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

Mahmood silently plans the future but now, defeated by the icy chill sneaking itself through the gaps between his coat buttons, he decides against another night of poker and heads home to Adamsdown, where the real fire in his life burns.

Violet collapses heavily into the wooden chair and waits for Diana to set the table. "Where's Gracie?"

"Just finishing up her extra schoolwork, she'll be down in a minute."

"I think she's working too hard, Di, her little face looks haggard."

"Don't be ridiculous. She is barely putting pen to paper, spent most of the evening going through my high heels and jazz records. I went up to chivvy her along and her face was smeared in Max Factor Sunset Shine. She thinks she's set for Hollywood, that one."

"The cleaner said that when she was changing her bed sheets she found a photo of Ben in his flight suit under her pillow."

"I know." Her smile stiffens and she turns her back to Violet.

Violet squeezes Diana's forearm. "Strength, Sister. Koyekh."

"Come on down, Grace, we're waiting for you!" Diana shouts up the stairs, ripping her apron off and folding it over the back of her chair. The pounds she put on over the Christmas holiday still show on her muscular body and her green wiggle dress strains across the back. Her black hair folds into loose waves over her shoulders; she needs a haircut but Violet likes it like this, it gives her sister a Mediterranean look.

"You are a perpetual motion machine."

"Not by choice, I tell you. Maggie got Daniel to drop off the chicken as I had so many customers earlier. Every last one of them wanted to put his money on a horse with some kind of association with the King: 'His Majesty,' 'Balmoral,' 'Buckingham Palace.' I don't know if it's their way of paying their respects or just superstition but I've never seen anything like it."

"I saw one of them cash his advance note of pay with me and then go through to you. A fool and his money."

"Oh, that's poor Tahir, he's not right in the head. One of the sailors told me that he was 'misused,' as they say, by Italian soldiers in Africa. He tells me he's the King of Somalia and killed thousands of men in the war."

"Which horse did he put money on?"

"The Empress of India," Diana says, splitting her red-lipped mouth with a loud laugh. "I suppose he thinks that's his wife."

"Goodness gracious. Let me go wash my hands quickly." Violet smiles, looking over the spread on the table: roast chicken, pickled gherkins, boiled potatoes, carrots with red onion and beetroot, and a pile of poppyseed bialys. She returns from the sink and slips her stockinged feet out of her black orthopedic tie-ups, stretching her serpentine spine, scoliosis having made a puzzle out of her ribcage and shoulder blades. She is paler than both Diana and Maggie, her face their father's down to the deep furrows on either side of her mouth, a nun-like purity to both her dress and to her pink-cheeked face. Her hair is still dark, but the promise of a white widow's peak suggests itself above her sparse eyebrows. She gives the impression of someone who has always looked older than her real age and is now at the point of inhabiting a body tailored to her: the modest Cardiff shopkeeper.

"Turn on the wireless, Di, I want to hear the rest of the news. Imagine Princess Elizabeth—sorry, Queen Elizabeth—getting the liner back, knowing she has to give up her calm little life with her husband and babies to take the throne."

"No one is making her. She can stay in Kenya and declare the end of the monarchy for all I care."

"You have no sense of duty. How could she do that when a whole country, a whole empire, is waiting for her?"

"You would say that, you daddy's girl. You make me laugh, Violet, Da leaves you this shop and you take it as seriously as if he had left you the entire world. I can imagine your face in the papers today, talking about your solemn pledge to rule 203 Bute Street to the best of your power, with the help of Almighty God."

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.