The African Chorus held their collective breath as he finished speaking and all eyes in the room were trained on Frieda. For a moment she could only giggle nervously before finding her voice and saying ‘Yes’ very softly. The Chorus was up and running again in full unrestrained voice.
After peace was restored, the okyeame consulted with Frieda’s parents and stood up again, this time with a smile on his face. He explained that, in all fairness, they could not let their daughter go without seeing the man who had become her husband. After offering some half-hearted objections, a section of the Chorus filed out of the house, chattering happily. Shortly afterwards, their voices raised again in song, they marched back in. This time they were accompanied by a tall, solidly built man wearing glasses and dressed in a white boubou.
‘That’s Ken, Frieda’s boyfriend,’ Amma said above the din.‘You mean her husband.’ Her mother corrected her with a smile.
Ken was guided over to the centre of the negotiation forum and stood next to Frieda. The Ansah’s okyeame cleared his throat again and then launched into a speech about the importance of what had just taken place. After offering them detailed and unsolicited advice on how to deal with the storms of married life, he advised them to remember that their families were always there to help them and that they should never hesitate to seek their advice if it were needed.
‘Frieda’s mother would just send her right back to Ken if she ever came back home to complain about him,’ Amma whispered tartly, unimpressed with the reconciliation option on offer.
Mr Ansah gave a short speech of thanks and immediately afterwards crates of chilled drinks were brought in and the refreshments served. Hand in hand and with broad smiles that held more than a tinge of relief that the formalities were over, the happy couple went around the room greeting their guests. When they reached the Asantes, Auntie Amelia hugged them both and wished them a long and happy marriage. Uncle Fred pumped Ken’s hand furiously and with a knowing wink, congratulated him on joining the club.
After kissing both Frieda and Ken warmly, Amma introduced them to Faye, who shook hands and congratulated them on their marriage.
Frieda smiled her thanks before turning to Amma. ‘So when are you and Edwin going to take the plunge?’ she teased. ‘You should have brought him along with you.’
‘I don’t want to terrify him even more than he is already. By the way, Rocky sends his congratulations. He’s sorry he couldn’t come today, but—’
Frieda saved Amma from perjuring herself any further.
‘But, knowing Rocky, he’s probably at the office!’ she laughed. She looked across the room, distracted by the sight of her mother vigorously waving at her to come and greet another relative. Pulling on Ken’s hand, Frieda nodded towards her excited parent and sighed in resignation.
‘Ken, we’d better go and say hello before Mama knocks herself out with all that waving!’ Making their excuses, the couple moved off in Mrs Ansah’s direction.
About an hour later, Auntie Amelia came over to find them chatting with a group of Amma’s friends. ‘Ladies, we need to leave now,’ she said apologetically. ‘Please say your goodbyes to the family. Your father—’ She broke off as she glanced across the room in search of her husband. Biting her lip to hide a smile, she hastened across the hall to rescue him from the attentions of an elderly lady who was obviously quite hard of hearing. He made his excuses with undisguised relief and led the way as they walked down the road to their car.
Faye admired the pretty matchbox and bookmarker she had been given as a souvenir of the day. Ken and Frieda’s names were engraved on the lid of the matchbox along with the date of their engagement ceremony.
‘I’ll have to show these to William and the others when I get back. I really enjoyed that ceremony, even if it was a bit over the top at times.’
Auntie Amelia smiled in agreement. ‘Faye, I hope you have an engagement ceremony like this when you have chosen your future husband. It’s something to remember forever.’
Trying to suppress the picture of a pair of caramel-coloured eyes that suddenly popped into her mind, Faye answered softly, ‘I hope so, too.’
13
Cultural Recreation
Martha knocked twice on Faye’s door before going in to deposit the dress she had been cajoled into ironing for her. Faye was singing loudly in the shower, unaware of her audience. Chuckling at the tuneless sounds emerging from the bathroom, Martha returned to the sanctuary of her kitchen.
Ten minutes later, wafting a cloud of Miss Dior shower gel in her wake, Faye padded into the bedroom, her towel wrapped securely around her slim body. She stopped short as she spotted the expertly ironed dress laid out on the bed and silently blessed Martha. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stroked lavish amounts of the expensive perfumed cream she had brought from London all over her body, pausing to admire her beautifully manicured nails.
Earlier that afternoon, after Faye had asked to borrow some shampoo, Amma had dragged her protesting to the local hairdressers, insisting that no one washed their own hair in Ghana. Faye, still smarting from Sharice of Streatham’s sadistic experiments on her hair, had been pleasantly surprised by the hairdresser, who skilfully trimmed and styled her hair, leaving it looking full and glossy.
While at the salon, Amma had further insisted that she treated herself to a manicure and pedicure and her feet now felt as smooth as silk.
With the air conditioner on at full blast, Faye sat down to apply her make-up. Slapping on layers of mascara to build up her long but fine eyelashes, she was forced to admit that her hectic social life in Ghana was a million miles away from the monotonous routine she had allowed her life in London to become. Because she had always wanted to please Michael, or at least avoid his epic sulks, she had missed out on films, shows and even parties that he had considered culturally bankrupt. Every year, she had listened wistfully to Caroline’s descriptions of her fabulous holidays with Marcus and scrolled through hundreds of photographs of William and Lucinda riding on the backs of camels in Egypt or skiing down the slopes of Aspen. Michael’s usual response to the suggestion of a holiday together was she needed to work on eliminating her desire to buy into the neo-colonialist economic trap being set by greedy travel agents and tour operators. Now, she realised, with Michael out of her life, it was time for a different view of life and to take responsibility for her own happiness.
She outlined her lips with a dark-ruby pencil before carefully applying the matching glossy lipstick. From an angled side parting, her hair fell in a glossy curtain down the side of her face, just reaching her shoulders. She gave it a last flick with the hairbrush, impressed by its new fullness and shine.
She slipped slowly into the silky black dress Martha had ironed, easing it up over her bottom before sliding her arms through the thin straps. From the v-shaped ruched neckline cut low in the front down to the silver-edged hem, which rested a few inches above her knees, the soft fabric clung seductively to her slim shape. She wriggled her newly manicured feet into the silver sandals and stood, striking a pose like the supermodel Uncle Fred insisted she was.
Engrossed in admiring her reflection, she jumped at the loud knock at her door as in walked Amma. She took one look at Faye and her eyes widened in shock.
‘Oh. My. God!’ She enunciated each word slowly and clearly, her tone ominous. ‘You are in big trouble tonight, my friend – you look seriously sexy. I’ll have to put Edwin on guard duty, assuming I can trust him to keep his own hands off. You look amazing in that dress!’
Faye laughed and twirled in front of the mirror. ‘It is pretty wicked, isn’t it? It certainly cost me enough! I’m surprised Martha was able to bring herself to iron it – she probably had to cross herself every time she put the iron down.’
She stopped pirouetting and looked at Amma in admiration. ‘I don’t think you need to worry about Edwin tonight – have you looked in a mirror? You look gorgeous! You have such nice legs; you should wear shorter skirts more often.’
Amma looked pleased although she tugged gently at the hem of the ruby-red skirt she was wearing. She had teamed it with an almost-transparent chiffon shirt in a matching red over a deep ruby bustier. A chunky statement necklace served to emphasise her generous cleavage. She had twisted her braids up into an elaborate chignon and finished her outfit off with a pair of pale-gold stilettos.
She glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows. ‘Come on, supermodel. It’s almost ten; we’d better get going.’
Faye sprayed one last burst of perfume, then picked up her silver bag and turned off the air conditioner and the lights on her way out. Rocky had left the house much earlier, having promised to help Stuart set up at the house for the party.
As she carefully manoeuvred her way down the stairs in her spiky heels, she heard voices from the living room and walked in to see Auntie Amelia standing with her hands on her hips gazing open-mouthed at her daughter. She turned and blinked in shock when she saw Faye.
‘Well, all I can say is thank goodness Rocky and Edwin will be at the party! The two of you are going to be in need of protection wearing those outfits.’
She took a quick look around the hallway and returned hastily. ‘Amma, if you want to get out of here alive, you had better go now, before your father comes downstairs!’
Taking the hint, Amma and Faye said goodnight and left the older woman to return to the film she had been watching. Martha had gone off to bed, which was probably for the best if Auntie Amelia’s reaction was anything to go by, Faye thought.
Once in the car, Amma slipped off her heels, preferring to drive barefoot, and set off in the direction of Stuart’s house, which, she explained, was in an area close to Labone known as East Cantonments. Stuart had been posted to Ghana six years earlier and had systematically turned down any job promotions that would have meant he had to leave, she laughed. As a fun-loving bachelor in Accra, Stuart had a frenetic social life and had developed an insatiable passion for Ghanaian women.
A few minutes later, Amma slowed in front of a house from which they could hear loud music blaring. The long line of cars parked on the roadside, including more than a few luxury models and convertibles, indicated that a very lively party was in full swing.
Amma found a parking space quite a way down from the house and they walked slowly back up the street, treading warily on the rough tarmac in their delicately heeled sandals. A security guard ushered them through the front gate to Stuart’s house and, as they walked up the gravel path, Faye looked around the grounds in amazement. Party lights had been strung through the trees that lined the driveway and multicoloured lights twinkled across the front of the house – a sprawling two-storey structure with a Swiss chalet style façade. White plastic tables and chairs, tilting slightly on the springy grass, were dotted around the lawn. Under an awning, a long table covered in a white linen cloth and loaded with piles of plates and gleaming silver cutlery had been set up to the side of the garden and two huge pigs on metal spits rotated slowly over a flaming charcoal pit.
The music grew louder as they approached the open front door and walked in. People were crammed into a large hall and living room that had been almost completely emptied of furniture. Most of the crowd, a cosmopolitan mix of Africans, Europeans and Asians, were gyrating wildly, and not always in rhythm, to the pulsating music blaring from huge speakers. The few guests trying to carry on a conversation shrieked at each other, their faces barely inches apart.
Amma seized Faye’s hand and pointed in the direction of the bar – an extended dining table covered with a huge array of drinks. On the floor next to the table were several huge plastic containers filled with blocks of ice competing for space with fizzy drinks and beer bottles. Pushing their way through the mass of people, the girls headed for the bar. The waiter deftly pulled a bottle of white wine out of one of the iceboxes and poured the chilled contents into two huge wine glasses. He handed over their drinks and turned his attention to a tall red-faced man wearing a tartan kilt.
A frantic tug on her sleeve made Amma spin round and almost spill her wine onto Baaba. Her friend was wearing a short hot-pink Lycra dress with a matching lipstick, and new glossy hair extensions reached down her back. Baaba hugged Amma in relief and then stepped back quickly, eyeing the full wine glass warily.
‘You’re late!’ she shrieked above the din. ‘I’ve been trying to call you – didn’t you see my missed calls?’ She nodded at Faye and smiled before turning back to Amma.
‘We’re all out there,’ she mouthed, pointing towards the veranda. Shielding their drinks from the exuberant movers on the dance floor, they followed Baaba out to the terrace. As Baaba led the way, her hips tightly wrapped in the pink dress, Faye stared in amazement at the size of the curves confidently swaying a path through the crowd.
A cool breeze was blowing through the veranda as they stepped outside. Edwin sat on the veranda wall, a small bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. As soon as he spotted Faye, JB jumped down from the wall where he had also been perched. He wore a black shirt and dark trousers and his gold tooth was very much in evidence as he grinned widely at his newfound prey.
‘Hey, girl! How ya doing?’ He swaggered up to her and delivered his trademark greeting with gusto. A small gold mask dangled from his heavy gold neck chain and his open shirt revealed a skinny, hairless chest.
Faye smiled in greeting and moved over quickly to hug Edwin who gave an appreciative whistle when he saw them. With his arm draped possessively around Amma, Edwin stared in admiration at Faye, who struck an exaggerated pose that showed off her long legs to perfection.
‘You look gorgeous,’ said a husky voice behind her and she whirled around, almost falling into Sonny’s arms. A leather waistcoat over his bare chest showed off his muscular physique, as did the tight denims he was wearing. Faye stepped back and almost bumped into JB who was hurrying towards her in a bid to head Sonny off from his prospective pitch.
‘Hey, Faye, you wanna dance?’ JB asked in his grating high-pitched voice, scowling at Sonny who had calmly put an arm across Faye’s shoulders.
‘No, she doesn’t, bro. She’s quite comfortable here.’ Sonny interjected before Faye could speak. Ignoring the venomous glare his friend shot at him, Sonny gently pulled Faye back against his chest.
Baaba had been watching them through narrowed eyes and she smiled wickedly. ‘Now, now, boys, let’s keep it friendly, shall we? Well, Faye, it looks like you are, quite literally, spoken for these days, eh?’ Giggling in great amusement at her own joke, she reached behind Edwin for her drink, a tall glass filled with a sparkling red concoction. Raising it high, she said loudly, ‘Here’s to all of us. May we all get what we are looking for tonight!’
‘Now, there’s a toast I can agree with!’ Rocky walked towards them looking relaxed and handsome in a white linen shirt and black trousers. His gaze travelled over the group and his eyebrows rose briefly at his sister’s almost transparent shirt before coming to rest on Faye, who was trying to wriggle out of the unwanted shelter of Sonny’s arm.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes. She gazed back wordlessly, her heart thumping even louder than the music blaring out over the speakers. For a moment everyone stood frozen, caught up in the electricity between them. Baaba watched them and her heavily lined eyes narrowed almost to a slit, while JB looked on helplessly and Sonny’s expression darkened in anger.
The tableau moved back into play as a tall rangy man with curly brown hair came out onto the veranda and walked towards them, clutching a large bottle of beer in one hand.
‘Why aren’t you all dancing?’ He spoke with a broad accent straight from Liverpool and emphasised his question by wiggling his straight hips in what he imagined was a sexy move. ‘Come on, Rock, let’s show them how it’s done!’
Rocky laughed and introduced Stuart, his boss and the host of the party. His palms moist from clutching his drink, Stuart shook hands with each of them and his jaw dropped as Baaba
turned around to put down her glass before turning back to shake his hand.
‘Okay now,’ he said, ‘we’ll be serving food outside in a short while, so just drink all you want and dance, dance, dance!’ He gave another wiggle of his hips and extended a hand of invitation towards Baaba, who took it without a second’s hesitation and swayed off into the room where she could soon be seen bobbing up and down in the crowd of dancers.
Rocky reached for Faye’s hand and tugged her gently towards him. She almost fell against his chest and looked up at him, her heart racing.
‘Let’s dance,’ he said softly. She nodded and moved off with him, oblivious to the sulky expression on Sonny’s face and JB’s obvious frustration.
Rocky pushed his way through the crowd and turned to face her. Suddenly the frenetic music stopped and a soft ballad wafted through the speakers.
‘Oh!’ was all Faye could say as Rocky smoothly pulled her against his hard chest, encircling her waist with one arm. Praying her make-up wouldn’t rub off onto his white shirt, she tried to lean in and move along with him.
‘Relax, I won’t bite’, he murmured, causing her to promptly tense up even more. Pulling back slightly, he looked down at her in the semi-darkness and raised an eyebrow enquiringly.
‘Or would you prefer to go back to Sonny?’ For the first time she detected a slight hint of anxiety in Rocky’s usually impenetrable features. Suddenly relaxing, Faye shook her head and smiled.
‘No, let’s dance.’ She moved back into his arms and rested her head against his chest, oblivious to anything going on around her.
From Pasta to Pigfoot Page 25