Love in the Years of Lunacy by Mandy Sayer Page B

playing on the radio, and Pearl drifted in to join the others. Father Jim, an old family friend, was sitting in the parlour with Lulu, the twins’ deaf grandmother. Mr Bones was warming himself by the fire, while Mikey Michaels sat on the floor, playing with wooden blocks. When no one was looking Pearl took a half-bottle of brandy she kept stashed behind the bathroom cistern and added its contents to her mother’s fruit punch. She downed two glasses in quick succession to quell her disappointment.
    Martin was already sitting at the dining room table, drumming his fingers in time with Artie Shaw’s ‘Airmail Special’. A headache began to crawl up Pearl’s left temple. She could smell the heavy aroma of overcooked meat. When her father handed her another glass of punch she downed it in one gulp. Surely she couldn’t be that thirsty, said her mother.
    â€˜I’m not dying of thirst,’ Pearl replied. ‘I’m dying of sobriety.’
    Father Jim was on to his fourth glass of punch. His face was red and swollen and the ash on his cigarette became a crooked grey finger pointing to the floor, until it dropped without him noticing and landed on the bearskin rug.
    As the smell of burning chicken filled the kitchen, Pearl pulled her father into the dining room.
    â€˜Serve the lunch, Dad,’ she said. ‘James must have been held up.’ She turned her attention to lighting the three candles in the centre of the table.
    When they were all finally seated—the family, Mr Bones and Mikey—Father Jim said grace and thanked the Lord for the miracle that was Pearl and Martin. He also expressed his gratitude for the fine meal before them during these times of hardship, death and destruction. Lastly, he prayed for peace and protection, and they all echoed his ‘Amen’. Aubrey carved the chooks up. Martin passed the vegetables. The doorbell chimed.
    Aubrey pushed back his chair but Pearl leapt to her feet. ‘No, let me.’
    She forced herself to walk slowly through the dining room and into the parlour, between the scattered chairs, past the fire. For a moment she was giddy with anticipation, before telling herself it was probably a neighbour who’d run out of sugar or eggs. Turning into the hallway, she saw a tall figure on the other side of the door, silhouetted against its stained-glass window. She checked her appearance briefly in the mirror hanging on the wall, and turned the door handle.
    James was on the doorstep wearing a clean and pressed military uniform. He smiled nervously, but couldn’t look at her directly, and instead stared down at his polished black boots. ‘Sorry ’bout the other night,’ he murmured. ‘Captain put me on laundry duty.’
    He glanced up the street, as if he were lost and was now planning to retrace his steps along the footpath.
    â€˜Happy birthday,’ he said, proffering his gift. It was a square, thin package, obviously a record.
    She smiled and with her free hand took his arm and walked him through the foyer. When he bristled at the sight of the stuffed emu, Pearl laughed and said, ‘Don’t worry, that’s just Cedric,’ and led him towards the dining room. As they appeared in the doorway, everyone at the table paused in their serving and talking to stare at Martin and Pearl’s new friend.
    James gave a little salute. ‘Hi folks.’ His Southern accent echoed through the dining room. Everyone was still staring as Pearl guided him towards the seat next to her own.
    â€˜Stone the crows!’ exclaimed Clara finally, a spoonful of mashed potato suspended in the air. ‘Love, you didn’t tell us he was so handsome!’
    There was laughter then—a flutter of white serviettes—and, seventy minutes late, the birthday lunch finally began.
    Clara passed James a plate of pumpkin so overcooked the pieces looked like a pile of black and orange rocks. ‘We understand