Louise Hare - This Lovely City

Full of life and love, This Lovely City is a tender, at times heart-breaking depiction of a city at once familiar and unrecognizable. It made my heart soar. Stacey Halls, author of The Familiars

Superb, compelling storytelling, beautifully drawn characters, and atmosphere thats deeply immersive. Harriet Tyce, author of Blood Orange

In this riveting and incisive murder-mystery set in post-war London, Louise Hare looks at race and belonging with a poignancy that is reminiscent of Samuel Selvon and other migr writers of the Windrush generation. A brilliant debut. Rabindranath Maharaj, author of Fatboy Fall Down

I loved, loved, loved it, and desperately wanted things to work out for Lawrie and Evie. Cathy Rentzenbrink, author of The Last Act of Love

This Lovely City is a beguiling, atmospheric, and important novel, with wonderful, memorable characters and a vital message about love, loyalty, and hope. Caroline Lea, author of The Glass Woman

Hares absorbing narrative builds a compelling portrait of immigrants struggling to belong to a country that needs but doesnt really want them... A must-read for fans of Zadie Smith and Call the Midwife. Kirkus Reviews

Expect to be obsessed... [A book] you need to know about. Good Housekeeping

A tale to wring the heart and make the blood boil, swirling with post-war gloom, illuminated by the shining lights of Lawrie and Evie. SAGA

A thought-provoking and imaginative debut that conjures up the experiences of the Windrush generation in post-war London. Heartbreaking but full of hope. Woman&Home

Louise Hare writes so effortlessly. [This Lovely City] was a joy to read. Womans Weekly

Copyright 2020 Louise Hare

Published in Canada in 2020 and the USA in 2020 by House of Anansi Press Inc.

www.houseofanansi.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: This lovely city / Louise Hare.

Names: Hare, Louise, author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190169435 | Canadiana (ebook) 2019016946X
ISBN 9781487007058 (softcover) | ISBN 9781487007065 (EPUB)
ISBN 9781487007072 (Kindle)

Classification: LCC PR6108.A74 T55 2020 | DDC 823/.92dc23

Cover design: HQ 2019

We acknowledge for their financial support of our publishing program the Canada Council for the Arts, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Government of Canada.

For Mum and Dad, for everything.

Ever so welcome, wait for a call.

West Indian proverb

It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre.

Enoch Powell

March 1950

All fish does bite but shark does get di blame

West Indian proverb

T he basement club spat Lawrie out into the dirty maze of Soho, a freezing mist settling over him like a damp jacket. He shivered and tightened his grip on the clarinet case in his right hand. Hed best hurry on home before the fog thickened into a pea-souper, as they called it round here. The hour was later than hed have liked; the club had been packed and the manager always paid extra if the band stuck around, keeping the crowd drinking.

Done for the night? The doorman leaned against the wall by the entrance, waiting for the last stragglers to leave.

Lawrie nodded. Hed been invited to stop for a drink with the band after the last set but he had somewhere to be. The nights moonlighting had been a last-minute call out. Hed already arranged to take Evie out to the pictures but he needed the money and his name was just getting known around town: Mr Reliable. Able to fit in with any band at short notice. Call Lawrie Matthews, hes your man; hell play anything for a shilling or two.

It might be after three in the morning, but the street was still open for trade. Across the road a couple of girls loitered, hardly dressed for the March weather, their legs bare and their jackets open. They sheltered in a shop doorway, huddled together as they smoked. One of them called over to him but he pretended he hadnt heard. That sort of entertainment wasnt for him. A few minutes of pleasure taken in a dark piss-scented alleyway could not outweigh the guilt. This he knew.

Even back home in Jamaica, hed never felt confident in
himself, not like his older brother Bennie, but this city forced him even further inside himself. It was a chronic condition, like asthma or arthritis; he could go a day or so feeling perfectly normal and then just a word or a glance was enough to remind him that he didnt belong. He liked working the clubs because he could just play his clarinet and get lost in the music. His fellow musicians respected him; many of them even looked like him. He revelled in the applause that came when his name was shouted out and he stepped forward to give his small bow and a smile, just the right side of bashful. But as soon as he left the warmth of the club, things changed. People looked and decided what he was without knowing a single thing about him. Most of them were well-meaning. Somehow that was worse.

He walked swiftly down to Trafalgar Square, putting on a sprint as he saw his night bus approaching, leaping on the back just before it pulled away and clambering up the steps to the upper deck. He sat down, panting slightly through exertion and relief.

Settled, he looked out of the window at the desolate streets rolling by. The city appeared defeated beneath the weak glow of the late winter moon, which lazily cast its light down on the abandoned remnants of buildings that looked flimsy enough to blow over in the backdraught, if only the driver would put his foot down. Almost five years now since VE Day, almost two years since Lawrie had landed at Tilbury, and the city was still too poor to clean itself up. Austerity they called it, as if giving it a name made it more acceptable to those struggling to make ends meet.

The double decker wound its lethargic way south of the river and Lawrie tried to stay awake. His eyes were heavy but the draught through the window kept him shivering enough that he didnt nod off. Hed be home just in time to change into his uniform and swallow down some breakfast before heading out again to his proper job.

Jumping off at the Town Hall stop in Brixton, the last passenger left on board, he tugged his scarf up over his chin to ward off a wind that felt like icy needles stabbing against his face. By the time he turned the corner of his street his face was already numb and his gloved hand felt stiff around the handle of the clarinet case. He wiggled his fingers and looked down, checking they were still there.