Excerpt from The Fortune Men by Nadifa Mohamed, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"This shop is my life, and if I had just sold it in '48 what good would that have done? A widow, a spinster, and a little girl, jumping from home to home and job to job."

"We could have gone to London or New York."

"To start again? No, Diana, you're still young enough to get married and have more children. I couldn't."

"Of course you could. Maybe not the kids, but you could certainly get married."

"Should I go rooting through the rascals and charlatans who would only want me for my business?"

"Fine, fine. Your choice." Diana raises her hands in surrender and then hollers at the top of her voice, "Grace! Get down here this instant."

"Coming!"

"Just come! Aunty Violet is tired, and the food is getting cold and slimy."

Thuds pound down the winding staircase and then there she is—the centre of both of their worlds—four feet five of undiluted hope and promise.

She kisses Diana and Violet on their cheeks and then wriggles into her chair. Grace's soft round face is changing shape, Ben's square jaw pushing itself out and her nose taking on a fine Volacki curve. Ten summers, ten winters without him, thinks Diana, casting a glance over her daughter's freckled face.

"Did you get any of your exam practice done, petal?" Violet asks her, cutting into the chicken and putting three slices on to Grace's plate.

Grace takes a big bite from a bialy and smiles mischievously. "Well, Aunty, I did start to, but then . . ."

"Hmm?" Diana rolls her eyes. "My make-up bag proved more interesting?"

"You shouldn't have left it out, Mam, you know how easily distracted I am."

"You're a cheeky one, Gracie," laughs Violet.

The wireless announcer forms a fourth companion at the table; a rich male voice from London that sounds clothed in tails and a white bow tie and dress shoes from Bond Street. The tinkle of their knives and forks merges with sonorous choral music and the clang of bells ringing, from Big Ben to a medieval kirk at the furthest reaches of the Hebrides. The land beyond their dining room is in mourning, the stars frozen in their stations, the moon shrouded in black.

Excerpted from The Fortune Men by Nadifa Mohamed. Copyright © 2021 by Nadifa Mohamed. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.