Page 224 of Lovers' Dance

The doorbell was ringing, and whoever was ringing it was keeping their finger on the button. The continuous chime was getting on my nerves.

“Jenny?” I yelled, using my shoulder to wipe the sweat off my forehead. The heat in the kitchen had Auntie Cleo and me perspiring. “Jennifer. Get the door.”

“Keep an eye on those yams, Madi,” Aunt Cleo warned me. I nodded, more concerned with making sure the Cornish hens were browning nicely. I peeked into the other oven. The turkey had an hour to go.

“Yay!” A raucous volley of male voices came from the sitting room. The game was on and Uncle David, his elder brother, his brother-in-law, his four nephews, Jamal and Matt were enjoying ice cold beer.

Uncle David’s younger sister, Gemma, his brother’s wife, Latisha, and his mother, Ms Regina to me, plus the two girlfriends of Latisha’s sons were in the back snug with Jenny. The older women were secretly hoping dinner would bomb. I knew it and my Aunt Cleo knew it, too. Gemma, had brought over a couple of dishes. Cheeky. Rubbing her baby-filled stomach while saying coyly, “I thought I would bring some food just in case.”

I wanted to say, “Just in case what? And why are you still popping babies out?” Her two boys were grown men. Who in their right mind would want to go through all that again?

And Latisha. Oh, how I hated that woman. She had looked at me and said to Ms Regina, “Poor girl must be starving over there in England. Look at that scrawny behind. Why that rich man of hers ain’t fattening her up?”

I would end up killing someone today.

The doorbell kept ringing.

“Argh.” I threw my hands up in the air and wiped my hands on my stained apron before storming for the front door. As I passed through the men in the sitting room, I landed a smack across a few of my cousins’ heads. Technically only Jamal was viewed as my cousin. Uncle David’s nephews were raised to view me as Cleo’s side of the family.

“Doesn’t anyone hear the front door?” I smacked Jamal a second time. He was closest to the door. “Lazy ass—”

“Watch that mouth of yours, young lady,” Uncle David called before letting out a triumphant shout at the TV, which was followed by the other men. Even Matt. I caught his piercing grey eyes and shook my head at him. He beamed at me. Glad someone was enjoying themselves.

“Yes?” I said, yanking the door open to encounter a frowning Ms Patsy. “Oh, hello, Ms Patsy. What can I—”

She bustled past me before I could finish asking why she was on our doorstep, big boobies almost knocking me over.

“Cleo.” She didn’t glance at the men, hopping over outstretched legs and feet.

I hustled after her. She looked as stressed as I felt. I should never have sent Matt’s surprise Thanksgiving dinner to the soup kitchen. I wanted to help the less fortunate but, damn, a part of me was wishing I had told Aunt Cleo to suck it up and be grateful for Matt’s gift.

Instead, I had brushed her hair and begged her to come back downstairs, pleading for her to understand that Matt was trying to earn her favour, and this was his way of trying to help out. She had come downstairs only after she pointed out, several times, how insulted she felt.

“Cleo, oh, girl. My turkey’s burnt,” Ms Patsy wailed. “I left that fool of my husband to keep an eye on it. One thing. One thing I ask him to do and he doesn’t do it.”

I had stopped in the hallway from the moment she had shouted about the burnt turkey. Oh, hell, no. Taking slow steps, I moved towards the kitchen to hear my aunt saying like a benevolent queen, “Why don’t you two join us? We have more than enough food to go around.”

I leaned heavily against the wall, feeling like I did this morning. Like a heart attack was imminent. Why? Why would she invite the street’s gossip over? I was now suspecting Ms Patsy had burnt her turkey on purpose. No self-respecting black woman was going to let her turkey burn. This was a set up. I was being set up.

“Poppet? Are you okay?” Matt was coming towards me with a beer in his hand. It looked empty.

I blinked a few times. “No, yes, I’m fine, Matt.”

“Are you certain?” he asked as he scrutinized my face. “You look a touch peaky.”

“I’m fine,” I said, this time with surety. “Are you okay is the more pertinent question. Is everyone being nice to you? Tell me if anyone is being assy and I’ll sort it.”

Matt slipped his hand behind my nape and bent down to steal a kiss. “If I can handle dealing with the department of energy back home, I think it’s suffice to say I can handle your family.”

I chewed my lower lip in pensive thought. “But you’re outnumbered in there. I mean, don’t you feel uncomfortable?”

Matt rolled his eyes. He’d been doing that a lot more now than at the beginning of our relationship. My mannerisms were rubbing off on him.

“Why would I be uncomfortable, poppet?” he asked dryly.

“Don’t make me say it,” I grumbled.

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