This story of the betrayal of the Windrush generation will break your heart. First their documents, proving that they had come to the UK legally, were destroyed by the Home Office. Then they were asked to prove that they were in the country legally. Lucinda cannot prove it. It is also a love story stretching back over 50 years between Lucinda and Raldo, and, like all good romances, they have obstacles to overcome. You will be hoping they can.
I swing and roll, ignoring the eyes watching from around the room. The clicking of fingers, stomping of feet, sweat on the walls. Raldo on the stairs. Raldo. His trilby under his arm. Tapping his foot. He has on a heavy blazer with sleeves rolled to a forearm, a blue shirt underneath, two buttons undone to reveal a white vest. A brown belt and grey trousers. I stop moving. Feel the bass ache my bones. He smokes on the bottom step. A grin on his face and a clap in time to the beat. The alcohol inhibits all the voices in my head telling me to look away. Instead we stare into each other. I step towards him, but stop when an attractive woman leans into him and whispers in his ear and then the shouting starts.
Fuck! Sheila shrieks, Run, Lulu! Run!
