Shayla loved the way tamarind balls filled your mouth with sweetness and sourness at the same time. The brown, sugary sweets were definitely one of her favourites.
“Do you have tamarind balls in England?” she asked.
“Yes,” Michael said. “In London you can get anything. Our market sells sweets from Trinidad and India and Nigeria… Everywhere!”
“Well,” Shayla said. “I’m sure the tamarind balls in London aren’t nearly as tasty as Granny’s.”
Granny let Michael split open the brown tamarind pods and scrape the pulp into a bowl. That was usually Shayla’s job. She stood by the fridge watching him.
“I bet people from London can’t eat tamarinds as they are,” she said.
“Shayla…” Granny warned.
But Michael spooned up some pulp and shoved it into his mouth. His eyes widened as the sourness pinched his tongue.
Shayla grinned. “Can you hold it in there for a minute?”
Shayla looked at the clock.
“Time’s up! Now how about some ginger beer to wash it down?”
“Don’t make mischief, Shayla,” Granny said. “That will be too spicy for Michael.”
But her grandson was already at the fridge door. He found the jug of ginger beer, poured a glass and took a massive gulp.
“Aaagh!” Michael snorted and his eyes watered.
Shayla went over and poured a glass for herself. She sipped and closed her eyes in enjoyment.
“I bet ginger beer’s not this hot in London.”
Michael glared at her.
“Of course it is! And I can eat much hotter things than that! Granny, what’s the spiciest thing in your fridge?”
“Granny’s hot, hot, hot pepper sauce,” Shayla replied. “Even my uncles only have a tiny bit of that.”
Michael rummaged in the fridge. He held up a jar of fiery red-and-yellow mush.
“I think you should leave that alone,” Granny said firmly.
But Michael wrenched off the lid and plunged his finger into the sauce. Shayla sneezed as the hot pepper fumes wafted up her nose. Michael breathed in and stuck his finger in his mouth.
Silence.
Shock.
A hundred soldier ants were biting his tongue.
It was the hottest thing in the whole world and it was stuck to the inside of Michael’s mouth.
Michael gasped. His eyes streamed. His nose dripped. His throat opened and closed and a strange gargling sound came out.
“Ice,” Granny ordered. “Quick!”
Shayla ran down to the freezer under the house, tripping over the old bike in her hurry. She grabbed a handful of ice cubes and rushed back to Michael. He sucked one slowly.
“My!” Granny looked at Michael with amusement. “You’re a bold one.”
“Your turn,” Michael said, offering the jar to Shayla.
But Shayla shook her head.
“In Trinidad, we are much more sensible.”
It was late afternoon. Granny had given Michael two bowls of homemade ice cream to help take away the taste of the pepper. Now she was showing him around the back yard. Shayla trailed behind.
“That’s cocoa.” Granny pointed to a small tree with big, orangey pods hanging from its trunk and branches. “You can see sugar cane at the back. That cashew is new since you were last here. And over there? That’s stinking toe.” She showed him a big tree with fat, brown, knobbly pods. It looked like a small giant was dangling his feet through the branches.
“What’s the stinking bit about?” Michael asked.
“When the fruit’s ripe…” Granny held her nose. “Imagine the stinkiest sneakers left out in the rain overnight.”
“Yuk,” said Shayla and Michael together.
“And this…” Granny stood by a tall, thick-trunked tree. “Is our lime. It takes up so much space, we want to cut it down, but Shayla won’t let us.”
“It’s my climbing tree,” Shayla said. “London doesn’t have any trees, does it? Only high buildings and cars.”
“Of course there are trees in London,” Michael said. “And I bet I can climb higher than you.”
“Go on, then!”
“Oh, you children!” Granny shrugged and went back inside.
Michael grasped the trunk and found his first foothold. He heaved himself up and pulled himself onto the lower branches. Then higher and higher. He poked his head through the top leaves and waved.
“Your turn,” Michael said, scrambling down.
No problem. Shayla gripped the trunk and pulled herself up. This was her tree. She knew every branch. Every twig. She had done this hundreds of times. Nothing was going to stop her showing Michael how…
A fat, black-and-yellow striped body. Orange, spotty feet. A bright-red head.
It was crawling towards her.
Just a caterpillar. Harmless. But…
“Aaaagghhhhhh!”
Shayla came down much quicker than she’d gone up, crashing through the branches, leaping onto the dusty ground. She picked herself up and brushed some chicken poo from her T-shirt.
“I think I won that contest, too,” Michael laughed. “There’s an adventure playground near my home in London. The climbing frame’s much harder to get up than this tree!”