Read Online From Pasta to Pigfoot by Frances Mensah Williams - Free Book Online Page A

mimic the strong lilt of Wesley’s accent.
    She sucked her teeth in complete exasperation with a loud and authentically ethnic ‘tchhh’, and stood up, smoothing back her hair.
    â€˜Anyway, I still think he was rude,’ she said huffily. ‘Imean, what the hell am I supposed to do, for goodness sake. Just get up and go to Ghana?’
    Once again, Lottie’s reply was unexpected.
    â€˜Well, why not?’

3
    Working Cultures
    Faye stared moodily out of her office window at the grey October weather. It had been raining for three days in a row and, with no word from Michael since Saturday evening, she was getting steadily more depressed. She had tried his mobile a hundred times and was ready to scream if she heard his voicemail message again.
    Knowing Michael’s talent for sulking, she was convinced that he was deliberately refusing to take her calls, making her even more frantic in her attempts to get through to him. Surreptitiously checking to see if her boss, the junior Mr Fiske, was anywhere around, she pressed the redial button on her office phone. Once again, after the sixth ring, it went to his voicemail. Deciding against leaving yet another message, she hung up the phone and turned back with a sigh to the legal agreement she was supposed to have prepared for her boss’s meeting that morning.
    Resisting the impulse to check Facebook, both to relieve her boredom and to see if she could find any clues about what Michael was up to, she forced herself tocontinue with her work. She had just finished the last page and saved the document when her mobile buzzed. Praying it was Michael she grabbed the phone, fighting back her intense disappointment when Caroline’s name flashed up.
    â€˜Faye?’
    Swallowing hard, Faye forced herself to try and sound normal. ‘Hi, Caroline. How are you?’
    Her best friend knew her too well to be taken in by the perky sales tone.
    â€˜Well, I’m fine, but you certainly don’t sound it,’ she replied bluntly. ‘Have you still not heard from him?’
    Faye gave up any pretence at indifference and dropping the cheery tone, she let her voice sink in misery.
    â€˜No. I’ve tried his phone a million times and he’s not answering. I know he can be a bit sulky, but it’s been four days now!’ She tapped moodily on her keyboard and resisted the urge to bite her nails, a childhood habit she had broken until she met Michael.
    Caroline, whose opinion of Faye’s boyfriend was far closer to Lottie’s point of view than to Faye’s, swallowed her misgivings and concentrated on trying to soothe her distraught friend.
    â€˜Don’t worry, he’ll call soon,’ she said gently. ‘He’s probably just trying to make you feel really bad before he decides to forgive you.’
    She changed the subject quickly before Faye could make any further comment. ‘Anyway, the reason I called is that Dermot’s band is playing again tonight at that Irish pub in Kilburn and Marcus and I have promised to go and watch them. Why don’t you come with us and forget aboutMichael for a few hours?’
    Despite her misery, Faye couldn’t help but smile. Caroline’s nineteen-year-old brother had a huge crush on Faye and could always be counted on to boost her spirits when she felt low. Sabotaging his father’s dream for him to go to university and become a lawyer, Dermot had instead formed a rock band with three Irish boys he had met in a pub after leaving his expensive public school the year before. To his father’s disbelief and intense annoyance, the group – Guns in Clover – had found almost instant success on the small club circuit and were being snapped up to play by club owners around the country. Although his mop of mad, curly red hair made Dermot look more like a comedian than a musician, his cheeky smile and undeniable talent made him an irresistible front man. The band’s