‘It depends what you choose. A lot of restaurants offer a mild version of the jerk dishes for the tourists, but the place I’m thinking of caters mainly to the locals, so they don’t do that. If you can take the proper one, it’s a different world, flavour wise, and they do the best jerk dishes on the island, in my opinion. Actually, my mother does, but you know what I mean. There are other options besides jerk though, if you don’t fancy it. Goat curry is big here, or there are various different fish dishes. What do you say?’
I don’t even need to think about it. ‘I’d like that very much,’ I tell him. Amy will probably give me an earful for not turning up to the disco, but getting to spend longer with Gabriel trumps DJ Uri any time. Especially if there’s the possibility of him kissing me again. When we get to the bar, Raphael brings the usual rum punch for me, along with a bottle of Trouble’s Brewing for Gabriel, but Gabriel bats it away.
‘Can I have a Coke instead? And do you need your car?’
‘Why, do you have plans?’ Raphael replies with a smile.
‘I thought I’d give Tori the opportunity to try some proper Jamaican food.’
‘The Food Shack?’
‘Yeah.’
Raphael smiles widely and turns to me. ‘You are going to love it. Best damned jerk chicken on the island. It’s on the spicy side, but that’s how it should be.’
‘Apart from Mum’s,’ Gabriel corrects him.
‘Yeah, that’s true. You would not believe the number of times I’ve tried to persuade that woman to come and do a jerk chicken night here once a week. People would go mad for it.’
Gabriel laughs. ‘I think she has enough to do.’
‘It’s because she doesn’t really approve of the bar,’ Raphael says to me.
‘But it’s lovely here,’ I tell him.
‘Yes, but I’m selling what she would refer to as “intoxicating spirits”. Mum and Grace are both pretty much teetotal. I don’t think she wants to be seen hanging out round a bar.’
‘When Raphael opened this place, the only way he could get Mum to agree to it without disowning him was to promise not to open on Sundays. Sundays are for church and family,’ Gabriel explains as Raphael goes off to swap his beer for a Coke.
‘So do you all go to church?’ I ask him.
‘Yes. Raphael and Uriel sing in the choir, believe it or not. Then there’s a big family lunch for everyone who’s around, plus a WhatsApp call immediately afterwards which Blessing, Michael and I need to have a serious excuse not to attend. Family is really important to Mum. How often do you speak to your sister and your parents?’
‘Georgina’s in her final year at university, so we probably catch up once a month or so, if that, but I try to talk to Mum and Dad most weeks.’
He smiles. ‘I think I’ve only missed half a dozen weekly calls over the last year, mainly when I’ve been in places like Japan where the time difference makes it impossible. Blessing gets away with it more, because being a nurse means she often has to work on Sundays. Mum didn’t like that at all to begin with, but Blessing told her that people injure themselves on Sundays just as much as any other day of the week, and someone had to be there to patch them up.’
‘Are you always on the road?’ I ask. ‘I may be an independent woman, but I’m not accepting your proposal and marrying you if I’mnevergoing to see you.’ I try to make the second part of the question sound jokey, but I’m not entirely sure I’m convincing.
‘It varies,’ he says, seemingly oblivious to the loaded nature of my question. ‘I come here for four weeks around this time every year, but I would hope my wife would come with me for at least part of that. Then there are usually a couple of tours, where I might be on the road for a month to six weeks, but for most other stuff I do my preparation and practice at home, go wherever I need to be for the concert or recording and come straight back afterwards.’ He smiles. ‘Does that help, Mrs Campbell-to-be?’
‘I haven’t said yes yet,’ I remind him, grinning back.
‘And I haven’t asked properly yet. Trust me, you’ll know when my proposal is serious.’
‘When? Not if?’
He looks at me for a moment, but he’s definitely got his poker face on as I can’t read anything from his expression. ‘Ah, here comes Raphael with my Coke and the car keys,’ he says nonchalantly. ‘Do you need another rum punch before we hit the road?’
I think I probably need a cold shower more than anything else. This conversation has just added another layer to all the stuff already going on inside me.
The Food Shack turns out to be exactly that; a run-down tin-roofed shack by the side of the road. If I were on my own, it would be the kind of place I’d probably avoid for fear of getting food poisoning as it looks incredibly basic. There are a largenumber of rickety-looking tables with mismatched plastic chairs that have seen better days, a couple of ancient fridges adorned with the Coca-Cola logo and an open kitchen at the back with a large barbecue. However, despite looking like it could fall down at any moment, the place is absolutely packed.
‘Two?’ a rotund woman asks as we approach.
‘That’s right,’ Gabriel tells her. She scans the room, if you can call it that. I think we’re going to be out of luck as every table appears to be occupied.
‘Over there, on the end,’ she says, pointing to a table where four people are already sitting. I’m very aware of people watching us as we make our way over, and it’s uncomfortable.
