Age of Voodoo by James Lovegrove

too.”
    “But I’ve never met the woman. How can she—?”
    “Lex, enough with the questions. Let Albertine explain it herself when she arrives. Believe me, the shit she’s going to come out with, it’ll be the craziest shit you ever heard. Just listen and keep smiling and try not to blame me.”

 

    SIX
    ALBERTINE
     
     
    W ILBERFORCE WOULDN’T BE drawn any further on the subject. He seemed ashamed, as though whatever was wrong with his cousin reflected poorly on him somehow.
    At last a car came up the drive, a Suzuki soft-top off-roader faulty engine timing and a screeching fan belt. Out of it stepped a smartly dressed woman with the crisp, efficient air of a highly-placed, well-respected executive. She carried a large leather Mulberry shoulder bag and her hair was a mass of braided extensions, interwoven strands of gold, copper and bronze arranged in a neat bun at the back of her head. Lex watched her smooth her skirt down, and thought she was just about one of the most elegant and poised women he had ever seen. From the picture Wilberforce had painted, he had been expecting a frumpy wild-haired fruitcake in flip-flops and a kaftan. Not this. The only thing that detracted from her smartness were the trainers she wore on her feet, but they did at least look box fresh and were, on Manzanilla, far more sensible than heels.
    As Albertine Montase climbed the front steps, Wilberforce opened the screen door to greet her.
    “Albie.”
    “Wilberforce. Long time no see, cuz.”
    They embraced and pecked cheeks—warmly on Albertine’s part, not quite so on Wilberforce’s.
    “How have you been keeping?” Albertine asked. A trace of an American accent was folded into her islander lilt, like cream into coffee.
    “Fine.”
    “Those bruises say otherwise.”
    “Tripped and fell.”
    “Onto somebody’s fists.”
    “No. No. Nothing like that.”
    “Yes. Yes. Exactly like that. And this is him.” She turned velvet-brown eyes on Lex. “Your rum shack peace enforcer.”
    “Lex Dove.” Lex extended a hand. “Pleasure to finally meet you. Wilberforce has told me a lot about you.”
    “I bet he hasn’t.” Her hand was dry and firm in Lex’s. “Wilberforce prefers not to acknowledge my existence.”
    “I do not!”
    “You do.”
    “I can’t see why he would,” said Lex.
    “That’s because you don’t know me,” said Albertine. “And also because you don’t know how people like Wilberforce think. Wilberforce is all up-to-date and twenty-first century, the very model of a modern West Indian. There are certain deep-seated cultural factors he simply won’t accept. Our racial heritage is an enemy to him, something he fears would hold him back. He rejects it, denies it...”
    “I reject it because it’s bullshit,” said Wilberforce.
    “No, because you’re scared of it.”
    “I’m not scared of booga-booga tribal mumbo-jumbo.”
    “Calling it names only shows how scared you are.”
    “Scornful, maybe. Not scared.”
    “If you’re not scared, say its name,” said Albertine. “Call it for what it is. Go on, I dare you.”
    “Don’t be silly, woman.”
    “You can’t, can you?”
    “Of course I can. I’m—I’m just not indulging you in this nonsense of yours.”
    “Ahem,” said Lex pointedly. “I hate to butt in on a family row.”
    “Then don’t,” Wilberforce and Albertine both said in unison.
    “But,” Lex went on, “as this is my home, and I’m the host, may I offer you a drink, Albertine? Something hot? Cold? Alcoholic? Not?”
    Albertine grinned. Her teeth were huge, even and brilliant. “Sure you can. Sorry about me and Wilberforce going off like that. We always did like to squabble. And he can be such a dope at times.”
    “I may be a dope,” said Wilberforce, “but at least I’m an enlightened one.”
    “Shut up, Wilberforce.”
    “No, you shut up.”
    “Tea would be nice, Lex,” said Albertine. “Earl Grey if you’ve got it. Milk and two sugars.”
     
     
    T HE