From Pasta to Pigfoot (9 page)

‘So it's just Luther, Wesley and Jiggy then?' Faye asked slowly, looking forward to the evening less and less by the minute. Michael didn't answer immediately and she looked across at him curiously.

‘Well, Wesley's sister, Jasmine, will probably come with them,' he said casually. ‘I invited her as well.'

‘Who?
' Faye stopped walking and stared at him.

Reluctantly forced to stop, he sighed with exaggerated patience. ‘Jasmine. She's Wesley's younger sister,' he repeated. ‘She's a part-time lecturer at a college in Balham. She's nice – you'll like her.'

He slipped his arm through hers and pulled her along with him as they walked around a corner and into a small side road, past dark vacant lots and shabby-looking terraced houses with huge satellite dishes fixed to the roofs.

Her LK Bennett boots had been designed to be easy
on the eye, not the feet, and she was now beginning to feel their pinch. To her relief, the restaurant was only a few minutes away and they were soon in front of a building with a large sign bearing the words
Pigfoot Etcetera
in pink letters above the image of a large platter of pink pigfoot nestling on a bed of dark green spinach leaves.

Walking into the restaurant, Faye was immediately hit by the smell of fresh paint combined with the musky scent of lighted candles and the unmistakable odour of paraffin. Inside the poorly lit room, about fifteen wooden tables had been laid and in the centre of each one was a small bouquet of blue silk flowers and matching pink salt and pepper mills. Paraffin lamps set on metal stands were dotted around the room, adding to the odd and old-fashioned décor.

At the far end of the restaurant, she could see a narrow bar topped with an array of glasses and manned by a slim black man wearing a white shirt under a black and white waistcoat with a matching bow tie. As she and Michael moved into the restaurant, the bartender pushed a CD into a player behind the bar and reggae music softly filled the room.

Faye turned her attention back to Michael who was exchanging loud greetings with a tall dark man in his early thirties striding towards them.

‘Faye, this is Trevor Royal,' Michael said, grinning at the other man. ‘He's the owner of the restaurant.'

Trevor smiled broadly at Faye, the gold tooth at the front of his mouth glinting in the muted lighting of the room. Faye shook his outstretched hand and, conscious of his expectant gaze, she cast her eyes around the restaurant
trying desperately to find something positive to say.

‘I've never seen anything like this place before,' she said truthfully.

Trevor's smile was now even wider and he stroked the small gold hoop earring in his left earlobe thoughtfully.

‘Yeah, we wanted something a bit different, you get me?' he said, gesturing broadly around the room. His voice was deep and his accent pure South London. He pointed to one of the paraffin lamps.

‘See those lamps there, yeah? That was my girlfriend Angie's idea – she's the chef. When they was growing up in Jamaica, that's what they used to keep in the house for when the power went off.' He burst into a huge roar of laughter, slapping Michael on the back until he joined in while Faye watched them both in bemusement. After a moment, Trevor abruptly stopped laughing. Placing a heavy hand on Michael's shoulder, he led them to a large table in the middle of the room.

‘All right then, Mr Reporter,' he said loudly. ‘Here's your table for tonight. Best one in the house – know what I mean?' He winked at Michael knowingly and burst into loud laughter again.

Trevor threw his arm around Faye's shoulders and shouted towards the bar.

‘'Ere, Phil, come and find out what Mr Reporter and his woman want to drink!'

Wincing at the sudden volume so close to her ear, Faye slid out from under Trevor's arm and pulled out a chair, having learned long ago that there was no point waiting for Michael to do any such thing. According to him, pulling
out chairs and holding doors open for women was an insult to their equal status with men.

Trevor walked over to the bar to prod Phil into action and Michael took a seat across the table from Faye. Frowning slightly, she looked across at him and whispered.

‘Should you have told him that you're a journalist?' She ignored the darkening expression on his face. ‘I mean, aren't you supposed to be undercover to see what their food and the service is
really
like?'

Whatever response he was going to make was cut off by Phil's arrival at their table. Waving a languid hand in the air and with a stubby pencil and small notebook at the ready, he smiled politely at them. Up close, he was even thinner than he had appeared half-hidden behind the bar counter and Faye stared enviously at the tiny span of his waist. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and strongly accented and with a pronounced lisp.

‘Welcome to Pigfoot Etcetera and a good evening to you. I'll be back to take your food order but what are you all drinking now?' He nodded in the direction of the bar. ‘We've got some
divine
rum from the islands.'

Frowning at Faye's involuntary shudder at the word rum, he tossed his head and added somewhat petulantly, ‘Or maybe I can fix you a nice fruit cocktail? I can recommend the Tropical Island Sunset. It's fresh pineapple juice with a touch of cherryade and just a hint of crushed mint?'

Anxious not to offend further, she nodded in agreement and absently fingered the waxy vinyl tablecloth while Michael ordered a glass of Jamaican rum that Phil assured him was ‘full-bodied, rich and honeyed on
the nose'. Although it was now well after eight o'clock, with the exception of the owner and bartender, she and Michael were still the only two people in the restaurant. Suppressing a sigh, she followed Michael's cue and picked up her menu, a small, laminated card stuck in a wooden stand next to the improbably blue flowers. The short list of dishes was almost without exception centred on the main ingredient of pigfoot.

‘Pigfoot Royal, Island-Style Pigfoot, Spicy Rice with Pigfoot, Pigfoot Supreme…' Faye read out the list with dismay. Towards the bottom of the card, in smaller print, was a short selection of non-pigfoot dishes and two types of dessert.

I suppose I should be grateful they don't have Pigfoot ice cream
, she thought morosely. She leaned across the table, keeping her voice low.

‘Michael, this place isn't exactly heaving with people. Don't you think it's a bit risky setting up a restaurant for only one type of food?'

He looked up from his menu. ‘Maybe you don't eat this kind of food in your cosy Hampstead world,' he said, his words laced with sarcasm, ‘but down here this is part of the culture.' He looked at his watch. ‘Anyway, it's still early; it probably gets busier later on.'

Chastened by his dismissive response, she subsided into her chair and went back to scrutinising the menu. She looked up as a cold shock of air wafted across the overheated room and cut straight through her flimsy blouse. Wesley stood in the doorway of the restaurant and was holding the front door wide to let Jiggy, Luther and a
petite girl with a mass of red gold curls through.

Jasmine, I presume
, Faye thought curiously. The girl slipped her coat off as soon as she walked in, revealing a short red skirt and a close-fitting white top.

‘Hey, guys! Over here!' Michael's voice sounded overly loud in the empty restaurant. Without waiting for them to reach the table, he rushed over to greet them, hugging the girl and kissing her warmly on the cheek before shaking hands with the men. As she watched the small group heading in her direction, Faye's stomach muscles tightened involuntarily in alarm.

Clearly relieved to see any paying customers, Trevor Royal also rushed over to greet the new arrivals and stopped them to shake hands before they could reach their table. His loud booming laugh reverberated around the room as he rubbed his hands together joyfully.

‘Welcome to our little piece of home, my brothers and my sister, right here in London town!'

Faye watched in disbelief as Michael moved swiftly to their table to pull out the chair next to his and help Jasmine into the seat. What the hell had happened to the “insulting the emancipated female” line, she thought furiously, glaring at her boyfriend who studiously refused to make eye contact with her.

Aware that the other new arrivals were eyeing her somewhat warily, Faye forced a smile and rose to her feet. She shook hands quickly with the three men, mumbling what she hoped sounded like a polite greeting.

‘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?