November, 2002
Stella looked at her shopping bags and groaned as the Number 98 bus sped by.
“No French,” warned Nadine, imploring Stella not to burst into a stream of expletives, as they continued on their way to their bus stop on Oxford Street.
“At this rate, we will miss our train back to Oxford,” Stella complained.
“It was your idea to trawl through all the racks in Topshop, and that was after insisting we go into every single shop on Oxford Street like some hapless tourists,” Nadine retorted.
“Was that before or after you got your … how many pairs of shoes is it you got?”
“We could not have found these shoes in Oxford. We already tried, remember?” Nadine attempted to defend herself.
“Yeah, yeah,” Stella replied, rolling her eyes.
“Whatever.”
“And then I want to check out a salon, I want to check out a salon,” Stella mimicked.
“I sound nothing like that!”
“Maybe not,” Stella admitted, “but that is my best impression of you.” There was a pause before she continued, “Anyway, someone promised they would take me to an African restaurant. Then that someone took me all the way to Old Kent Road.”
Nadine shook her head. “There isn’t any African restaurant on or near Oxford Street. You actually live in London; how you’ve never been to Old Kent Road before now …”
“There’s never been any reason for me to go there.”
“Well, now there is. And don’t start whining. You’ll get used to it.”
“To the place or to the spiciness?”
“Both,” Nadine replied, stifling laughter at the memory of Stella’s reaction after tasting jollof rice for the first time. Nadine had tasted it before allowing Stella to do so, and in her opinion, it wasn’t that spicy. But, barely had she swallowed a spoon of rice, than Stella began spluttering so badly that the possibility of her being allergic to the pepper or curry used, briefly crossed Nadine’s mind, terrifying both her and the restaurant-owner. Even in the absence of the hurdle of not being able to speak coherently due to coughing, Stella would not have been in a position to tell them if she was indeed allergic – she had never eaten anything with either ingredient before.
Stella, the first of two children – her brother, Ben, was two years younger – had not been joking when she informed Nadine that her taste buds and endurance levels hadn’t been thoroughly exercised by non-British cuisine. Even a visit to Nando’s, the Afro-Portuguese casual dining restaurant group, used to be a contest of wills until Nadine just couldn’t be bothered anymore. She just snorted in disbelief when she tasted their XX hot peri-peri sauce. It was widely touted as their hottest sauce, but how anyone could claim that it was the spiciest thing on their menu, was just beyond Nadine. Yet, it was a no-go area for Stella, who seemed genuinely incapable of ingesting anything hotter than their lemon and herb sauce, which was the least spicy and actually rather mild. With Indian food, they had fared slightly better – although Stella could be convinced to order a tikka masala with increasing regularity, this was the limit of her adventurousness as a jalfrezi was out of the question. Because jalfrezi sauce was really hot – as in spicy – it was supposed to be combined with cream to cool it down. Nadine’s ability to easily swallow her jalfrezi-covered rice without any cream, was a source of concern to Stella. But then, this was the same Stella who looked very pleased with herself whenever she got through a meal from Wagamama easily. Nadine didn’t have the heart to spoil it for her, by informing her that there had to be some dilution methods employed by the Chinese restaurant chain, as she doubted that that was how the original spicy version was supposed to taste. Thai food was a different story … one that Nadine did not like to repeat to herself.
So, Nadine’s relief, in the African restaurant on Old Kent Road, was absolute, when her friend did not stop breathing, keel over or do anything that necessitated the presence of an ambulance. Only then, did she feel that she was free to enjoy her own meal of pounded yam and egusi soup – although she did, from time to time, cast quick glances at Stella. Fortunately, Stella seemed to have gotten over her initial fear and was cautiously working her way through jollof rice, dodo, fried chicken and bottles of cold water.
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” Stella asked, guessing from the bemused expression on Nadine’s face, what she was remembering.
“Nope,” Nadine confirmed, still amused.
“Didn’t think so.”
“Unless …”
“Yes?” Stella inquired.
“Unless you eat something else and replace that memory with another.”
“You said it wasn’t that spicy!” Stella accused.
“It wasn’t!” Nadine argued.
“Humph! I felt like my tongue was in the process of coming off. Thought I was going to pass out.”
“Oh, you weren’t the only one.”
Stella glared at her.
“But you got there in the end. You did enjoy it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Stella grudgingly admitted.
“Baby steps.”
“Next, I’d like to have some of that sauce you had.”
“Soup.”
“If you want to call it that. With that sticky white thing.”
Nadine nodded. “Pounded yam.”
It was Stella’s turn to nod.
Stella looked at her watch and tapped her right foot impatiently.
“You know, we could actually take the tube. Instead of waiting to get on a bus, and then sitting in it while it crawls to the station?”
“But there are engineering works on the underground practically every weekend and some lines aren’t working.”
“It won’t hurt to check, though. Just in case.”
“Let’s go, then,” Stella replied, picking up her bags and mentally cursing herself that she had not thought of that earlier.
“Yes, leave me behind, why don’t you?”
“Sorry, I don’t want us to miss our train back.”
“Your parents actually live in this town. It’s not like we’d sleep on the streets if we missed our train!” Nadine stated, hurrying to keep up with Stella.
“If we miss our train and don’t get back to McMillan by 10pm …”
“Stella, it’s not even 6 o’clock yet. We’re in London, not … Newcastle. Oxford isn’t far. So, I think we’ll be OK getting back to McMillan before 10pm!”
“If we don’t get back on time, the college will call our parents. I don’t know about you, but I don’t really want to have to explain to my parents that I have been in London all day, today. If I wanted my parents to know that I was here, I would call them and let them know. Heck, I’d even go to the house!”
“OK … but I really want a hot chocolate, because I am freezing.”
“Fine! We’ll have to get it from one of the cafés in the station,” Stella replied, hurrying down some steps into the Oxford Circus tube station.
“Stella … what … wait!”
Nadine stopped just before she bumped into Stella, who had stopped walking quite abruptly. She was staring at a man who looked to be in his fifties and Nadine heard Stella curse silently, under her breath. The man had also stopped and was smiling at Stella. “Hello, Stella,” he said.
“Hello, Nigel,” she said to him, pasting a smile on her face with a speed that amazed Nadine.
“How are you?” he replied.
“I’m very well, thank you.”
“What are you doing in London? Shouldn’t you be in school?”
“I’m on an organised day out with some people from school.”
“Is that right?” he asked.
“Yes, cultural trip,” Stella said, seeing a mixed group of college-age children, some of whom were dressed in colourful, cultural clothes, enter the station. There were some stragglers, a distance away from the group.
“That seems to be your crew,” he said, indicating the group, “Don’t let me keep you. Enjoy your day.”
“You too, Nigel.”
As Nigel walked away, Nadine gaped at Stella. “Organised day out? Cultural trip?”
“Shhh!” Stella demanded, sharply.
Nadine waited until they had both ordered beverages from a café, before venturing again. “Who was that, Stella?”
“We don’t have time for this. We need to get going. What are you doing?” Stella asked in despair, as Nadine sat down at a table.
“Sit!” ordered Nadine. Stella complied and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “Stella!”
“What? I need to relax,” she replied breezily, as she lit up.
“Thought you said that stuff was disgusting!”
Stella shook her head. “No, that was what you said. Not my fault you couldn’t hack it.”
“Neither could you, or so it seemed at the time. I thought you agreed with me.”
“Yeah, but I tried it again a week ago and it didn’t seem so bad. It’s an acquired taste.” Stella turned away so she could blow smoke away from Nadine’s face.
“You don’t say,” Nadine replied sarcastically.
“And I do need to relax.”
“Put that thing out, before we get thrown out or arrested.”
“For what? It’s perfectly legal.”
Nadine glared at her and continued, “Who was that man?”
Stella sighed. “Nigel Bates. He’s a partner at the law firm where my mum works.”
“So?”
“So, he could tell my mum that he saw me.”
“Stella, it’s a Saturday. You can spend it however you like. It’s not like you’re breaking the law.”
Stella shook her head and finally stubbed out her cigarette. “If he tells my mum that he saw me, I could be shipped off to America, or worse, Switzerland.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“My mother is American, although my dad is British.”
“OK, so you’ve got dual nationality, so what?” Nadine wondered.
“Some years ago, I was at a different school where I was bullied.”
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Nadine sympathised, unsure where the conversation was going.
“Because of my accent. A bit of New York.”
Nadine smiled. “I noticed.”
“I’m not really sure why. My younger brother doesn’t have it. He has a proper British accent.”
Nadine wasn’t sure what ‘a proper British accent’ was supposed to mean. She used to think that meant Oxbridge or Eton, but where would that reasoning leave Mancunians – those from Manchester? Or Liverpudlians – those from Liverpool?
“My mum hasn’t lost her own accent, despite being here for decades,” continued Stella, “I think she revels in it. It’s the way she speaks at home, it’s the way she’s always spoken, so …”
Nadine nodded and Stella continued.
“I started acting out. Bunking off school, grades dropping, breaking curfew, got a tattoo, that kind of thing. My parents eventually pulled me out of that school. The school was very glad to see the back of me, I think they were wary of the negative publicity that was about to hit them. My dad wanted to sue. Not just the school as an organisation. He wanted the individual teachers and some other members of staff, who could have stopped the bullying, to feel his wrath. Then, he wanted the heads of the parents, on golden platters.”
“He wanted to sue the parents of those who bullied you?” Nadine wondered if she was hearing properly.
Stella smiled. “Yep.”
“On what grounds?”
“Erm, there was some talk about their being responsible for the production of feral creatures who would ultimately contribute to the breakdown of civilised society as we know it.”
“Are you serious?”
Stella nodded. “His exact words.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“Oh, I’m not done. He wanted to sue the bullies themselves.”
“Can you actually sue … children? Because that is actually what they were.”
“You’re the Law student, you tell me,” Stella shrugged.
“What did he do to the tattooist? Cos you were under-age and I didn’t think they were allowed to …”
Stella looked horrified. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Nadine raised an eyebrow.
“OK, OK, not exactly the hallmark of smartness to get a tattoo at the age of 14. But there are limits to stupid behaviour. You get past a certain stage and it’s no more youthful exuberance, cute, or having a laugh. It can’t even be excused as acting out because then, it becomes a death wish. I chose to go into that tattoo parlour. If I didn’t go in there, the tattooist wouldn’t have put a mark on me. Fair enough, I was under-age and the guy never asked for ID. He should have, but I didn’t think that was enough of a reason to get him in trouble with my dad. So, I never told him where I got it done.”
“If the guy is willing to mark people without asking for ID, you have to wonder what other regulations he’s breaching,” Nadine reasoned.
Stella shrugged. “He didn’t force me, I chose. He wasn’t waiting in my neighbourhood, I walked into his place. I know, I know, the law is there to protect the most vulnerable, and that includes those who are under-age. The law says we don’t have the capacity to choose and so it comes up with all these safeguards. But sometimes, the law can’t compete against a wilful teenager who’s hell-bent on … destruction of some sort. The law can’t protect them, even from themselves.”
“Fair enough,” Nadine replied. She appreciated Stella’s point of view; she just wasn’t sure she agreed.
“And I just felt it would cause too much aggro, if I told my dad. He’s OK, my dad, but that’s his answer to most things, sue. Not just threaten to sue. Actually sue. I haven’t figured out yet whether that’s just him as a person or as a lawyer, or if that comes from being married to an American … you know with their suing-happy culture.”
“I don’t think it’s fair to categorise all of them like that,” Nadine cautioned.
“Yeah well, it’s very embarrassing.”
“Even so, I don’t see what that has to do with your assumption that Mr Bates mentioning to your mum that he happened to see you today, would lead to your being sent off to America. And even if I pretended to understand the rationale behind you being relocated to America, I still think Switzerland is a bit dramatic.”
“I think the Switzerland thing was inspired by the tattoo. Well-bred ladies aren’t supposed to be inked. And finishing schools are supposed to turn out quintessential ladies. The threat of America was more the sword of Damocles in comparison to the Switzerland one, but I don’t really think they were joking about me going to finishing school.”
“OK,” Nadine replied, still sceptical of the logic.
The tattoo had already happened – not even all the finishing schools in the world could change that, surely?
“When the bullying thing happened,” Stella continued, “my dad wanted to sue and my mum wanted me to go to America. For good. Americans think British and mixed accents are cute. In my mum’s mind, that meant I would not be bullied in the States. My dad wasn’t receptive to the idea because he didn’t think that me living with my mother’s relatives in New York was a good idea, especially since he and my mum are alive and able to take care of me. There’s also the fact that they finish high school at 18 and here we’re typically done with GCSEs at 16. I just wanted to change schools, put it all behind me, not have my parents make an unnecessary fuss and uproot me. I worked on losing the accent, now there’s just little traces. Oh, I also threw the mother of all tantrums and refused to go to America.”
“Hmm,” Nadine said, wondering what her fate would have been if she had been in Stella’s shoes and refused to go somewhere that her mother wanted her to go. Her life would probably not be worth living.
Aloud she said, “You shouldn’t let anyone make you feel bad about who you are. You’re part-American. That’s nothing to be ashamed of. Those bullies were probably just jealous.”
“Hmm, my dad said the same thing. I already had an ally in him, so it wasn’t that difficult to convince him to let me stay in England … especially, since bullying isn’t something that only happens here. Despite my mum’s somewhat rose-coloured view. So, they enrolled me at Bella Ray to do my GCSEs, but this was on the condition that if I did even one thing to step out of line … America, or finishing school in Switzerland, here I come.”
“Wow!” Nadine breathed, looking at Stella. One could never tell what another had done or been through, just by looking at them. Then she continued, “But you’ve done pretty well. I mean, you’re doing your A-levels now. That shows progress.”
“Maybe. But I’ve been finding some classes, difficult. Economics. I was fine with it at AS-level, but now I’m just not sure. The teacher says it’s because I won’t apply myself. I got a C on our last class test and I don’t think that’s enough to get me into a good uni.”
“You still have enough time before your exams, for you to improve,” Nadine encouraged kindly, “I’m taking Economics, so I could even help you.”
“You’re not doing A-levels.”
“But it’s got to be the same thing. There’s no harm in trying.”
“I’m just hoping he won’t tell my mum.”
“Why should he? Like I said and I am reminding you, today is Saturday. You’re not playing truant.”
“Maybe not, but I’m supposed to be in Oxford, not traipsing around London. He wasn’t fooled by my ‘cultural trip’ story, didn’t buy it at all.”
Nadine smiled. “You think the shopping bags gave you away?”
“Even without that, he would have known. We didn’t look like we were part of that group. Look at the clothes we’re wearing. I know, I know, why did I use that story? It was the first thing that came to me. I didn’t even realise until I had said the words and by then …”
“It was too late,” Nadine completed.
“And he’s a lawyer. They’re trained to detect lies. He was giving me that look they seem to reserve for criminals on television.”
Nadine laughed. “That’s just your imagination. I was standing directly behind you, Stella. He looked completely normal to me.”
“You think?” Stella asked, hopefully.
“I know. You’re reading too much into things.”
“Maybe, you’re right. Maybe, I am just being paranoid.”
Nadine nodded. “I don’t think he’ll tell your mum. If anything, he’ll probably have forgotten by the time he’s left this station. If he’s a partner of a big law firm, then he’s a busy man. He won’t remember, maybe not until he sees you again,” Nadine said, confidently.
“If you say so. Now let’s get going.”