From Pasta to Pigfoot Read online

  ‘I hope you’re feeling better today, Faye?’ Wesley said pointedly, his pale blue eyes fixed on her face. She resisted the sudden urge to punch him and contented herself with a polite smile and nod before taking her seat again.

  Michael cleared his throat as though he had an important announcement to make. ‘Faye, let me introduce you to Jasmine Baptiste, Wesley’s sister,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘Jasmine, this is Faye Bonsu, a very good friend of mine.’

  A very good friend? Faye arched an eyebrow questioningly at her partner, who smiled innocently back at her.

  She gave a weary sigh; it was clearly going to be a very long evening. Forcing a smile at the girl sitting in front of her, Faye leaned across the expanse of white vinyl and shook hands. Jasmine’s hand was as small and dainty as the rest of her, making Faye feel like a clumsy giant in comparison. The candlelight picked up the burnished gold highlights in the girl’s hair, giving the impression of a speckled halo around her head.

  She clearly doesn’t go to Sharice of flipping Streatham, Faye thought sourly, fighting back the temptation to smooth down her own hair, which was only just starting to recover from Sharice’s very expensive and very damaging hot steam treatment and curl.

  The men sat down and Faye found herself sandwiched between Luther and Jiggy, while Wesley settled himself between Luther and Michael. Luther gave a friendly nod and asked how she was, his eyes showing none of the hostility she always sensed from Wesley.

  Jiggy, whom Faye had secretly dubbed the silent one since he rarely had anything to say to her, smiled politely and asked if they had been waiting long. His short dreadlocks glistened in the lamplight and once again he was wearing an African-style smock, this one in a striped black and white fabric.

  Jasmine snuggled up next to Michael, pushing him playfully with her elbow and giggling with excitement. He didn’t seem to mind and her soft curls grazed his cheek as he bent his head closer to hers, laughing as she made a comment clearly meant for his ears alone.

  Faye frowned, bewildered by Michael’s behaviour and feeling more than a little hurt by the obvious attention he was paying to Jasmine. She responded absently to a question from Jiggy about the menu and watched with growing anger as her boyfriend casually smoothed back an errant curl that had fallen over Jasmine’s eyes.

  The waiter wandered back and dumped Michael’s rum on the table. Rather more carefully and with a dramatic flourish, he placed a tall glass of a dark yellow liquid with a sprig of mint floating on top in front of Faye. Taking out his notebook and pencil, Phil asked the new arrivals for their drink orders and, without missing a beat, the three men ordered the Jamaican rum.

  Phil looked pointedly at Michael who was laughing at something Jasmine had just whispered to him.

  ‘Would your lady also like the rum, sir?’

  Faye choked on the sip of Tropical Island Sunset she had just taken and glared furiously at Michael, waiting for him to correct the waiter. Michael kept his head down and, unable to make eye contact with him, Faye looked round to see Wesley looking at her, a half-smile playing across his lips.

  Jasmine made no effort to correct Phil either and instead turned towards Michael and lightly caressed his bare forearm, her glossy lips curved into a little pout.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know! I can never make up my mind what I want to drink,’ she purred. ‘Michael, what do you recommend – you’re the expert at eating out.’

  Faye watched in fascination as Michael’s chest literally swelled before her eyes. If I had asked him that, he would have told me to stop being pathetic, she thought, as he paused to give Jasmine’s question a few moments of serious thought. His suggestion of a rum cocktail, which Phil huffily explained was called the Island Rum Delight, was met with an ecstatic response.

  ‘That sounds wonderful!’ Jasmine smiled sweetly at Michael and her eyes shone with appreciation.

  Oh puh-lease! Get over yourself, woman, it’s only a drink! For a moment, Faye thought she had spoken the words out loud. In the few minutes since she had met her, she was already irritated at the other girl’s wide-eyed innocent act and proprietary attitude towards Michael, and even more annoyed at her boyfriend who seemed to not just welcome, but actively encourage her attentions.

  Faye took another sip of her tepid drink, trying not to grimace at the taste of the sickly sweet liquid. Well aware that she had already embarrassed herself enough in front of them, she decided not to risk making a fuss by asking for ice and instead watched as the group of old friends around the table chatted easily amongst themselves. She felt uncomfortably like an outsider crashing a private party; a sensation that Michael’s behaviour was making even more intense.

  After the waiter had deposited everyone’s drinks, the men sat back, drinking their rum and laughing at each other’s stories. After a quick visit to their table to check on his customers, Trevor left them to their own devices, retreating with a farewell laugh to a small room behind the bar. Phil hovered in the background for several minutes but when it became clear that they were in no hurry to order, he shrugged and returned to his post behind the bar, apparently quite content to polish the same glasses over and over again.

  Faye glanced surreptitiously at her watch and wished she were anywhere but in her current location. Luther, although friendly enough, was caught up in a lively debate with Wesley about Jamaican politics. After their initial exchanges, Jiggy had lapsed into his customary silence, and Michael was barely acknowledging her existence, let alone behaving like an attentive partner. For the first time since meeting him, she found herself wondering whether having a boyfriend was really worth going through this agony. Is sitting at home watching EastEnders really worse than this? What the hell am I doing here?

  ‘So, Faye, what do you do?’ Jasmine’s silky voice roused Faye from her brooding. Even in the dim light of the restaurant, Faye could see she had eyes almost identical in colour to her brother’s and with the same slightly hypnotic quality.

  ‘I work for a firm of solicitors,’ she replied coolly.

  ‘Oh, really,’ Jasmine cooed. ‘That sounds interesting. Are you a lawyer, then?’

  Michael laughed. ‘No, Faye’s a secretary, Jas. Not quite as demanding, is it?’ He grinned at Faye and she glared back at him, outraged at the blatant put-down. She gritted her teeth and bit back the angry response on her lips, fearful of causing another scene. Conscious of the other girl’s scrutiny, she forced herself to smile.

  ‘What do you do, Jasmine?’ she asked politely. Before Jasmine could answer, Michael jumped in again.

  ‘She’s a lecturer in Caribbean History and Culture.’ He looked down at the golden halo of curls brushing against his shoulder and said proudly, ‘There’s not much Jasmine here doesn’t know about the islands. She’s even writing a book on the history of slavery in Grenada, aren’t you?’

  Perfect, Faye thought sourly, a cultural genius to boot. And how did Michael know so much about her, anyway? She took another sip of her Tropical Island Sunset, immediately regretting the decision, and returned to her study of the pig-themed menu. Despite having read it so many times that she could have recited the names of the dishes without looking if anyone had asked her, Faye still couldn’t pick a single one that appealed to her. While she loved many Caribbean dishes and since meeting Michael could now cook an acceptable jerk chicken with rice and peas, she simply couldn’t stand pigfoot. The texture of the bony pink meat didn’t appeal to her in the slightest and actually left her feeling slightly nauseous. Knowing what Michael’s reaction would be if she dared to voice this, she looked longingly at the other options on the menu before returning with a sigh to the restaurant’s signature dishes.

  Taking advantage of a lull in the conversation between him and Wesley, Faye turned to Luther and asked after Philomena. His smile was warm and when he spoke, he sounded quite affable. ‘Oh, she’s doing fine. She has her women’s group meeting tonight so she couldn’t come along.’

  ‘Philo is so committed to bringin
g Caribbean women like us together. You should join, Faye; we have some really interesting talks and lectures with artists and writers from back home,’ Jasmine’s smooth voice interjected. Then she gasped dramatically before the other girl could speak.

  ‘Oh, silly me!’ she said, her tone sweetly apologetic. ‘Sorry, Faye, I forgot you’re not from the Caribbean. Michael said you are from Africa, is that not so?’ A careless toss of her mane set the golden highlights dancing in the candlelight.

  ‘Yes,’ Faye replied, her voice curt. ‘My family comes from Ghana.’ She turned to Luther again. ‘Do say hello to Philomena for me. I really enjoyed meeting her and seeing your lovely house.’

  Luther nodded politely and returned to his conversation with Wesley.

  ‘Yes, they do have a beautiful home, don’t they?’ Jasmine spoke out again, her tone casual. ‘I always love spending time there, don’t I Michael?’

  He gave her a brief smile and glanced at Faye almost nervously before hastily directing a question to Jiggy.

  Jasmine’s eyes were fixed thoughtfully on Faye. Almost colourless in the dim light, they reflected the flames from the scattered lamps and candles in the restaurant. She slowly reached into her handbag and daintily extracted a pack of cigarettes. Faye stiffened and waited for the inevitable explosion from Michael, who hated smokers with a passion.

  It was clearly to be a night of surprises. As Jasmine stood up, obviously intending to step outside to smoke, Michael’s hand closed over hers. He broke off from his conversation and clasped the small hand gently while shaking his head in mock sorrow.

  ‘Don’t tell me you still haven’t given up smoking, Jas!’ He gently plucked the packet of cigarettes from her fingers and tossed it back into her handbag in one deft movement.

  Jasmine sat down again and pouted prettily as he ruffled her curls in mock apology. ‘There are lots of things I haven’t given up on, Michael,’ she said, a cryptic smile replacing the pout.

  She turned to Faye who had been watching them silently. ‘Do you have any vices, Faye?’ she asked slyly, her eyes glinting maliciously as she took in the set expression on the other girl’s face.

  Faye shrugged, determined not to rise to the bait.

  ‘Who hasn’t?’ she said coolly. Although mine don’t include behaving like a man-stealing bitch, she thought furiously. Fed up of Jasmine’s needling, Faye decided it was her turn to smile sweetly at Michael and she turned towards him, raising her voice to get his attention.

  ‘Although, speaking of vices, I’m surprised Michael is being so tolerant about you smoking. What is it you always say, darling?’ Ignoring his warning frown, she continued, her voice deepening in imitation of his masculine tones. ‘“People who smoke are disgusting, selfish polluters of the universe who should all be made to live together on a desert island!”’

  Jasmine’s eyes darkened in anger and she stared back at Faye, for once apparently lost for words. Wesley’s voice suddenly broke into the tense silence. His pale eyes were fixed on Faye as he spoke.

  ‘I don’t think there’s too much he don’t know about Jasmine and her vices,’ he said coolly. ‘After living with her for over a year, he should be used to her smoking, you know?’

  Faye didn’t know and, for one stunned moment, she couldn’t breathe. The background music that had been playing softly suddenly sounded much louder as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall together. Michael’s sudden animation and change of behaviour, Wesley’s hostility and even Jasmine’s proprietary behaviour now all made sense. Feeling like a fool, she stared blankly at Michael and tried to swallow the huge lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. She shrank back into her seat and pinched her thigh hard to stop the threatening tears.

  I will not cry in front of this woman, she thought grimly, only too aware of Jasmine smiling smugly as she scanned the menu she was holding.

  Michael glared angrily at Wesley before ducking his head in an effort to avoid Faye’s gaze and pretended to scrutinise his menu. The other men quickly did the same, clearly relieved that a scene appeared to have been averted.

  There was quiet while everyone read through their menu until Michael broke the silence.

  ‘Are we all ready to order?’ he said, looking round the table, his eyes not quite meeting Faye’s. ‘Don’t forget I have to write about this place so let’s all order different dishes so I can get a good idea of what the food is like.’

  He gestured to Phil who glided over immediately with his spiral notebook poised for action. Lisping through the specials, he waited expectantly. Michael was the first to speak, choosing the Pigfoot Royal.

  ‘The house speciality – an excellent choice, sir.’ Phil nodded in approval.

  Wesley finally decided on the Chilli and Ginger Pigfoot, while Jiggy chose the Pigfoot Island Style. Luther and Jasmine spent several minutes arguing over who should order the Pigfoot Paradiso – Jasmine won – and with a good-natured laugh, Luther settled for the spicy pigfoot served with a medley of vegetables.

  The waiter tapped his pencil impatiently on his notebook as Faye wildly scanned the list again. Nothing looked in the least bit appealing and all eyes were on her now.

  Oh great, she thought, trying to focus on the words printed on the card in front of her; no pressure then. A quick glance around the table didn’t help.

  Jasmine’s expression could only be described as scornful as she took in Faye’s rising confusion. Michael’s face had the familiar look of impatience that Faye sadly realised he only ever seemed to reserve for her. The others, now silent, waited impassively.

  Phil cleared his throat and shifted his feet restlessly.

  ‘Perhaps madam would also want the Pigfoot Royal?’ His tone was condescending as he looked down his shiny nose at her.

  Faye looked round helplessly and with increasing desperation, her stomach now twisted into knots. Wesley’s eyes met hers and he stared at her, making no effort to disguise his dislike, while his sister smiled openly at Faye’s obvious discomfort.

  Phil cleared his throat again.

  Sitting up straight for the first time that evening, Faye raised her chin defiantly and said coolly to the waiter, ‘I’ll have the Pasta Carbonara.’

  5

  Roots Culture

  ‘It almost choked me, but I ate every last strand of that bloody spaghetti!’ Faye gazed moodily into her empty coffee cup as she finished recounting her ordeal to a riveted Caroline.

  Pushing aside the rubber gloves she had been wearing while she cleaned her kitchen, Caroline asked impatiently. ‘So what happened? What did Michael say?’

  Faye shrugged. ‘Nothing – he just looked daggers at me. Jasmine gave that silly gasp of hers and said “Oh!” Honestly, you’d think I’d murdered someone the way they all stared at me! As soon as I finished eating, I just threw some money onto the table, smiled sweetly at everyone and left, saying that I had an early start in the morning. Michael didn’t move – not even to see me to the door!’

  Her rising indignation subsided as her despair at the turn of events threatened to overwhelm her again.

  Caroline gave her friend a quick squeeze of sympathy and refilled the coffee pot, giving Faye a chance to pull herself together. She poured some of the fresh brew into Faye’s cup and perched on the stool next to her.

  ‘So what are you going to do now?’ she asked gently. She hated to see Faye so upset and although, as far as she was concerned Faye would be well rid of Michael, seeing her best friend look so miserable, she resolved to hold her tongue for now.

  Faye’s eyes were red and puffy and it was clear that her tears were still close to the surface. ‘I don’t know,’ she wailed, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I just can’t believe that Michael could do that to me!’ Sniffing, she took a gulp of the coffee and shook her head.

  ‘I mean, Caro, when was he going to tell me that she was his ex?’ Faye’s voice started to rise again as she relived the humiliation of the previous night. ‘If you kne
w how many hours I spent listening to him rant and rave about what an ungrateful bitch his ex-girlfriend was when we first started going out. I didn’t even know her name because the only thing he ever called her was “that ungrateful bitch…”’ Her voice tailed off as she shook her head once more in disbelief.

  Caroline was sipping her coffee thoughtfully. ‘Well, after all his lectures on cultural purity, it’s quite funny that his old girlfriend’s as white as me,’ she observed. ‘Funny how he didn’t mention that either!’

  Faye giggled, her misery temporarily forgotten. ‘I can’t wait to see William’s face when I tell him – after all Michael’s snide comments about Lucinda!’

  Caroline gave a snort of laughter and, swallowing the rest of her coffee, retrieved her rubber gloves and continued with her cleaning, swinging her arms widely. Faye ducked hastily before Caroline swept her off her stool and moved over to sit in the old rocking chair that took up a full corner of the small modern kitchen. Despite the fact that it was completely at odds with the sparkling chrome and white kitchen fitted with every possible labour and space saving device, the chair was always the most popular item in the room. The reason lay partly in its history as the original rocking chair that Marcus’s nanny had sat in to rock him when he was a baby. When he left home, Marcus had carried it off to university and then to the house he had shared with two former university friends before moving into the apartment. But the main reason for the usual mad scramble everyone made to sit in it was that after a hard day’s work, its rocking movement never failed to soothe the spirit.

  Faye propelled herself back and forth with her long legs and soon felt the comfort of the rocking slowly start to ease the raw pain in her chest. She looked on in fascination as Caroline whipped a mop out from a tall cupboard and mercilessly swiped at any germs that had dared to visit her kitchen floor.