From Pasta to Pigfoot (8 page)

She laughed and patted Faye's knee gently.

‘Now, you see Faye, my sister and I took after my father in looks. Daddy was probably one of the shortest men around and as dark as toasted molasses. He had fallen in love with Mummy right from when they were in school and he pursued her like crazy until she just gave up and said yes. It took everyone by surprise, because Mummy is from a light-skinned family and nobody had expected her to end up with this short, dark man.

‘Anyway, they were married before her family had time to finish telling her all the reasons why she was making a big mistake. Daddy's business grew quickly and Mummy was soon able to boast to her sisters that at least
she
had a man who earned enough money to buy them their own house right in the centre of town!

‘Anyway, to answer your question, I never thought I would leave Jamaica. I loved my home and my sister was
my best friend. I wouldn't have imagined living anywhere without her close by. But then, you see, things changed after I met Harry Coleville-Smith.

Miss Campbell's voice tailed off and, shaking her head slightly, she carried on.

‘The Coleville-Smiths were a very rich family, Faye, and very well known in Kingston. Mr Coleville-Smith – Harry's father – was the son of a half-Jamaican, half-Irish woman and an Englishman who had been sent out to the island by his father (if you believe the town gossips, he was an aristocrat of some kind) after running up a pile of gambling debts. Anyway, the man must have mended his ways when he got to Jamaica because by the time Millicent and I were teenagers, the Coleville-Smith family owned a large sugar processing factory on the island and Coleville's, one of the most popular department stores in town. Harry's mother came from Bermuda and she and Harry's father were both very light-skinned people. Harry's mother managed the department store and because they bought their office supplies from us, she would occasionally come to the shop herself to place an order.

‘Harry was the youngest of their three children and most definitely the apple of his mother's eye. It was easy to see why. I tell you, Faye, he was so handsome he could stop traffic! His complexion was like a girl's – all soft and creamy. He had lovely wavy light-brown curls with little gold streaks everywhere and looked just like an angel. Sadly, though, he had the most terrible stammer I'd ever heard and it took him the longest time to say the most simple sentence! His family tried everything to help
him get rid of it but nothing worked. Once in a while his mother would send him over to our shop with an order and, if Millicent or I happened to be working, we would fight like cats to be the one to serve him!

‘Anyway, one day I was in the shop alone when Harry came in. Millicent was down with a bad cold and Mummy had refused to let her leave the house in case she passed it on to a customer. Harry was in no rush to leave – in any case, with that stammer, it usually took him quite a while to place his orders – and we chattered together for ages. Before he left, he asked me out to a dance that weekend. I said yes, of course! I was so excited and I couldn't wait to tell Millicent. That Saturday night I wore my best dress and even though Millicent almost died of envy, I went to the dance on his arm. Oh boy, we had a marvellous time…

‘Thinking about it now, Faye, we must have looked quite a funny pair. There he was, so tall and fair-skinned, and then me, so small and dark. But we had fun together, you know. After that first dance, he asked me out again and again. He felt so comfortable with me that he would hardly stammer at all when we were alone together.

‘In those days, my dear, when you went out with a man on a regular basis, it was expected that you were heading for marriage. Even though Millicent and Mummy had warned me that the Coleville-Smiths were out of our league, I knew how Harry felt about me and I refused to listen. Harry and I talked about a life together and how happy we would be.'

Miss Campbell paused again and Faye leaned forward eagerly, totally absorbed in the story.

‘Well, things came to a head one afternoon. Clarence, the clerk from Coleville's, came to our shop to collect the stationery supplies they had ordered earlier. I had been helping Daddy in the back and was coming into the front of the shop when I heard Clarence saying Harry's name. Clarence was so busy sharing his gossip that he didn't hear me come through the door. I went back quietly behind the door when I heard Harry's name mentioned and was horrified to hear him tell my mother that Mrs Coleville-Smith had secretly arranged for Harry to go and stay with her family in Bermuda, to work in her brother's business. Clarence – Lord! I can just see him now with his big eyes rolling and his round head weaving while he drank his coffee – then told my mother how he had overheard Mrs Coleville-Smith on the telephone to her brother planning how to get her son away from “the social climbing dark-skinned mouse Harry has taken up with” and that “if she thinks she has hooked my boy, she had better think again!”

‘After that, Faye, everything happened so quickly, I couldn't believe it. Before I could blink, Harry was in Bermuda and I was on my own, with everyone staring at me wherever I went. Oh, child, I didn't mind the gossips too much, but I
did
miss my Harry!

‘Mummy was furious. She soon got fed up with everyone gossiping about us for a change and decided that I should come to England to stay with her younger sister who was studying in London. To be honest, Faye, I didn't care
where
I went. Nothing about Kingston made any sense any more and I was happy to come over here. So I stayed with Auntie Angela and went to secretarial school.
Mr Fiske hired me shortly after I got my qualifications and I have been here ever since.'

Miss Campbell stopped speaking and there was silence for several minutes. Visibly shaking herself back into the present, she smiled at Faye.

‘You see, my dear, even an old lady like me was once in love. Just like you are with your Michael!'

Faye had been listening in fascination to the older woman's story and trying to reconcile the prim little mouse before her with the image of a passionate young Jamaican girl pining for her lover. Now, as she stared into Miss Campbell's twinkling eyes, she wondered wryly, and not for the first time, if what she felt for Michael could really be described as love.

Miss Campbell looked at her watch and tutted as she realised the time. Rising nimbly to her feet, she brushed the biscuit crumbs from her coffee-coloured cashmere cardigan, pushed her glasses back onto her nose and quickly rinsed out her coffee cup.

Having said a gentle goodbye to Faye, she was just about to leave the room when the younger girl asked suddenly.

‘Miss Campbell, since I've been so nosy already, can I ask you one last thing?'

‘What is that, my dear?' Miss Campbell asked indulgently.

‘What does the T. in your name stand for? I've always wondered,' Faye said curiously.

Miss Campbell's eyes twinkled as she turned the handle of the door.

‘After what I've told you today, Faye, I would have thought you could guess.' With a final wave to a mystified Faye, Miss Campbell said as she left the room, ‘Actually, I was named after my mother's family, Faye. The T. stands for Truelove.'

4

Pigfoot or Pasta?

Travelling on the London Underground during the evening rush hour is, at best, a test of human endurance. On a Friday evening, however, Faye thought moodily, the rush hour made the most hideous picture of hell seem pretty acceptable.

It had been one of those rare days when Faye and her boss had genuinely been under pressure. With two of the other partners away, Junior had been called upon to handle far more than his usual negligible workload and, as a result, Faye had been swamped with documents to produce, check and update.

When she had finally managed to escape her exhausted boss, the hands on the large clock in the reception area showed it was past six o'clock. Oblivious to the cold, she'd raced along the dark cobbled streets to the tube station, feeling the sweat prickling her skin under her wool coat. Once again, Michael had arranged to meet her at the tube station in Brixton and she had less than two hours to get
home and prepare for the evening.

To her annoyance the Edgware bound tube she wanted was sliding away from the platform just as she galloped down the stairs at Tottenham Court Road station.

‘Crap!' Panting hard from the unaccustomed exercise, she watched in frustration as the train moved off, the red lights at the back disappearing into the dark tunnel. A quick glance at the platform indicator showed that the next train was due in twelve minutes.

Pacing up and down the platform, Faye mentally ran through her wardrobe and tried to remember where she had last seen her favourite black jeans.

Five minutes later, in true London Underground fashion, the platform indicator still showed a twelve-minute wait for her train. Glaring at a cheerful busker in a woolly hat who seemed determined to serenade her, she elbowed her way through the fast-thickening crowd to stand further down the platform.

Despite the twelve minutes still showing on the indicator, a sudden rush of air accompanied by a distant rumbling signalled the arrival of another train. Faye stood as close as she dared to the edge of the platform, determined to get onto the train even if she had to push someone under it first. With a loud rumble, the train rolled into the station and she positioned herself directly in front of the double doors, bracing herself for the rush of the descending crowd.

‘Stand clear of the doors, please. Stand clear of the doors!'

The mass of people crushed inside looked in dire need
of oxygen as the train ground to a screeching halt. As soon as the doors swept open, the cooped up occupants spilled out, gulping in the semi-fresh air. Faye stood firm against the mass of passengers streaming out from the congested train and those pushing her from the rear. Then, seizing her moment and ignoring the outraged cries of the tube prisoners still waiting for release, she nipped smartly through a small gap in the human traffic and into the overheated carriage. She spotted a row of recently vacated seats and sat down on the one nearest the door.

The tube moved slowly between stations, disgorging bodies and replacing them immediately. Faye's frustration increased by the minute and turned to fury as people getting on and off the train trampled on her ruinously expensive Russell & Bromley leather boots, still an outstanding item on her credit card bill. Finally, the train pulled into Hampstead station, releasing her from the stuffy carriage.

Relieved to see the lift to street level was working, she resisted the temptation to give the doors a helpful push as they slowly slid open.

Almost dropping her keys in her haste to open her front door, she dashed in and cannoned straight into a tall blonde figure standing in the hallway.

‘Oof! Sorry, Lucinda… Hi.' The apology-cum-greeting was delivered between gasps as Faye attempted to struggle out of her coat and kick her boots off at the same time.

‘Hi to you too,' was the amused response. ‘No, wait, don't tell me – you're supposed to be somewhere in ten seconds from now and you're late. Am I right?'

Lucinda Bennett and Faye had been good friends for years despite the differences in their personalities. Where Faye often lacked confidence, Lucinda was never at a loss for words and had yet to meet anyone who intimidated her. Unlike Faye who usually hung back, Lucinda was a firm believer in going after what you wanted, as long as no one got too hurt in the process. Having first spotted William when he had reluctantly showed up at a dinner party at a mutual friend's house to give Faye a lift home, she had made an instant beeline for him. William, who had never had any trouble dealing with unwanted female attention, had been reduced to adoring putty in her elegant hands before he knew what had hit him. Unlike William's previous girlfriends who were usually intimidated by his father, Lucinda had given Dr Bonsu's outstretched hand a miss when she was introduced to him, and instead hugged him like a long lost friend. Her genuine enthusiasm about everything combined with her stunning good looks made it difficult for anyone to dislike her, including Lottie, who had never believed that any girl was good enough for William.

‘And they say blondes are dumb,' Faye grinned in reply to the question as she headed towards the stairs. ‘Actually, I'm meeting Michael in Brixton in about—' she glanced at her watch and squealed in horror, taking the steps two at a time.

‘I was just leaving – do you want a lift anywhere?' Lucinda called after Faye's disappearing back. Hearing a muffled scream from upstairs that she took to mean yes, she went back into the kitchen where Lottie was putting the finishing touches to the chicken pie she was making
for dinner. Carefully placing the brimming pie dish into the oven, Lottie looked across at Lucinda.

‘I take it that was Faye?' she said, jerking her head in the direction of the dull thuds coming from above the kitchen. ‘Late again, I suppose?'

Lucinda's smile was answer enough.

‘Well, I know Faye won't be in for dinner tonight,' she said. ‘What are you and William up to?'

‘We're going to try out a new wine bar that's just opened up in town,' Lucinda said. ‘I'll wait and give Faye a lift before I head home. William's working late and says he'll pick me up when he's done.'

A few minutes and several loud thumps later, Faye crashed through the kitchen door, still fastening the buttons on her black jeans, their tight cut and her spiky boots making her long legs appear endless. Ignoring Lottie's pursed lips as she took in the low cut strappy black top visible under her leather jacket, Faye was almost wringing her hands in desperation.

‘Lucinda, let's go!
Now
or Michael will go ballistic!' Her agonised plea was wasted on Lottie who simply sniffed scornfully.

‘Faye, when will you stop letting that boy bully you? You've only just now got in, for goodness' sake! At least sit down and have a cup of tea or something before you rush out.'

Lucinda grinned at the distaste in Lottie's voice when she referred to Michael. The older woman had never quite recovered from the lecture he had once given her when he warned her that ‘reverse colonialism through domestic
service to the formerly colonised peoples of Africa' could never atone for the centuries of slavery and oppression that had been practised by her people. Although at the time she had pointed out that the only oppression she had ever seen in Glasgow had come from rival football fans against the rest of the community on Saturday nights, her already poor opinion of Michael had sunk to an all-time low.

Taking pity on Faye who was now literally hopping from foot to foot in agitation, Lucinda slid off the kitchen stool and snatched up her car keys and coat in one fluid graceful movement.

‘Okay, let's go! Lottie, I'll come over at the weekend. I want to know all about that couple that's just moved into number 28. I've seen them a couple of times now and, quite honestly, the man looks pretty dodgy to me.'

Blowing Lottie a quick kiss, Faye followed close on Lucinda's heels as they hurried out of the house. She slid into the padded leather passenger seat of her friend's sleek silver Mazda convertible, which, rather like its owner, was gleaming and immaculately maintained. Faye looked around the pristine interior and sighed enviously. Her own Fiesta, littered with Mars bar wrappers and old issues of
The Black Herald
that she had never quite got round to reading, made her car look like a seedy bed and breakfast compared to this luxury five star hotel.

As they drove off, Faye checked her watch again, now completely despairing of being on time. It was nearly seven-thirty and the Friday night traffic into town was moving at a slow crawl. It was clearly time for a change of plan.

‘Luce, just drop me off at Euston, if that's okay? I'll get the tube down to Brixton. With all this traffic, the Underground is bound to be faster.'

Lucinda nodded. Barely pausing to indicate, she turned left into the road leading to Euston station, cutting confidently across the choked lanes of traffic with supreme disregard for the irate drivers forced to give way. She weaved expertly through the cars slowly inching their way along the Euston Road until they reached the entrance to the underground.

‘You are a
star
! Thanks a million – I'll see you later.' Faye gave her friend a hurried kiss goodbye and slid out of the car.

For the second time in less than an hour she was back underground. The platform indicator showed the next Brixton-bound train was due in four minutes. Yet less than a minute later, clearly having reservations about its original information, the indicator now showed that the train was due in six minutes.

Faye turned around to find herself surrounded by a small group of women dressed in flowing skirts with shawls tied around the shoulders. Two of them were carrying babies tightly swaddled in coloured shawls. One of the women leaned forward to try to pin a purple posy wrapped in tin foil onto the lapel of Faye's coat while another held her baby up to her. With a smile that revealed several missing teeth, she held out a rather grubby hand, palm upwards.

Trying really hard not to grimace at the unmistakable smell of a baby in urgent need of a nappy change, Faye
turned her head away from the smelly infant and scrabbled in her coat pocket for change. Clutching gratefully at the fluff-covered coins dropped into her palm, the woman gave another flash of her discoloured smile and hugged her protesting baby to her chest.

The sound of the approaching train gave Faye the opportunity to slip away, and she moved quickly down the platform as it thundered into the station. This time the train moved quickly and smoothly between stations, arriving at Brixton without incident.

Well, twenty minutes isn't
that
bad, Faye muttered under her breath as she tried to check her make-up in the smudged mirror of her compact while walking up the moving escalator.
Of course, Michael could just buy a car and save me from this endless rushing around all the time
, she thought moodily.
It's not like he can't afford it
.

Although Michael constantly scorned the need for a car, blaming car owners for every possible environmental problem, he never had any complaints about her driving them everywhere or even using her car himself when it suited him, Faye thought irritably. Look at Lucinda – the lucky cow just sat at home and waited for William to pick her up whenever they went out.

‘Here, Faye! Over here!'

She turned to see Michael waving vigorously at her. He was wearing a long black leather coat over fashionably baggy jeans and a black woolly cap covered his hair. Her resentment was quickly forgotten as the familiar warm rush of pleasure at seeing him swept over her.

She sighed as she looked into his brown eyes, fringed
with the thick long lashes that always reminded her of a cuddly puppy.
I know he can be difficult
, she thought,
but he is so gorgeous
.

Resisting the urge to hurl herself on him, she hugged him tightly and pressed her warm eager lips against his cold mouth. Only briefly returning the pressure, Michael patted her awkwardly on the shoulder before quickly disengaging himself and rubbing his hands together against the night chill.

‘Hey, what's up?' he said casually. ‘Well, for once you're not
that
late,' he added with a smile. ‘Come on, let's go.'

Propelling her out of the crowded station and up the stairs, he draped an arm around her shoulders as they set off down the street at a brisk pace.

‘So, like I said on the phone, I have to do a write-up for the paper on this new restaurant that opened up last week. The owner is Jamaican and from what he told me when I spoke to him, his vision is to offer really authentic home food. If we like the food tonight, I'll set up an interview for him with a couple of food writers I know – I'm sure he'll appreciate the publicity.'

As they walked, he moved his arm away and hugged himself against the cold. Wanting to stay close to him, she tried to slip her hand inside the crook of his arm but his hands remained resolutely clamped against his forearms. Sighing, she gave up and pushed her hands into the pockets of her jacket, forcing herself to concentrate on what he was saying. Struck by his unusual cheeriness – Michael usually needed a lot of jollying to emerge from a sulk as prolonged as his recent effort – Faye looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

‘You're very chirpy tonight,' she remarked. It was also out of character for the Michael she knew not to have made any further reference to the previous weekend.

He gave a careless shrug and carried on without comment.

‘So who's coming this evening?' she said a few minutes later, interrupting his flow again.

He put his arm around her to steer her away from a tramp staggering towards them, clutching a can of lager. When they were safely past, he released her and continued at a brisk pace, his hands buried deep inside his coat pockets.

‘Well, Philomena can't make it,' he said. ‘She's got a poetry evening with the Brixton Caribbean Women's Circle. She's the main organiser, so she couldn't get away.'