The dinner no one had expected to arrive—
“Are you mad? We cannot invite them!” Victor nervously rapped his knuckles against the kitchen counter, the sound echoing like a heartbeat.
“Why not? My brother, after all,” Anna replied, her lips tight as she gazed out the window, where the twilight thickened into fog.
“Your brother, the one you haven’t seen in fifteen years! And suddenly he materializes and you’re calling him for supper?” Victor rose, his voice a growl. He stepped closer, the scent of his tea cooling between them.
“He didn’t materialize,” Anna murmured, though her hands trembled as she polished a spotless stove. “Henry returned from Leeds. His business there collapsed.”
“Of course. And now he’s come to solicit his sister who he abandoned in her darkest hour.” His voice cracked, sharp as broken china.
Anna said nothing, only stared at the chandelier above the dining table, its crystals shimmering with a faint, otherworldly glow. The fire crackled behind her, but the room felt dim, as if time had paused.
“I didn’t forget,” she finally said. “But he’s still my brother.”
“And I’m your husband, and I oppose this.”
Anna sighed, her breath fogging the air. “Alice is coming with Oliver tonight. She brought news, and she insisted we meet.”
Victor closed his eyes, his jaw clenching. “When were you going to tell me? Five minutes before they arrive?”
She hesitated.
The phone rang—a single, hollow tone. Anna glanced at the screen. “It’s Alice,” she whispered.
“That’s all we need for a perfect evening,” Victor grumbled. “Has she been informed about Henry’s return?”
“No. We’ve… drifted apart.”
She answered, the line crackling with static. “Hello? Alice?”
A melodic voice replied, bright and urgent. “Mum! I hope we’re not interrupting, but Oliver and I are on our way tonight!”
“It’s your father’s birthday,” Victor muttered, but Anna silenced him with a glance.
“Of course, love! We’d love you to come!”
“Brilliant! We’ll be there at seven. Oh, and someone else is joining.” The dial tone hummed before Anna could ask.
“Someone else?” Victor groaned. “This is the theatre night, isn’t it? Our tickets to *The Importance of Being Earnest*—”
Anna’s hands flew to her temples. “I forgot! I’m a terrible wife!”
He shook his head, retreating into the hallway, where the wallpaper curled in ghostly patterns. “Cancel it. Everyone else can come another day.”
Anna stared at the oven, the roast chicken bubbling in its juices. She sliced the potatoes, the knife slipping once—*a symbol of something*, she thought—and then again. The air thickened with the smell of thyme and rosemary, as if the herbs were whispering secrets.
When Mr. Ellis arrived, she greeted him with a pot of Earl Grey, though she’d never seen him drink anything else but tea. “You’re hosting a gathering?” he asked, his eyes darting to the chandelier, which now seemed to spin.
“My brother, Henry, from Leeds,” she said, though the name felt foreign on her tongue. “And Alice. And… someone else.”
“Perhaps my nephew Nicholas? He’s in Manchester, new to the area. Maybe he’d like to meet new folks?”
Anna nodded, and the chandelier’s glow deepened, casting golden ripples on the walls.
By half-past six, the table was laden with roasted goose and treacle tart. Victor’s scowls softened when the guests began to arrive—first Nicholas, a retired soldier with a scar that shimmered, then Henry, gaunt and hollow-eyed, cradling his son James, who clutched a toy robot that whirred and blinked.
The doorbell chimed again. Alice stood in a crimson dress, her hair streaked with silver, Oliver beside her. His daughter Grace held a jar of butterflies, their wings catching the chandelier’s light.
“Wait, you married Oliver?” Victor asked, his voice fragile.
“Three months ago,” Alice said, her smile sharp. “I wanted to tell you, but after you called me a ‘career-focused nincompoop’—”
“We’re working on a café,” Henry interrupted, his eyes darting to the chandelier. “I’m the manager. Nicholas is the owner.”
“And I’m the engineer,” Oliver added. “The old bakery on Charing Cross Road? Nicholas plans to convert it.”
“You’ll need an accountant,” Victor said slowly, as if the thought were slipping through his fingers. “I taught that at the college. I could help.”
The room pulsed with purpose. Even Grace chipped in, sketching a logo on a napkin: *Family Café* in cursive. The chandelier now hummed like a lullaby, its crystals refracting a thousand colors.
Before midnight, the guests left, their shoes caked with London mud. Nicholas handed Anna a business card that shimmered with her initials.
“Your family was meant to meet,” he said, his voice barely audible over the chime of distant church bells.
Later, Victor found her in the garden, where the fog had thickened into a silver veil. “I thought we were going to the theatre,” he said.
“We had a better show,” she replied, her fingers brushing the petals of a white peony. “The kind of show where strangers become family.”
The chandelier above flickered, then stabilized, its light pooling around them like a promise. The uninvited dinner had arrived—and with it, a story the world had been waiting to hear.
