Broken Places by Wendy Perriam Page A

down.’
    ‘But I’m not dressed for Christmas lunch.’ His shabby jeans and battered, soggy trainers seemed all the more unkempt in contrast to the woman’s bandbox appearance; her nails varnished pink to match her dress; her hair set in stiff, meringue-like curls and a row of expensive pearls around her neck.
    ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said breezily. ‘It’s the soul underneath that counts.’
    He doubted if his soul was any less remiss than his attire, considering that he was guilty of anger, envy and homicide; the latter committed on a daily basis. ‘But I don’t even have much money on me and—’
    ‘Lunch is free,’ she declared. ‘If you want to make a small donation, that would be very welcome, but there’s no obligation whatsoever.’
    Before he could raise any further objections, Lady Bountiful swept him towards the tables and seated him between an old woman in a wheelchair and a small, sallow girl with spots and spectacles. ‘Now, what’s your name, dear?’ she enquired, still hovering behind his chair.
    ‘Eric,’ he said, uneasily aware that several dozen pairs of eyes had turned in his direction, examining this new arrival who had interrupted their lunch.
    ‘Eric,’ she repeated. ‘My dear departed father’s name. Now, let me do the introductions. This is Vera, on your right, one of our very loyal parishioners . That’s Lily, on your left, Malcolm opposite, and Svetlana next to Malcolm. Svetlana comes from the Ukraine.’
    He tried to remember all the names, whilst also thanking various people who came bustling up to pour him wine, bring his starter, offer him a roll and butter, or wreathe him in friendly smiles. There seemed almost as many servers as guests – all parish worthies, no doubt, although who was he to cavil when he was being offered a free lunch? OK, the decorations were over the top: four huge, separate Christmas trees – two by the altar and two further down the nave – and the table set with a Christmassy cloth and lavishly adorned with candles, fir-sprigs, glittery coloured baubles, expensive-looking gold-foil crackers and a cheerful-looking reindeer as festive centrepiece. The lunch itself, however, looked too good to refuse. The other guests were already on their main course, tucking in to turkey, stuffing, chipolatas and the rest of the traditional fare. And he certainly couldn’t complain about his starter: a healthy assortment of fresh orange segments, melon balls, and maraschino cherries.
    ‘So where are you from?’ Vera asked, smiling from her wheelchair.
    ‘I live in Vauxhall just at present.’
    ‘What, in one of those ritzy new flats they’ve just built along the river?’
    ‘Er, no,’ he mumbled, surprised anyone should think that a bloke with a hole in his sweater would live in a ‘ritzy’ residence.
    ‘ I live in bloody Tower Hamlets,’ groused the bespectacled girl, Lily. ‘And it’s a complete and utter nightmare.’
    ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Eric said, with genuine sympathy – a mistake, he realized pretty soon, since it opened up the floodgates.
    ‘Yeah, a year ago, I had a decent place, but the landlord evicted me – the bastard! Not that I was surprised. Life keeps beating me up – always has, always will. I went to see this fortune-teller – just last week it was – and she said, “Lily, I’m very rarely downbeat with my clients, but I’m afraid Fate’s got it in for you.” Well, I knew that, didn’t I? Might as well have saved my fucking cash. I mean, it all goes back to childhood, so I didn’t stand a chance. My dad pissed off with some fancy bitch, and my mother went to pieces and started doing drugs and—’
    At least you had a mum and dad, Eric didn’t say – couldn’t say, in fact, since Lily was still ranting on.
    ‘And I never got no education. How could I, with no Mum to take me toschool? And, even when I did go, the teachers were so fucking useless I never learnt a thing. So now I’m struggling to do