Love in the Years of Lunacy by Mandy Sayer

learned how to make hand grenades out of jam tins, and how to bake eggless puddings. Aubrey, in the meantime, had begun drawing up plans for an air-raid shelter in the basement: an insulated, double-brick room that would include, eventually, fold-out beds, plumbing and a thick steel door.
    The following day an air-raid warden appeared on the doorstep and demonstrated how to stick black tar paper to all their windows. Unfortunately Mikey Michaels got hold of a few spare strips when no one was looking and stuck his fingers to the upper register of the piano. Then two policemen knocked on the door and told Pearl they were preparing for a second invasion of the area.
    â€˜If you come in direct contact with the enemy, Miss, you should simply smile and wave.’
    She was neither smiling nor waving late the following night as she waited in the Arabian Café for James to arrive. She was sitting with her best friend, Nora Barnes, at an open window overlooking Darlinghurst Road. Usually, the street would be alive with pulsing neon, car headlights, American soldiers and good-time girls, but since the Japanese invasion, the revellers had vanished and the streetlamps had been dimmed with metal shields. Even the café, which was packed most nights, was only half full—mostly criminals and old-time locals who couldn’t be bothered moving away despite a possible invasion, including the piano player with the wooden leg who was now thumping out ‘Beale Street Blues’. It was a popular venue with underworld because it served sly grog—usually red wine—in tea cups.
    Pearl had already told Nora about James—describing their night in Luna Park, their morning stroll into the city, how tall and handsome he was—until Nora murmured that she’d like to meet him sometime.
    Pearl then felt guilty for gushing about James. Her friend had enamel-smooth skin, shiny ginger hair and slate-blue eyes that glistened when she laughed. She had an almost perverse sense of humour and was one of the most generous people Pearl had ever met. But she was the plumpest girl in the band—she was virtually bursting out of the uniform white lace gown—and that, combined with the fact that she played the drums, seemed to put off potential suitors. At the age of twenty-four, Nora had only been out on two dates in her life, and both had ended early and in tears. For a few months she’d been enjoying a flirtation with the Trocadero doorman, Pookie, but nothing had come of it yet.
    â€˜Well, you can meet him tonight!’ Pearl had assured her. ‘After the gig, at the Arabian Café.’
    Now it was almost midnight and there was no sign of James or even Martin and Roma, who were supposed to be meeting them there too. Nora sipped wine from a chipped cup and listened attentively to the piano player, who soon took a break and hobbled into the kitchen. Pearl was growing more edgy, not only because James was half an hour late but because she sensed that Nora was feeling sorry for her and had already written off James as one of those American cads who picked up and dropped local girls faster than they could order a double hamburger.
    Finally, Martin appeared in the doorway, still wearing his tuxedo from the Trocadero, with Roma on his arm. In the candlelight, the girl’s white, knee-length dress shimmered against her coppery skin. She had her hair swept up into a loose bun studded with lilies. She glanced around the café uncertainly, as if she wasn’t sure that she was in the right place.
    Martin walked her over to the table and introduced her to Nora. Roma nodded shyly and took a seat next to Martin. Up close, Pearl saw that Roma’s skin was darker than she’d first thought, and she had a distinctive beauty spot to the side of her upper lip. For a moment, she felt a stab of jealousy—no girl had ever come between Martin and herself before—and yet she was acutely aware that, had James already