From Pasta to Pigfoot (10 page)

‘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 bringing 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 knew 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.

‘What's with you and all this cleaning?' she asked, puzzled. ‘Can whoever's taken my friend away, please bring her back!'

She grinned at the determined expression on her friend's face as she pushed the mop over the spotless tiles. ‘Besides, didn't Mrs Vance come and clean only two days ago?'

Caroline was so relieved to see Faye smiling that she
stopped, tossed the mop back into the cupboard, and sat down again.

‘Well, I read this article online that said housework is really good exercise,' she said ruefully, pinching the generous fold above her waistline. ‘I've put on loads of weight lately and you know how much I hate the gym – all those skinny girls in cropped tops standing around posing and making you feel like an elephant!'

Caroline's battle with her weight had been her biggest preoccupation since their teenage years. At five feet two, she had an abundance of dark red-gold hair and generous curves that unfortunately promised to follow in the mould of her plump mother.

‘Well, you may hate exercising,' Faye said with all the smugness of someone who had never had a weight problem, ‘but all the experts agree that if you want to lose weight, you've got to exercise.'

‘I
do
exercise!' protested Caroline.

‘I don't think getting dolled up in designer lycra and watching an exercise DVD with a glass of wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other is quite what they had in mind,' Faye retorted dryly.

‘Well, they were
really
expensive leggings,' Caroline muttered defensively. ‘I didn't want to get them all sweaty.'

She looked with envy at her friend's lean frame. ‘You're so lucky, Faye. If I had legs like yours I'd wear mini skirts and shorts every day – even in the middle of winter!'

Faye laughed aloud, her battered self-confidence perking up slightly.

‘Thanks, babe, but even if you had my legs, you'd still
need to wear high heels to kiss Marcus. Talking of Marcus, where is he this morning? I've been so busy crying into my coffee, I forgot all about him.'

Caroline had washed out her coffee mug and was now looking around for her next target. Faye instinctively tightened her hold on her own cup before it found its way into her hands.

‘He's gone off to play golf again,' she replied absently. After scanning the spotless kitchen fruitlessly, she shrugged and settled herself down on a bar stool, smoothing down the baggy denim dungarees she always wore on her ‘fat days'.

‘I told you he'd started playing golf with that client he could never get to show up at his office for meetings, didn't I?' Faye nodded and she continued. ‘Yes, well now
he's
hooked on the game and it looks as if I'm going to turn into a golf widow before I'm even married!'

Barely pausing for breath, Caroline changed the subject. ‘Never mind Marcus,' she said impatiently. ‘What are you going to do about Michael?' Having tried to appear neutral so far, she could hear disapproval creeping into her voice. ‘I know you probably don't want to hear this, but I really think you've got to make a decision about this relationship before he hurts you even more.'

Steeling herself against the bleak expression on her friend's face, Caroline forced herself to keep going. Having started, there was now no point in keeping the rest back.

‘You know I wouldn't hurt you for the world, Faye, but it's time you woke up and saw what Michael is really like. You've been seeing him for what, nearly two years? And how much real time do you actually spend together
– unless, of course, he's got freebie tickets to some event or other!'

Faye remained silent, her head hanging down despondently. Caroline continued more gently.

‘Look, Faye, I've tried to keep my mouth shut because whoever you want to see is your own business and as long as Michael made you even halfway happy, I promised myself I'd stay out of it. And sometimes you are so damned stubborn, no one can tell you anything! But, you're not happy and it's not just about last night. Don't forget, I've known you for years. You are a loving, caring, funny person who is fantastic to be around. You've got your own style – a bit weird, mind you, but it's all your own. Michael's not a bad guy, I suppose, but you just let him walk all over you! Somehow he manages to turn you into an insecure bunch of nerves and makes you feel inadequate all the time. Don't try and tell me that's love.' Caroline paused for a moment before deciding to go for broke.

‘And tell me
what
kind of boyfriend would rather watch some arty film than have wild sex. And if all that's not enough, he has the cheek to cuddle up to his obnoxious ex-girlfriend right under your nose
and
think that he can get away with it! Now what kind of relationship is that to hang on to – do you really love him
that
much?' She glared at Faye indignantly, her face flushed with anger.

Faye sighed and pulled herself up from the rocking chair. Taking her mug over to the pristine sink, she washed it slowly and placed it in the drainer before speaking.

‘Look, I know you don't like Michael very much,' she said. She shook her head as her friend started to speak.
‘No, it's okay,' she interrupted with a small smile. ‘I can't honestly say I blame you – let's face it, he's not the easiest person to get on with.'

She leaned back against the sink, studying the sparkling white floor tiles abstractedly. ‘The thing is, I really thought I meant more to him than just some black Eliza Doolittle that needed a cultural makeover, or a rebound girlfriend when the girl he really wanted dumped him. In some ways, I do love him – or at least some things about him. But maybe I put up with him because if I don't have Michael, there might never be anyone else out there for me. I mean, just look at all the idiots I went out with before him!'

She went on quickly as Caroline opened her mouth to protest. ‘Yeah, I know – you think Michael's just as big a twat as Rupert and Boris and all the rest. And maybe I
have
been kidding myself about him – although, no matter what, after two years together, you'd think he would at least have the decency not to parade his ex-live-in lover in front of me! Anyway, I was up most of last night thinking and a couple of things have become really clear to me. One is that Michael doesn't love me and never did. The other is that
I'm
not happy and it's not just because of my crappy job that's going nowhere and my equally crappy boyfriend – also obviously going nowhere, after last night.'

Caroline pulled a strand of her red-gold hair from the untidy topknot on her head and curled it round her finger, her expression curious.

‘Why? What else is wrong?'

Faye shook her head slowly as she considered her words.

‘Well, even though I know Michael's behaviour is really hypocritical, I can't help feeling that he has a point about me being culturally, well…' She hesitated. ‘You know… being in a sort of cultural limbo.'

Caroline groaned loudly and threw her hands in the air in exasperation.

‘What on
earth
is this whole fixation you've suddenly developed about your roots, Faye!' Jumping off the stool, she strode over to the fridge and took out a bottle of mineral water. Her face was pink with indignation as she poured herself a glass and sat down again.

‘Look, so you have a couple of lousy nights out with a bunch of judgmental people who don't know the first thing about you telling you all sorts of rubbish and you actually
believe
them?'

‘Well, there must be something to what they said or I wouldn't be letting it bother me so much,' Faye protested. ‘Come on, Caro, you know as well as I do that I haven't been back to Ghana since I was a little girl. That surely can't be right.'

Well, I haven't been back to Ireland since we buried Granny O'Rourke when I was twelve,' Caroline retorted heatedly. ‘So what does that prove?'

Faye's response was cut short as a lanky figure with bright red hair strode into the kitchen.

Caroline clutched at her chest. ‘I know you have a spare key, Dermot, but would it
kill
you to ring the doorbell or something when you come here? You scared the living daylights out of me!'

Grinning unrepentantly and with a triumphant whoop,
Dermot raced to the empty rocking chair and ignoring Faye's yelp of protest, threw himself into the old chair, clutching the arms dramatically and winking at his sister.

‘So, what's all this about Granny O'Rourke? Don't tell me she
did
leave us some money after all?' he said, looking hopeful.

Caroline's indignation at his unceremonious entry dissolved into laughter as she watched her brother resist Faye's outraged attempts to drag him out of the rocking chair. After a brief tussle, Dermot pulled her onto his lap, his thin pale arms surprisingly strong.

‘Okay, okay!' He gasped with laughter. ‘Stop wriggling and we can share.'

When Faye finally gave up the fight and was sitting still, he asked again. ‘What about Granny O'Rourke?'

Ignoring Faye's warning look, Caroline impatiently related the last part of their conversation to her brother who listened without interruption, rocking the chair back and forth with one arm loosely draped around Faye.

When Caroline finished speaking, Dermot nodded gravely and gave Faye a gentle squeeze.

‘Well, Caro, I know what she means. It's easy for us to forget that Faye isn't totally British because we've known her for so long, but that doesn't mean she feels the same,' he said. Being serious was not something she was used to from Dermot and Caroline gaped at him.

Recovering quickly, she shot back, ‘But she barely remembers Ghana – she's grown up here! Isn't that what's important?' she asked.

Dermot gently pushed Faye off his lap and stood up,
relinquishing the rocking chair. Opening one of the cupboards, he took out a mug and poured himself the rest of the coffee in the pot, all the while still arguing with his sister.

‘Caro, that's just the point! She's grown up here but she doesn't come from here, and now she clearly feels that something's missing. Look,' he added impatiently, ‘if you were adopted, wouldn't you want to know who your real parents were?'