Growing Yams in London (19 page)

‘What about you, Laura?’ Jordan asked.

‘Yeah, you’re so busy asking all the questions, spill!’ Stephen said accusingly.

My phone beeped.

Nick: I hate shopping it’s a nightmare!

I was too distracted to reply.

‘Easy, last summer, Greece, sunrise, with a local . . .’

‘A holiday romance?’ Stephen said mockingly.

‘He was a local DJ and twenty . . .’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Stephen said. ‘Why would a twenty-year-old go out with a fourteen-year-old?’

‘Whatever!’ Laura replied, flicking her hair.

‘I have to go,’ I said.

‘Really?’ Stephen said, clearly disappointed.

I wished Nelson felt that way, but for some reason he seemed more preoccupied with showing Jordan a text message.

‘Yeah, I forgot to pick up my mum’s dry cleaning and they close at six-thirty,’ I lied.

‘Oh right, well, see you around,’ Stephen said, smiling.

‘Yeah, later Makeeda,’ said Jordan.

Jordan dug Nelson in the ribs before he looked up from his phone.

‘Oh right, bye!’ Nelson said.

I saw Stephen and Jordan give Nelson a puzzled look, whilst Laura just kept looking from him to me.

‘You’re going?’ Mel asked. She’d only just finished her phone call and once again had missed everything. ‘You OK?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ I lied.

‘OK, I’ll call you later, or something,’ she said, hugging me.

I tried desperately not to cry.

‘Bye!’ I said, hastily grabbing my coat and bag. The distance to the café doors felt over a mile long. I knew it would be too obvious if I started running out, so I tried to
keep my feet moving at a moderate pace until the door closed behind me. Then I ran. By then, the tears had started and didn’t want to stop.

‘Makeeda, Makeeda?’ Nick said, grabbing my shoulders.

I turned around to see him carrying several bags of shopping including a bright red and green tube of wrapping paper.

‘I’ve been yelling for ages! What’s wrong?’ he said, on noticing my tears.

I told him everything and he made the same face he had when he took on José Santos.

‘No, Nick. I don’t need you to sort him out!’

‘I wasn’t going to. You’re old enough to do this one on your own,’ Nick said.

I actually wasn’t expecting that from him. In fact, that was the shortest lecture he had ever given me.

‘Whatever,’ I said, attempting to sound indifferent.

‘He’s messing you around, Makeeda, and I can’t work out why you’re allowing him to get away with it,’ Nick said.

‘I’m not!’ I said defensively.

‘Really? Well, it’s up to you but, if you can make a big deal out of doing that essay on Yaa Asantewaa, then I can’t see why you can’t make your boyfriend be straight
with you.’

He had a point, as usual.

‘You’re not exactly making me feel better,’ I said.

‘No, but you can have this,’ he said, giving me half of his chocolate bar.

‘Oh thanks,’ I said sarcastically, and he immediately withdrew it from my hand. ‘I’m kidding,’ I added.

‘Better be,’ he replied, handing it back.

‘Listen, I’ve still got to find something for my gran or I’d sit here with you.’

‘No you wouldn’t, you’d say you had a ton of revision to do and disappear!’

‘OK, I wouldn’t, but I’d consider it, because that’s what family does. Considers stuff,’ he said, smiling.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Oh yeah!’ Nick said, pulling my hair. ‘You’ve got to sort out this apocalyptic feud you have with Bharti – it’s getting pretty pathetic.’

‘Ouch!’ I said.

‘You deserved that one. It is definitely girly stuff and this time I’m staying well clear of it!’

‘I didn’t ask you to . . .’

‘I know, and I’m not offering again,’ he said, standing up and adjusting his bags. ‘See ya around, cuz,’ he added, before disappearing into the growing mass of
commuters and late night Christmas shoppers.

I caught my bus home and really thought about what he’d said. I didn’t understand why Nelson was being so mean to me, but I knew I’d had enough of it. There was no way I was
going to let him get away with treating me like that. Nick was right. I’d faced Mum and Mrs Hipman, so why couldn’t I face Nelson? Was I that afraid of us splitting up?

It was two days into the Christmas holidays and I had successfully crammed all my Christmas shopping into the space of three hours, under one roof: Brent Cross Shopping Centre.
I walked into the house to the sound of raised voices and saw Mum chasing Delphina upstairs.

‘What’s going on, Dad?’

‘Your sister got caught selling sweets at school,’ he said, heading into the kitchen.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, she managed to undercut the tuck shop and take away their business.’

I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

‘Makeeda, this isn’t funny. If she gets suspended, it could damage her high school chances. We only found out today because they sent us a letter,’ Dad said, smirking.

‘Come on, Dad, you’re proud of her, aren’t you?’

‘Makeeda, what she did was wrong and that’s all there is to it. However, her profits nearly doubled and she even managed to include healthy alternatives,’ Dad said.

‘Wow! I’m impressed,’ I told him.

No one was sure how Delphina had acquired her business acumen, but it worked. Earlier this year she told Dad he could make money teaching people basic car maintenance as well as servicing their
cars. Dad tried it out for a month and it’s become a steady earner.

‘She said she built it up from a bag of lollipops. Do you know anything about it?’

My face dropped. Ohmigod, if Delphy implicated me, Mum and Dad wouldn’t let me see daylight. I was going to kill her. No wonder she had more money for Mum and Dad’s presents this
year.

‘Lollipops? No,’ I said, reaching for an apple. If there was food in my mouth, I was less likely to incriminate myself.

‘Haven’t you got that meeting today?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, gulping down a huge piece of apple. ‘I’ll leave just after I’ve hidden my presents,’ I said.

‘So what is it this year – Arsenal away kit, maybe?’

‘Dad!’

‘What? It was a simple question? . . .’

‘You don’t give us enough pocket money for that!’ I added.

‘Cheeky!’ Dad said, smiling. ‘Mum and I won’t be in later, so you need to come home and look after your sister as soon as you’ve finished at school.’

‘OK,’ I replied.

‘Makeeda, you can have anyone round except Nelson, as we won’t be in.’

‘Yeah, OK.’

Considering I hadn’t spoken to him in nearly a week, that rule was easy to follow.

I rushed upstairs and hid all the presents and then caught the bus to school.

It was really weird walking through my school during the holidays. The caretaker let me in and told me to go to the history department. I walked along the empty corridors and kept expecting to
hear the loudness of a bunch of girls screaming with laughter or rushing to their next class, but it never happened. It felt eerie.

The first thing Mrs Hipman did was tell me again how disappointed she was that I’d disobeyed her. I knew then that I’d failed the assignment. It wasn’t until she shoved my
essay in front of me that I tuned into her. I stared at the grade and then looked up to see her grinning back at me.

‘Ohmigod, I got an A?’ I said, shocked.

‘Makeeda, I’m so proud of you!’

‘I got an A?’

‘Yes, Makeeda, and if you work hard towards your exams you could achieve an A* at GCSE.’

‘I got an A!’ I said, smiling. ‘No offence, but they’re like gold dust in your class, Miss!’

She laughed.

It was true. Bharti and I once calculated that Mrs Hipman gave out about eight grade As per academic year!

‘Yes, Makeeda. Like I always say, it only takes hard work and commitment and you’ve shown that. I didn’t want you to write this essay, because I believed that it would be too
difficult to get the resources and that kind of patience normally comes with age. What you’ve written, however, is a thought-provoking essay that you’ve managed to relate to the use of
traditions by modern-day Ghanaians. I don’t think you realise what you’ve achieved here, do you?’

‘Well . . .’

I actually liked Mrs Hipman even though she was strict. She was different to some of the other teachers; she really believed that everyone could achieve anything they wanted. Bharti and I used
to say it was a shame she brought hard work into the equation, but no teacher was perfect.

‘Makeeda, this essay crosses into sociology. It was a fascinating read!’

‘Um, thanks, Miss,’ I said, interrupting her.

Thank God I wrote that last paragraph, about the legacy of tradition and identity that Yaa Asantewaa had instilled in modern-day Ghanaians through protecting the Golden Stool. I knew I had
Nana-Amma to thank for that.

‘Did you enjoy writing it?’

‘Yes, Miss,’ I said. ‘It was difficult in places, but I was glad I was able to write it.’

‘Well, on this occasion I’m glad you completely ignored me, but don’t do it again.’

‘No promises, Miss!’ I said, giving her a grin.

‘Makeeda!’ she said, laughing. ‘Wish your family a Merry Christmas from me.’

‘I will. Thanks again!’ I said as I ran out of the school.

An A? I was still in shock. I decided to send a few text messages, to everyone but Bharti and Nelson.

Mel knew me well.

As I sat on the bus home, my mind kept drifting between Nelson and Bharti. I missed Bharti and felt angry at Nelson. He didn’t seem bothered by anything that had happened.
Maybe I was right. Maybe he was just working his way up to dumping me.

That was weird. Mel knew the way to my house. As I headed back to the bus stop, I saw an old woman sitting down next to a girl wrapped up in a purple coat and black boots; she
couldn’t see me, as her hair covered the book she was reading. It was Bharti. I could tell by the way she shoved her face right into the spine of the book. Then, suddenly, she looked up and
saw me. I froze on the spot.

‘Excuse me, love,’ the old woman said prodding me with her walking stick. ‘You’re blocking my view! I can’t see if the bus is coming if you stand there!’

‘Oh, sorry,’ I said.

I looked over at Bharti, who was laughing, but as we weren’t talking it was awkward. I mean, was she laughing at me in a spiteful way? Or laughing at me in a friendly way?

I moved to stand in front of her.

‘Have you seen Mel?’ I asked neutrally.

‘No, I’m waiting for her too,’ she replied. She picked up her book and began reading again.

Great! She obviously still hates me, I thought.

Bharti’s phone beeped, then so did mine.

‘Ohmigod, I’m going to kill her!’ Bharti and I screamed simultaneously.

The old woman narrowed her eyes and gave us a wary look. With one hand she clutched her bag to her chest, whilst the other took a firm grip on her walking stick.

Bharti and I exchanged looks, then laughed. I sat down beside her away from the old woman.

‘I love your coat,’ I said.

‘Thanks, it’s a present from Tejas.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, he reckons I should dress more like a lady. Hitesh’s girlfriend helped him pick it out.’

‘Oh right,’ I said. ‘You know you look really different.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Definitely. You’ve got a different vibe to you now.’

‘Well . . . I’m eating properly and I’ve been getting more toned since I started doing those street dance classes at the gym.’

‘Wow! That’s really good,’ I said, impressed.

‘It’s better than all those rubbish diets I was doing and I feel different too,’ said Bharti.

‘Good,’ I said, smiling.

‘Yeah, and I’m over Hitesh. His girlfriend is really nice but, from what she told me, he’s a bit of a nightmare.’

‘How?’

‘He forgets important stuff like birthdays.’

‘Oh,’ I said.

If there was one thing that bugged Bharti, it was people who forgot birthdays. For her there was never a decent excuse.

‘Exactly,’ she said.

An awkward silence blanketed us. I didn’t want Bharti to stop speaking to me; it felt like old times with her talking about Hitesh, and it made me realise how much I’d missed her. I
kept thinking of things to say, when the old lady used her walking stick to move another commuter out of her way.