Faye sighed, now feeling guilty for upsetting her father. ‘Dad, please don’t blame yourself. Honestly, it’s not an issue for me most of the time – I’m just feeling a bit raw after last night.’
When he still didn’t look convinced, she dug deep and dredged up what she hoped was a smile of reassurance. ‘I just need to be a bit more like William and stop worrying about things I can’t change.’
With a deep sigh, he stood up and gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. He shook his head once more at the clothes decorating the carpet, and left the room. Taking the hint, Faye tossed the piles of clothing onto her bed and started the monumental task of tidying her room. She had almost finished when her brother and Lucinda barged in.
‘I see the practice of knocking on doors has gone out of fashion again,’ she said sarcastically as the two of them hurled themselves on her bed. Oblivious to her tone, William grabbed a magazine that had been hiding under the crumpled bedclothes while Lucinda started trying on a denim jacket.
Faye’s exasperation vanished as she recognised the magazine she had given up for lost.
‘Oh is that where it was! William, don’t take it away with you – I haven’t finished reading it yet and you know what you’re like!’
Cramming a handful of hangers draped with clothes into her packed wardrobe, Faye turned to admire Lucinda who was preening in front of the full-length mirror.
‘That really suits you, Luce,’ she said appreciatively. ‘No, that doesn’t mean that you can wear it before I do. I just paid a fortune for that.’
Lucinda pouted and reluctantly took off the jacket. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she crossed her shapely legs and tossed back her blonde mane.
‘So, how did it go last night, then?’ she asked. ‘And how’s the delightful Michael?’ she added with a teasing smile.
‘I think the delightful Michael is now my delightful ex-Michael,’ Faye said with a grimace.
‘What!’ William dropped the magazine on the bed and punched his fist in the air with a triumphant ‘Yes!’ Seeing the hurt expression on his sister’s face, Lucinda punched his arm and hissed at him to shut up.
‘What’s happened, Faye?’ she asked in concern.
Faye ran her fingers through her dishevelled locks and groaned inwardly at the thought of going through the whole story again. But knowing William and Lucinda as she did, she knew that there was no way she was going to get away with anything less than a step by step account of the evening. She sat cross-legged on the carpet by her bed, took a deep breath and dutifully went through the saga of Pigfoot Etcetera for the third time that day.
As they listened, William’s grin faded and, in an almost exact replay of his father’s reaction, a look of intense fury crossed his face when Faye repeated Wesley’s scornful remark about Jasmine. Although he looked ready to explode, he didn’t interrupt, and listened until she finished speaking, his expression grim.
Lucinda was the first to speak. ‘Well, if I were you, Faye, I’d have thumped him before I left the restaurant. What a complete pig!’ she exclaimed indignantly.
‘I know,’ said Faye. ‘Come to think of it,’ she added whimsically, ‘I should have asked for Pigfoot Michael when that waiter came round.’
William did not join in the girls’ laughter. Slamming his fist on the bed, he stood up and walked over to the bedroom window, intense anger clearly evident in his taut features. Lucinda and Faye exchanged glances as they recognised the prelude to a display of William’s infamous temper.
‘Just as well Michael’s nowhere near here right now,’ Lucinda whispered to Faye, glancing with apprehension at the silent figure at the window. She knew that despite all the teasing he inflicted on her, William was extremely protective of his younger sister. Added to that was his guilt at having been the one who had, albeit unwittingly, brought Michael into Faye’s life.
In an effort to defuse the situation, Lucinda moved to William’s side and hugged him gently. ‘Calm down, darling,’ she said softly.
William turned back and walked over to sit down on the carpet next to his anxious sister. He gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘Sorry, sis. You must be feeling bloody awful.’
Her eyes moistened again at William’s concern and she leant against him gratefully for a moment. Then pushing him away lightly, she jumped to her feet and cleared her throat.
‘Well, I’ll survive, folks,’ she said shakily, ‘but thanks for caring. And listen, Will,’ she added hastily, ‘if Michael shows up here, I’m not in, okay? I really don’t feel up to talking to him right now.’
William’s response was swift. ‘If he dares to show his face here, it will be the last thing he does for a long time!’
Lucinda intervened quickly before he started to work himself up again. Seizing his hand, she dragged him up from the floor. ‘Come on, big guy. I think Faye probably needs some time to herself. Besides,’ she looked thoughtful as her eyes strayed to the discarded jacket, ‘I’ve just seen the loveliest denim jacket, so let’s go shopping!’ Blowing Faye a kiss, she walked out of the room, dragging her protesting fiancé behind her.
Grateful for the peace, Faye finished tidying up and looked around the room with satisfaction. The expanse of thick white carpet, now clear of clothes, brought an air of serenity to the large room. The white wooden wardrobes, crammed with enough clothes to stock a small boutique, took up the entire length of one wall while a large oil painting her father had brought her from Ghana several years ago took up most of the wall space above her bed. Faye sat on her newly made bed and looked up at the painting, examining it in painstaking detail for the first time in years.
Gazing wistfully at the market scene depicted by the artist, she marvelled at the graceful figures of the market women walking along, their bodies swaying in synchronised rhythm, babies tied onto their backs with colourful cloths and large baskets balanced on their heads. The colours of the fruits and vegetables piled high in the woven cane hampers were so vivid that she could almost taste the sweetness of the mangoes and feel the fiery tang of the puffy red and green chilli peppers. The whole scene was bathed in the golden light of a scorching sun set in a cloudless blue sky.
Faye closed her eyes and felt herself transported into the picture; she felt the sultry heat on her skin, smelt the pungent aroma of spices, heard the squeals of little children as they scampered between stalls chasing after errant chickens and the loud cries of the stall keepers sheltering from the sun under broad-brimmed straw hats.
Her reverie was broken by a knock at her door. She shook herself back to the present.
‘Come in!’ she called, her eyes back on the painting. The sound of her father chuckling made her turn around sharply.
Dr Bonsu was smiling broadly and rubbing his hands together in glee, looking just like William after he had won a tough court case.
‘What have you been up to, Dad?’ She grinned in amusement at the jubilation on her father’s face. ‘You look like you’ve just won the lottery.’
‘Better than that, my dear’, her father said with satisfaction. Chuckling again at the look of bewilderment on his daughter’s face, he went on.
‘I’ve just finished a phone call to my very good friend, Fred Asante – I’m sure I have mentioned him to you before. Well, he lives in Ghana, as you know, and he assures me that he and his family would be delighted to have you as his guest as soon as you are ready.’
Faye looked even more baffled and her father added triumphantly, ‘My dearest Faye, it’s all sorted. You’re going to Ghana!’
Part Two
PIGFOOT
It is the highest of earthly honors to be descended from the great and the good.
Ben Jonson
6
Cultural Landings
The chaos at the airport was unlike anything she had seen before. Faye had travelled several times: holidays in France and Spain with Caroline and a trip to New York with William after he passed his bar exams. But standing in the check-in line for t
he flight to Ghana, she couldn’t believe that this was same Heathrow Airport she had used in the past. The line of passengers waiting to check in was far longer than she had ever seen and harassed-looking officials moved anxiously around the check-in counters, dodging increasingly irritated passengers with barely concealed impatience.
Shuffling forward in the interminable line, Faye was overwhelmed as much by the intense activity in the airport terminal as by the pace of events since her father’s announcement ten days earlier. She could still hardly believe that she was finally off to visit the country of her birth, a place that only three weeks before she had regarded more as a distant dream than a living reality.
After her father’s bombshell, Faye had spent the rest of the weekend in a daze. William, who was still racked with guilt at having been the catalyst that brought her and Michael together, had urged her to take advantage of the opportunity on offer.
‘You’ve hardly taken any time off this year, so why not spend a couple of weeks in the sun at Dad’s expense and get your cultural identity sorted out while you’re at it,’ had been his pragmatic contribution.
She hadn’t taken her holidays, Faye realised with a pang, in the vain hope that Michael would suggest that they go somewhere together. With the exception of a long weekend spent with Faye at a music festival in Cornwall at Easter, Caroline’s holidays were now invariably spent with Marcus. Lucinda and William usually took short breaks once or twice a year and a longer holiday in the summer. But despite Faye’s heavy hints, Michael had continually dodged the topic of a romantic getaway, insisting he was far too busy to take the time.
William’s enthusiasm and Lottie’s excitement about Mr Asante’s invitation to Ghana notwithstanding, Faye had still felt inexplicably reluctant to go. Even Caroline’s envious ‘You lucky thing – I’d love a free holiday in the sun!’ hadn’t swayed her. In the end, it was a conversation with Miss Mildred Truelove Campbell that made up her mind.
Since her revelations about her life in Jamaica, the two women had grown closer. Their tea breaks were often spent together in the shabby staff sitting room with Miss Campbell reminiscing about her youth and Faye listening transfixed to her stories of growing up on the far away island.
It was during one of those breaks early in the week that Faye had hesitantly told the older woman about her father’s offer to pay for her to visit Ghana. Instead of the instant excitement that the news had produced in the others, Miss Campbell had sat deep in thought for several moments before speaking. ‘How do you feel about going? I must confess that if I were you, I’d probably be terrified!’
Faye gazed at her, stunned for a moment into silence. ‘How on earth did you know?’ she asked finally, amazed at her perspicacity.
The older woman’s smile was gentle. ‘Well, it’s not too hard to imagine. You’ve been putting yourself under a great deal of pressure about your imagined alienation from your homeland, Faye.’ The lilt in her accent seemed more pronounced to Faye these days. ‘Now you have the chance to go over and meet your people,’ she added musingly, ‘you might well be worried about whether you will fit in and be accepted by them. Of course, it’s also natural to worry about whether they might consider you to be a stranger and reject you – which would leave you feeling like neither fish nor fowl, so to speak.’
She paused and a look of sadness crossed her face. ‘I wonder sometimes whether I would still fit in if I were to go back to Jamaica. Although we speak to each other regularly, our lives have been so different since I left that even my beloved Millicent might now consider me a stranger, you know.’
It was the first time that Faye had acknowledged the real reason for her reluctance to snatch up the chance to go home. She was brooding over Miss Campbell’s words when the older woman gently patted her cheek.
‘But, you know, my dear,’ she said with a teasing smile. ‘If you don’t face your fear and take this chance, you will always wonder what you would have found. You’re not an old lady like me, Faye. Go on, visit your country and find out where you come from so that no one can ever make you doubt who you are again.’
It was after that discussion that Faye found herself asking Junior for three weeks off. Riddled with anxiety at the thought of his working life without Faye, her boss reluctantly agreed, finally persuaded by Miss Campbell’s offer to supervise a temp to cover for her.
Taking advantage of her newly discovered courage, she had also finally phoned Michael. She had ignored his calls since the night at the restaurant and dreaded the thought of speaking to him. Just as she thought the call was going to his voicemail, he answered, his voice icy as he said ‘Hello’.
‘Michael – we need to talk,’ she said bluntly, avoiding the usual niceties.
Taken aback by her directness, Michael didn’t answer straight away. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice sounding cautious. ‘Talk about what?’
Faye sighed in irritation and resisted the urge to cut off the call. ‘Michael, you can’t possibly believe that things are okay between us – not after what happened last Friday?’
The exasperation in her voice quickly drew a response.
‘Well,’ he replied coolly, a note of annoyance now creeping into his tone. ‘If I remember right, you didn’t behave yourself too well when I took you out. You really shamed me in front of my friends with the way you behaved.’
Her outrage at this statement literally took her breath away and for a moment she couldn’t speak.
‘You were shamed…!’ she finally squeaked in indignation. ‘How the hell do you take me out to dinner, bring along your ex-girlfriend – who I might add, you’ve slagged off all the time I’ve known you – and then spend all evening flirting with the... the… silly cow right under my nose!’
‘Jasmine is not a silly cow, don’t be so stupid!’ Michael’s voice was cold.
‘No, you’re right, she’s not a silly cow,’ Faye shot back, stung at being called stupid. ‘She’s – what was it you always called her when I first met you? – “an ungrateful bitch!”’
The silence on the line told her she had hit home and when he spoke, he used a more conciliatory tone. ‘Look, Faye, I can’t deny that she and I have had our issues in the past, but she’s a very intelligent woman and if you were to take the time to get to know her, she could teach you a lot about Afro-Caribbean culture.’
‘Well, I could teach her a lot about manners!’ Faye countered, a surge of pure rage rushing through her as Michael continued to defend Jasmine. ‘And that includes not draping yourself all over your ex-boyfriend when his girlfriend is around.’
She paused as a new thought suddenly struck her. ‘That is, of course, assuming she knew I was your girlfriend? You didn’t tell her, did you? Why, Michael – were you hoping to get back with her again?’
Her suspicion was confirmed by the long pause at his end. The sheer audacity of his behaviour had her literally hopping with rage with her phone clenched tightly in her palm. Then suddenly, in an instant, her anger evaporated. In its place, she felt nothing except, strangely, an overwhelming sense of relief.
Her voice was calm and slow. ‘Michael, we are so finished.’
For the first time in the conversation, she detected a note of alarm in his voice.
‘Faye, don’t you think you are overreacting?’
This time she was the one who remained silent. Clearing his throat, he continued, now openly pleading. ‘Okay, fine, maybe I should have mentioned who Jasmine was – and, you’re right, I should have told her I was with you. The truth is I saw her a couple of weeks ago for the first time since we broke up and, well… I didn’t get a chance to mention it to you. Look, there’s nothing going on between me and her. So maybe I wanted her to see what she was missing by letting me go, and maybe I got a bit carried away – but it’s nothing to get upset about. You know how special you are to me! The important thing here is that I really think she could be helpful in introducing you to more of our culture. I mean, seriously Faye,’ he went o
n unguardedly, ‘look at how you went ordering pasta – in a Jamaican restaurant, for God’s sake! What on earth do you think they thought of you?’
As she listened to him dismissing her feelings, Faye could just picture him standing there with his impeccable cornrows, soulful eyes and fashionable clothes. Beneath all his cultural double-talk, what she now saw was complete heartlessness. A line from a poem she had learned in school floated into her mind. A brain of feathers and a heart of lead. Yes, she thought, that was certainly Michael.
The pause lengthened and she realised that he was still waiting for her answer.
‘What do I think they thought of me? Frankly, Michael, I don’t give a crap about what they – or you – think about me any more. You’re right, I am stupid, or at least I was. Stupid enough to think that you were worth hanging onto when all you’ve ever done is talk down to me and treat me like some kind of pet project. Seriously, Michael, you should hear yourself! Who the hell goes out with someone so they can educate them?’
She cut him off as he started to speak. ‘Michael, you know what? I don’t want to hear anything you’ve got to say. You and Jasmine are welcome to each other because if anyone hasn’t learned their lesson, it’s you. So good luck when the ungrateful bitch dumps you again!’
It was after that call that she had finally asked her father to accept Mr Asante’s invitation. During her lunch break she had booked her flights and at home that evening, had rummaged through her wardrobe in a frantic search for clothes suitable for the tropics.
Now, as she slowly inched forward in the never-ending queue to check in her large suitcase, she started once again to feel the pangs of apprehension she had suppressed since her conversation with Miss Campbell. She looked around for her father, who had offered to drive her to the airport and then promptly disappeared once she had taken her place in the queue. Just then, his well-groomed salt-and-peppered head came into view.
From Pasta to Pigfoot Page 11
