’

  Tossing her head, Faye slipped her hand inside his arm and said loudly in the most affected accent she could manage, ‘More than ready, darling. I’ve had quite enough of this place – it’s really not very suitable!’

  Although the sight of the receptionist’s livid face as she stalked out of the office kept Faye laughing long enough to avoid the threat of tears, she had been terrified of any further rejection. To avoid any more traumatising interviews, she signed up with a temp agency and was sent to Fiske, Fiske & Partners to cover for a PA who was away on maternity leave. After six months, when Karen returned to work, Faye was offered the chance to work with Junior to cover for his secretary, who had left the previous week to travel round the world – or at least as far around it as she could get from her boss. At the end of her two-week holiday, she sent an unapologetic email to say that she would not be coming back, and Faye had needed little persuasion to stay on permanently.

  Junior was a dedicated hypochondriac and, once he discovered that Faye’s father was a doctor, hardly a week went by without a plea from him for her father’s advice about whichever symptom was plaguing him at that particular point in time. Having only accepted the job t
o prove to her father that she could actually stick at something, Faye had little choice but to put up with him. To her surprise, as time went on, she found herself growing fond of the bumbling solicitor who, despite his quirks, was happy to let her do pretty much as she liked. His father’s quiet pleas to the other partners meant that Junior was rarely overburdened with any serious legal work and, consequently, apart from the very occasional moment of stress like this morning, both Faye and her boss usually led a quiet life during office hours.

  Now, looking around the so-called sitting room, she felt the familiar feelings of frustration welling up and wondered yet again how she had allowed herself to become so stuck.

  Her dead-end job was probably about the only subject that William and Michael agreed on – although, typically, for different reasons. William was appalled that Faye could spend so much time in such a staid, old-fashioned and unchallenging job while Michael was equally appalled that Faye was supporting ‘a bourgeois legal system that works to oppress the people of colour’.

  Waving aside Faye’s protests that Fiske, Fiske & Partners were involved in conveyancing and property law and not in civil rights litigation, Michael had cornered poor Junior during the Christmas staff party and lectured him sternly for allowing Faye ‘to collaborate with the system’. While Faye had squirmed in embarrassment, Junior, who had been too busy collaborating with the sherry to understand a word the excitable young man was saying, had smiled politely at him while his eyes roamed around in search of a waiter. After patting Michael on the shoulder several times and muttering, ‘Yes, yes, indeed, my good fellow!’ he had finally given up all pretence of listening and headed straight for the bar with as much speed as his heavy form allowed.

  Forcing her mind back to the present with another deep sigh, Faye finished her coffee and rinsed out the blue “It’s better in the Bahamas” mug that Michael had given her for their first Christmas together. As she turned to leave the room, the door opened and a small middle-aged lady entered. The only other “person of colour”, as Faye laughingly described her, at the firm, Miss Mildred T. Campbell had worked at Fiske, Fiske & Partners for almost twenty years. Until his retirement, she had been the senior Mr Fiske’s private secretary and, although she now worked for one of the other Partners, she still carried herself with the same majesty she had acquired in her former role. Such was the awe she inspired among the staff that she was only ever referred to as “Miss Campbell” and it had been nearly three months before Faye had discovered that her first name was Mildred.