From Pasta to Pigfoot (5 page)

Lottie repressed a shudder at the idea of what the next level with Michael might involve. ‘Well, it sounds like he could have been a bit more supportive – and you could certainly have been a bit more assertive. I know you wanted to make a good impression on them, but you don't have to force yourself to drink strong liquor to be accepted, Faye.'

Before Faye could answer, there was an abrupt knock at the door. Lottie took one look at the alarmed expression on Faye's face and walked swiftly over to the door, opening it slightly and blocking the entrance with her tall narrow frame.

‘Oh, Doctor, it's you!' she said smoothly, stepping outside the room and closing the door gently behind her. For several minutes all Faye could hear was the murmur of
voices in the corridor and when Lottie came back into the room, her face was grim.

‘Well, you've got some explaining to do to your father as well, young Faye. He's waiting for you downstairs. Well, I had better get on – I've got plenty to do. We'll talk properly later, okay?' With that, she hastily left the room.

It took a few minutes of waiting for the room to steady itself before Faye managed to heave herself off her bed and stagger to the bathroom. After a long, almost boiling hot shower she dressed slowly in a pair of skinny jeans and a plain black sweatshirt that she had rescued from the local charity shop.

She stared miserably at her reflection in the mirror, dreading the inevitable lecture coming up from her father.
Thank God it's Sunday today – there's no way I could have faced a day at Fiske, Fiske & Partners
, she thought. She sighed as she headed slowly out of her room.

Eating breakfast together on Sunday was one of her father's commandments and as the drumming in her head had now subsided to a leaden pain behind her eyes, she reluctantly started downstairs, walking into the large airy dining room where her father had long finished his breakfast. Hearing her enter the room, he put down the news supplement he had been reading and frowned at her through thick tortoiseshell glasses.

‘Morning, Dad,' Faye mumbled, taking her place at the polished dining table and wincing as bright shafts of morning sun shone through the French windows almost directly into her eyes. She shifted her chair slightly before cautiously pouring herself a cup of black coffee, clutching
the pot tightly to prevent her shaky hands from trembling.

‘Good morning' was the short response from her father, who had removed his glasses and was rubbing the bridge of his broad nose while watching her steadily.

At five feet nine inches, although not a tall man, Kwame Bonsu radiated an air of authority. Widely acknowledged as one of the leaders in his field of medical research, he had graduated at the top of his class at university in his native Ghana before winning a full scholarship to Harvard Medical School, where he specialised in paediatrics. Credited with groundbreaking research into childhood diseases, he was a sought-after expert who spent a good part of his time travelling around the world lecturing and publishing his ongoing research. Her father's high profile role had earned him the title of ‘the Nelson Mandela of medicine' from his daughter. Despite her good-natured teasing, Faye was fiercely proud of her father and his achievements – although, she had to admit, she was totally disgusted at the unfairness of William being the one to inherit their father's impressive mind.

Inevitably, the doctor's frequent travelling meant that Lottie had often been left to be both mother and father to his children. It was at times such as this morning that he felt particularly guilty about the effect these absences might have had. Although he had little to worry about with William, who was an ambitious and extremely disciplined man, Dr Bonsu had become increasingly worried about what he saw as Faye's lack of drive or direction. Convinced that she was capable of doing more with her life, and frustrated that she didn't seem to realise it, he had tried
several times to pin her down to at least identifying a career she would enjoy. Each attempt was no more successful than the last, he thought, casting his mind back to their last conversation on the subject.

‘Faye, you shouldn't be discouraged – there are plenty of careers you can make a go of,' he had said kindly. ‘You're not unintelligent. You're just… a little less academically motivated than William, that's all.'

‘Is that a diplomatic way of explaining away why I couldn't get any further than A levels and a computing course?' she had quipped, giggling at his earnest expression. ‘Dad, let's face it, William is the brains in this family, not me.' She had quickly changed the subject, reading out a joke her friend had texted her, which soon had him roaring with laughter.

This morning, however, as he took in her wan appearance, he was in no mood for jokes. Replacing his glasses, he looked directly into her eyes.

‘Are you not feeling well?' He stared pointedly at her trembling hand as she raised the coffee cup to her lips.

Faye, only too aware of her father's feelings about alcohol abuse, cast around furiously for something to say. She was saved by William's entrance. Happily oblivious to the tension in the air, he greeted both of them cheerily and sat down across the table from Faye.

‘What's wrong with
you
? You look awful!' he peered closely at her while taking a bite of his father's leftover toast.

‘Thanks.' Faye muttered, trying without success to kick his ankle under the dining table. The physical effort immediately set off the throbbing in her head again and she glared angrily at him.

Dr Bonsu took his glasses off again and turned to his son.

‘I was just asking her the same question. And, since you are also here, William,' he added mildly, ‘perhaps you can both explain to me why we have missed breakfast
and
church today.'

As a devout Catholic, Dr Bonsu was uncompromising about church attendance. Although both his children were fully grown adults, he still expected them to attend mass with him every Sunday morning whenever he was home, whatever their own views on the subject. Dr Bonsu was a firm believer in the Ghanaian tradition whereby children respected and obeyed their parents' wishes so long as they remained under their roof. This morning when neither William nor Faye had shown up ready for their usual nine o'clock mass, he had been alarmed and then irritated – a feeling that was not helped by the unexpected and unwanted arrival of Michael with Faye's car keys in hand.

William swallowed the rest of the toast and looked affectionately at his father.

‘Sorry, Dad. I was feeling pretty tired last night and overslept,' he said smoothly. ‘We'll go to the six o'clock mass this evening. That is', he added, grinning at his chastened sister, ‘
if
she's able to walk.'

‘Very funny, William!' Scowling furiously at her brother, Faye quietly apologised in turn. Her father was a great believer in discipline and was constantly complaining about what he saw as the total disrespect shown by British children towards their parents. ‘
I
will never tolerate such displays of unacceptable European liberalism,' he was
quick to remind them if he thought he saw any symptoms of this particular disease.

Now, he simply nodded slowly and gave a gentle sigh.

‘It's times like this when I sorely regret taking on the kind of profession that has made me travel so much,' he said soberly. ‘I sincerely hope that this is not the start of the slippery road to…'

Moral decadence
, Faye finished off silently in her head having heard the same sentence more times than she could remember. She studiously avoided William's eyes, only too aware that he was probably silently mouthing the words as her father spoke. This was not exactly the best time to burst out laughing.

With a final sorrowful shake of his head, the doctor rose from the breakfast table and very firmly plucked his magazine from his son's grip. After reminding them about their promise to attend evening mass, he excused himself and shut himself off in his study to finish reading his papers in peace.

Once the door had closed behind him, Faye aimed again and this time made contact with her brother's shin.

‘Ouch! Bloody hell, Faye. That hurt!' Glaring at his unrepentant sister, William rubbed his leg hard.

‘Serves you right for landing me in it.' She poured another cup of coffee and was glad to see that her hand had stopped shaking, at least for now. Notoriously unable to hold her drink, Faye usually stuck to wine when she went out and hardly ever touched spirits, making the impact of the powerful dark Jamaican rum from the previous evening particularly devastating.

‘Hey, I didn't say anything he couldn't figure out for himself,' William muttered defensively. ‘He
is
a doctor, you know, and I'm sure he's seen more than his fair share of alcoholically challenged people over the years.'

Rising quickly to avoid another attack on his shins, he grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the dining table and, keeping well out of reach, grinned at her cheerfully, his good humour restored.

‘So, little sister, what did you and your cultural guru get up to last night?'

Her face dropped as she remembered the hideous turn the evening had taken.

‘I don't think Michael will ever speak to me again! I got more than a bit drunk and ended up collapsing at his friend's house – and I think I was a bit rude to one of them,' she sighed deeply. Frowning slightly, she went on. ‘I don't remember too much after that except being practically carried out. Michael just dumped me at home and drove off – in
my
car!' she added indignantly.

William chewed thoughtfully on his apple. ‘That doesn't sound like you – being rude to your beloved's friends, I mean.'

Ignoring the implication that being drunk, however,
did
sound like her, Faye shrugged. ‘Oh, it was just this one guy there who really got on my nerves. He basically accused me of being a slave to the colonialist mentality and cut off from my cultural roots. I know Michael can be a bit much sometimes, but you should have heard this one going on. You know, the usual “you don't know where you come from” rubbish.'

‘Well, sounds like he had it coming then,' was the swift response. Gesturing with his half-eaten apple, William added with a grin, ‘You know, this is what comes of hanging around with Michael Duncan. That man's got enough chips on his shoulder to feed an entire army. Ever since he got into this whole “I'm black and I'm proud” thing, he's become even more of a prat than he was when we were in school.'

Deciding this was not the moment to tell William that her boyfriend considered
him
to be culturally extinct, Faye bit her lip and drank her coffee without comment.

She put the empty cup down and stared thoughtfully across at him. In his fitted jeans and with his lean muscular torso covered with a grey polo shirt, William looked fit and, as usual, extremely self-confident.

‘Will, don't you ever think that maybe we don't have enough of a connection to Ghana? I mean, you even have a white girlfriend. Don't you
ever
worry about people thinking that you've sold out culturally?'

William gave a snort of pure contempt. He wolfed down the rest of the apple, grabbed his plate and stood up. ‘Faye, the moment you start worrying about what other people think, you really will be lost!'

He headed for the door, almost bumping into Lottie who was coming in. Turning back to his sister, he added more gently, ‘Look, just be yourself. You know where you come from, so what do you care if someone else has a problem? I'm going over to Lucinda's now but I'll be back by six, in time for mass. If you don't want another lecture from Dad,
don't
be late!'

Winking cheekily at Lottie, he strode out of the room,
leaving her staring after him in bewilderment.

‘Now, what was
that
all about?' She asked, completely perplexed. She turned back to Faye who had moved over to the French windows and was looking thoughtfully out into the garden. The apple trees that yielded so much fruit during the summer now looked barren. A few pale rays of sunlight had managed to struggle through the clouds and succeeded in casting a gentle glow over the impeccable green lawn. Although it was a chilly September morning, the picture through the glass doors was altogether one of warmth and serenity.

‘Faye?' Lottie's voice was sharp with concern as she watched her staring forlornly out of the window.

Faye turned back to her with a wan smile. ‘It's okay, Lottie. I'm fine, really.'

Lottie poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot on the dining table and grimaced as she tasted the now lukewarm drink.

‘Ugh! I don't know why I torture myself trying to drink this stuff – I hate coffee!' she said in disgust. ‘Now listen, my lass, I know you about as well as I know myself and I know when something's not right.' She sat down and gestured to the chair next to her. ‘I've got a few minutes to spare and you look like you have plenty on your mind.'

Faye sighed and, after a moment's hesitation, took the chair on offer. ‘I was just thinking about last night and having to deal with Michael. His friends really matter to him – what if I've pushed him too far?'

Lottie's nostrils flared with outrage. ‘Are you saying
you
don't matter to him? Because if he doesn't think you're
more important than his friends, why on earth are you wasting your time with him?'

‘I'm not saying I don't matter. It's just… oh, I don't know!' Anxiety and frustration mingled as she struggled to voice her feelings. Her head ached and she forced herself to calm her rising panic. ‘Lottie, I don't want to lose him. I know you hate him but he can be really sweet when he wants to be, and I don't see anyone else chasing after me, do you?'

‘Maybe if you spent less time worrying about that man and more time with some of your other friends, that would change,' Lottie muttered under her breath. She took in Faye's miserable expression and her voice softened. ‘You've had your ups and downs with Michael before, but I've never seen you this upset. There's something else, isn't there?'