Growing Yams in London (5 page)

‘I . . .’

‘It’s simple. Just add up the points to see which one of the four sad categories your love life falls into.’

I switched off at that point. I wasn’t sure what was worse. The fact that I had just confirmed how thick I was, or that Nick was enjoying making me look that way.

‘Makeeda?’

‘I know, I know. Sad.’

‘Yep and it’s stupid, so can we just get on with the lesson?’

‘Fine. Here are the exercises from last week,’ I said, handing over my work for him to mark.

‘Great. We’re doing quadratic equations today.’

‘But I don’t need to know that till next year!’ I protested.

It’s one thing to force me to have lessons, but when he starts messing with the topics on my syllabus I get annoyed.

‘Makeeda, that’s the point. I’m tutoring you for your GCSEs? Duh?’

I decided there was no point in arguing.

Over the next forty-five minutes Nick taught quadratic equations as well as Pythagoras’ theorem. Just as I was finishing off some exercises, my mobile phone beeped with a text message from
Nelson.

‘Makeeda, this is a lesson?’ Nick said, annoyed.

‘Hmm,’ I said, mesmerised by my phone.

Ohmigod, what do I say? I mean, if I tell Nelson I have a tutor then he’ll think I’m thick, but if I tell him I’m at the library he’ll think that I’m a geek.

‘Hello, anyone in there?’ Nick said finger-flicking my forehead.

‘Ouch, what was that for?’

‘Maths lesson – ring any bells?’

‘What?’

‘Who is it?’

‘No one,’ I said, attempting to put my phone away.

I was too slow; he grabbed the phone.

‘Who’s this?’

‘Er . . . a guy from Mel’s party.’ I wasn’t sure how much to tell Nick. It was too embarrassing.

‘Oh, a guy you fancy from Mel’s party.’ He smirked.

‘Yeah, yeah. OK, so I like him.’

‘So what are you going to say?’

‘I dunno. What do you think?’

‘You could tell him the truth, but then he might think you’re a geek, or really thick.’

‘I know.’

‘Or say that you’re somewhere else?’

‘Brilliant!’ I replied, and typed my reply.

‘Ah huh! Lying to a partner. Isn’t that some kind of major issue in your magazines?’

Ohmigod. I’ve just lied to the guy I want to go out with. This makes us candidates for every daytime chat show, before we’ve even gone on our first date!

‘Makeeda? Makeeda, I’m just messing about. Are you OK?’ Nick said, worried.

‘Yeah, I’m fine!’ I realised I must have had an odd look on my face or was breathing erratically.

‘You’re not going to cry or anything? I would’ve sent the same text message as you,’ Nick said.

Nick hated to see me cry. Tears just seemed to embarrass him. I stared at him and saw his face getting redder with concern for me.

‘Listen, let’s finish up. You don’t have to do all that page as homework, just the first two questions,’ he said.

I guess he wasn’t that concerned after all.

‘Do you want me to walk you home?’

‘Er no, why?’

‘Don’t look at me like that! I thought . . . never mind, just text me when you get in.’

‘Yes, Uncle Nick,’ I sang back.

‘Shut up, it’s dark and stuff out there,’ he replied, hastily packing up.

‘Bye.’

‘Yeah, see ya,’ he said and walked away.

A minute later I looked up and he was watching me from the double doors.

‘What?’ I silently mouthed, but he just waved goodbye.

Nick was like the older brother I didn’t want, or need. I began to pack up my things when my phone beeped again.

Ohmigod, I completely forgot!

I unpacked my things again and headed back to the history section again. I had to find someone I found inspiring. A woman who fought against the odds like Mary Seacole but
wasn’t Mary Seacole – everyone seemed to write about her. I wanted to find the right heroine and the more I thought about it, there was no reason she couldn’t be Ghanaian or at
least African, was there?

I opened the front door, threw my bag against the wall, hooked my coat in the cupboard and slipped off my school shoes. I heard laughter coming from the kitchen and noticed
Tanisha’s red coat on the next hook.

‘Makeeda?’

‘Yes, Mum?’ I said, walking into the kitchen.

Mum was peeling a huge piece of yam, so I planted a kiss on her cheek. Tanisha was stirring some garden egg stew.

‘Good, you’re back. Did you get much research done?’ Mum asked.

‘Sort of,’ I lied.

I’d spent yet another evening at the library and found nothing. My parents thought I’d already started my history project and believed the extension was my real deadline.

‘Hey!’ Tanisha said, hugging me.

‘All right?’ I smiled back, but I wasn’t being genuine.

I hated seeing them together. It didn’t help that Tanisha has the same features as Mum, except she is bigger like her own mum was, and tall like Uncle James. Even Delphina and I
don’t look like Mum.

‘Dinner will be a while, so why don’t you get some homework out of the way first?’

‘Yeah, OK,’ I replied reluctantly, and headed out of the kitchen.

I didn’t want to leave them. They always seemed to have fun together in a way that excluded everyone else. It had always been like that.

‘I hope you haven’t left your bag by the front door again?’ Mum called after me.

‘No,’ I said, retrieving my bag.

I used to just leave my bag and carry the books up to my room, but Dad sprained his ankle a few months ago, tripping over it as he walked into the house. I got into loads of trouble, but no one
remembered that he’d been tipsy anyway.

Delphina popped her head round the corner from the living room.

‘I’m telling Mum,’ she said, shaking her braids at me for emphasis.

Delphina looks like Dad and is fair, whereas I am dark like Aunt Grace and look like her dad, my grandfather. Delphina’s first words weren’t ‘mama’ or ‘papa’,
they were ‘I’m telling’ and nothing much has changed in nearly ten years.

‘Not if you want help with your art project,’ I said.

‘Deal,’ she said and disappeared again.

I grabbed my bag and headed to my room. I read my English textbook and answered some questions for RE and helped Delphina. An hour later, I was finishing off my answer to question two of
Nick’s maths homework, when Tanisha popped her head round the door.

‘Dinner’s ready, Makeeda.’

‘Thanks.’

I walked downstairs and found Aunt Grace already seated at the table along with Delphina and Dad. Aunt Grace usually had dinner with us before doing a nightshift, as our house is closer to the
hospital than hers.

‘Go and give them a hand,’ Dad said.

‘OK,’ I said, heading to the kitchen.

I only got as far as the doorway when I stopped. Mum was watching Tanisha transfer the stew from the saucepan to a bowl, with the biggest smile on her face. It all came flooding back from five
years ago. Tanisha and Mum going to the shops, with me feeling like a spare part, clinging to Delphina for company, and the time Mum took nearly a week off work simply to hang out with her niece.
It was like Delphina and I didn’t exist.

I’m so selfish! Tanisha had just lost her mum, Mum’s sister, she needed a mum. I guess she will always need mine.

‘Makeeda?’

‘Huh?’ I said, snapping out of my thoughts.

‘Take those plates in, or they’ll only be able to stare at the food Tanisha’s just put out,’ Mum said, smiling.

‘Yeah,’ I replied, but I couldn’t return her smile.

We sat around the dinning table and, as everyone closed their eyes in prayer (something that was only ever done at Christmas, Easter and when Aunt Grace was with us) I looked around the table.
Delphina had her eyes scrunched up in concentration, and was sitting between Dad and Aunt Grace. Mum was sitting next to Tanisha, as usual. As we ate, the conversation focused on Tanisha’s
inability to choose between going to a British or American university. Mum was eager for her to choose one in Britain. I wasn’t so sure. I’d miss her if she was in America, but I knew
that if she was here, I’d have to deal with the whole Mum and Tanisha thing again.

After dinner I went to my room and a minute later Aunt Grace was at my door.

‘Why were you so quiet at dinner?’ Aunt Grace asked.

‘No reason,’ I replied.

I couldn’t tell her the truth. Aunt Grace was the last person in the world I wanted to annoy, and I knew she’d just think I was being selfish about Tanisha and Mum.

‘It’s nice having Tanisha around, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is,’ I said, hoping she hadn’t noticed the strain in my voice.

‘Tanisha’s lucky to have your mum around.’

‘Uh huh,’ I said and averted my eyes.

‘But really lucky to have an understanding cousin like you.’

Ohmigod, she knows!

‘Auntie, what do you mean?’ I asked, looking up.

‘Makeeda, I know that it’s difficult for you.’

‘Uh huh,’ I said.

‘Do you feel jealous?’

‘Uh huh.’ To my horror tears started rolling down my cheeks. I’m not a baby, but I always felt like one when it came to Mum and Tanisha. ‘I don’t mean to be,
Auntie, it’s just so . . . so unfair!’ I blurted out.

‘It’s OK, Makeeda,’ she said, hugging me. ‘I know you’re not a bad girl. You’re just a good girl caught up in a difficult situation. Now stop crying; go and
wash your face.’

I did as I was told and overheard Mum and Tanisha’s laughter from below.

‘It will get easier,’ Aunt Grace said with a smile, on my return.

‘When, Auntie?’ I asked, but she pretended not to hear me and handed me a plastic bag.

‘Here you go. This might cheer you up.’

‘Thanks. Oh, it’s
Agoo Magazine
!’ I said, immediately leafing through the glossy pages of West African socialites, photographed in the style of
Hello
magazine.

‘On page forty-two is the woman you met at my house last month.’

‘Which one?’ I asked, hunting down the page. I’d met four women at Aunt Grace’s house when they’d all gone round to buy some ntoma from her.

‘You know, the one whose daughter’s on that TV programme in America.’

I still had no idea.

‘Do you remember the woman with a bright yellow scarf?’

How could I forget? I remember being accosted in the corridor at Aunt Grace’s place by a woman in her sixties wearing a red winter jacket, blue hat and bright yellow scarf.

‘The one with the really bad weave?’

‘Makeeda!’ Aunt Grace said, trying to suppress a smile.

‘Ohmigod, that’s her?’ I studied the photograph of the same woman dressed in a yellow, green and red Kente. She had her hair swept up in a bun and make-up that made her look
like a celebrity. ‘Wow! So she changed her hairdresser then,’ I added.

‘Makeeda, stop that!’ Aunt Grace said, laughing. ‘Right, I’m off. Make sure you finish your homework before you start reading that. I know your mum prefers you to read it
at the weekend – this was a one off. Therapeutic.’

‘Yes, Auntie,’ I replied closing the magazine and tossing it aside.

I hugged her and watched as she closed my bedroom door. I was sure this was her way of taking my mind off Tanisha and Mum. I waited two minutes to hear her feet on the stairs.

‘All mine now!’ I said, diving onto my bed with the magazine.

‘Ah ha! I’ve caught you!’ Aunt Grace said as she burst back through my door. ‘I knew you couldn’t leave that thing alone!’ she said, smirking.

‘I was just reading an article for my homework,’ I lied.

I scanned the contents page and found an article on Yaa Asantewaa, who was the Queen Mother of Egweso in the late 1800s.

‘Which one?’ Aunt Grace asked.

‘Yaa Asantewaa,’ I mumbled. Please let that be right.

‘Oh good! Then I’ll leave you alone,’ Aunt Grace said, leaving my room for a second time.

I’d better read it in case she tests me later, I thought.

In 1900 Yaa Asantewaa, the formidable Egweso Queen Mother, engaged the British in one of the last wars involving the Asante Military.

Hey, maybe I really could use this for my project! At last, a legitimate reason for Mum to not hide the magazine from me! Mrs Hipman’s going to be so impressed!

My mobile beeped.