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that you would date a white boy.”
    Nathan was popular and outgoing, like their mother.   Growing up he’d had friends from all walks of life.   His previous girlfriends had both been St Lucian, the last one two years older than he was.   He’d met his fiancée Folasade at university.   He’d admitted that he’d admired her willowy beauty from afar, but she had blown him away when she’d sung a cappella at a fund-raising event the university’s African-Caribbean Society had organized for victims of the Haitian earthquake in 2010.
    “I never thought I would date a white man either,” Natalie admitted.
    “Times are changing,” her mother mused.   “Everywhere you go in London you see mixed couples now.   White men dating black women has suddenly become quite trendy.”
    “I’m not doing it to be part of a trend, Mum!”
    “I never said you were, honey.”   Her mother’s face suddenly became serious.   “You know that your father isn’t going to take this very well?”
    Natalie knew he wouldn’t.   She was a daddy’s girl and to him it would be like she was dating the enemy.   Her mother was confident and outgoing and had friends of all races.   Her father, though born in London, had only a handful of friends, all West Indian, but mostly Trinidadian, with whom he exchanged visits from time to time.   He   was most content to be home with his family when he wasn’t working as a building surveyor.   Five years ago he had sued his employer for racial discrimination and won.   He had been unsuccessfully in applying for a managerial role and had accepted their decision even though he had then been told that he had to train the appointee.   When he’d discovered that the younger man was only partially qualified, although the job specification had clearly stated full qualification and professional membership of the Royal Institute of Chartered Surveyors as requirements.   He’d won the case and been paid substantial damages.   He now worked freelance and admitted that he enjoyed the variety and the less-rigid work schedule, but the case hadn’t endeared him to white men.   Surprisingly he had no problems with white women—her mother had often said it’s a man thing and borne of their competitiveness.
    “I know he won’t.”
    “He will be upset, but you have to live your life to please yourself, honey.”   Her mother squeezed her hand as if willing her to be strong.   “If your Stephano is a good man and he treats you well, your father will come around.   Just give him time.”
    “I hope so.”   Natalie wasn’t so sure that time would make a difference.
    “Honey, your dad is old fashioned in many ways, but he’s not going to disown you if you don’t date a black man.”   Her mother turned so that she was facing Natalie fully.   “Just don’t accept anything less from a white man than you’d expect from a black man.”
    “Mum, I would never do that!”   Natalie protested instinctively.
    “I’m glad to hear it.   I would be disappointed otherwise.”
    ***
    As she drove back to her flat in Fulham that evening, Natalie thought about her mother’s parting words.   Would she be accepting less from Stephano than she would from a black man?   Not compared to her relationship with Michael.   She hadn’t known about his girlfriend Melissa and even when he told Natalie that she wasn’t good enough to be his main girlfriend, Michael hadn’t given her a choice to end their relationship.   With Stephano she would choose to be the other woman, or not.
    As usual, the thought of Michael make Natalie grit her teeth unconsciously.   It had been a dark period in her life.   He had sensed her little insecurities—her shyness, her height, her dark skin and short hair—and fed them until they’d become phobias.
    The only person she’d never been shy with was Nathan.   She was seventeen months old when he was born and she’d loved him from the time she’d laid eyes on him,