He can make his own lunch. He’s not eight years old, Julia wanted to say. Instead, she turned away and slid the lasagne onto her plate. It collapsed into a flaccid green and white mush, with a red watery film spreading out from underneath.
Meanwhile, Genevieve had removed the Tarte Tatin from the oven and retrieved a giant tub of ice cream from the freezer. She placed both on a tray and returned to the dining room.
Julia prodded the lasagne with her fork. Was there any cheese on it at all? She slung it into the bin, untouched, opened a bottle of wine and rang for a pizza, pepperoni with extra chilli, and some garlic bread – with cheese. The diet could wait.
Genevieve and Brandon were still in the dining room when the pizza delivery arrived. Lucy came in at the same time.
‘Wanna share?’ Julia said.
‘Thanks, I’m starving.’
Lucy brought her own bottle of wine to Julia’s room and they sat on her bed and put the radio on. Julia poured from the already open bottle and Lucy put slices of pizza on plates for both of them. Food and company restored Julia to a better mood and she told Lucy about Genevieve’s feast for Brandon with humour rather than bitterness.
‘It’s not the first time,’ Lucy said. ‘She did something with venison on Saturday, before he went out drinking.’
‘Venison – is he aristocracy?’
‘Her little prince,’ Lucy said. ‘At this rate, he won’t fit into all his new clothes she’s bought him.’
‘Clothes?’
Lucy nodded and reached for another slice of garlic bread.
‘They went out together – came back with armfuls of bags. Not any old tat either. Pringle jumpers. Paul Smith shirts.’
‘How can he stand it?’
‘What do you mean? He loves it. Would you object to someone buying you lots of beautiful clothes?’
‘Depends. Imagine some old bloke doing that for you – what’s expected in return?’
‘Eww, do you think they’ve actually … y’know?’ Lucy said.
Julia didn’t want to think about it. Brandon sleeping with her after he’d been with Genevieve. It made her feel ill.
‘Maybe she does just miss her son,’ Julia said.
‘She’ll be missing most of her savings soon. He’s fleecing her.’
Lucy was the second person to tell her this. How had she ended up sleeping with this man?
‘Ruth’s worried about Genevieve,’ Julia said. ‘She thinks what you do – that he’s taking advantage. But even she doesn’t know how bad it is. Genevieve told me she thought Brandon was Dominic reincarnated or something.’
‘She said something weird like that to me. I put it down to the Valium.’
‘Ruth told me she’s always taking Genevieve’s pills away and she’s always getting hold of more.’
‘A good thing she still has vodka then,’ Lucy said. ‘It’s not like she believes in real reincarnation, just her own brand of hippy shit – the universe sending you what you need.’
‘More drunken ramblings than philosophical discourse,’ Julia agreed.
‘Was she an actual hippy, I mean in the Sixties or whenever? I can’t imagine Genevieve in a muddy field with her tits out, can you?’
‘I’d rather not,’ Julia said. ‘I think she’d believe anything that made her feel better. Ruth pretty much said that to me. And she’s worried what Genevieve will do when Brandon leaves.’
‘He’ll never leave at this rate,’ Lucy said.
‘Maybe that’s what it’s all about.’
A sharp rap on the door startled them. They looked at each other in horror. They’d been too loud, too incautious.
‘It’s Gideon. Can I come in?’
Julia and Lucy laughed with relief.
‘Yes,’ Julia shouted.
‘So, this is where the party’s at,’ he said.
He waved a bottle containing a luminous yellow-green liquid in one hand. In the other he carried three shot glasses.
‘What on earth’s that?’ Lucy asked. ‘It looks radioactive.’
‘Chartreuse – my parents brought it back from France,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s all I’ve got left and this is an emergency.’
‘You had a bad day too?’
Julia shuffled along the bed and Lucy moved the pizza box, so that he could sit between them.
‘Spent all day trying to get hold of this guy, Devon Garvey, stupid name, who took a huge delivery from us months ago but hasn’t paid. Finally got through and he says, bold as brass, “I’m not paying – watcha gonna do about it?”’
‘What are you going to do?’ Julia asked.
‘Not much we can do. It’s more time and money than it’s worth, pursuing it through the courts. My godfather went mental. Said it was my fault. He’s the one who signed off on it.’
‘Sounds like my boss,’ Julia said. ‘Here – there’s garlic bread left. We polished off the pizza.’
She handed him the container.
‘I’m all right,’ Gideon said.
‘Cool, more for me. Garlic bread and Chardonnay, a very underestimated combination.’
Gideon poured the Chartreuse into the tumblers.
‘Down in one,’ he said.
Lucy knocked hers back. ‘Arrgggh,’ she said and pulled a face. ‘What the hell’s in that? It tastes like fortified mouthwash.’
‘Personally, I think Listerine has the edge on taste,’ Gideon said.
‘You’re right. Give me another.’
Gideon obliged before turning to Julia.
‘And what made your day so bad?’
She told him about her nightmare boss, getting drenched, and her unrequited longing for spiced duck. Then Lucy told him about Brandon’s shopping trip.
‘God, she’s such a cliché. Surrey’s answer to Norma Desmond,’ Gideon said.
‘Who’s Norma Desmond?’ Lucy asked.
Julia was about to ask the same thing, but was glad she hadn’t when Gideon replied, ‘Norma Desmond from Sunset Boulevard. One of the greatest films about Hollywood ever made. Julia will know it.’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘It starred, oh – what’s her name?’
‘Gloria Swanson,’ Gideon said.
‘That’s it.’
‘I mean, Genevieve even wears the turban,’ Gideon said.
Julia laughed. Lucy looked perplexed, for which Julia would love her for ever.
‘Norma Desmond is a faded Hollywood starlet,’ Gideon explained. ‘In middle age she becomes obsessed with a broke and much younger screenwriter. He moves into her mansion, she showers him with gifts. He goes along with it because he needs the money.’
‘What happens?’ Lucy asked.
‘He tries to leave, and she shoots him dead.’
‘Cheerful.’
‘Yeah, well, tell that to Genevieve.’
‘Or Brandon,’ Julia said.
‘Shhh.’
Lucy held her finger to her lips. She pointed to the door. They could hear the soft creak of floorboards underfoot. Then another knock at the door.
‘It’s Alan.’
Again, they laughed and invited him in.
There was no room on the bed and Alan sat on the floor with his back against the wall.
‘Why’s everyone squashed in here?’ he asked.
And they went through the entire evening’s events. Alan laughed. It was the first time Julia had seen him relaxed.
‘Of course, she’s modelled herself on Norma Desmond. I mean, who goes round in a fucking turban?’ Alan said.
‘Sikhs,’ Lucy replied.
‘I mean women.’
‘Yeah, well, Brandon better stay for ever. Because if he doesn’t …’ Gideon made a gun shape with his index and middle fingers and pulled the trigger with his thumb. ‘Pow.’
Lucy spat out her pizza crust and Julia managed to spill wine on the duvet.
‘And she used to be an actress,’ Julia said. ‘Or at least claimed to be. Worked with Zeffirelli and with Polanski
in Macbeth, but her part ended up on the cutting-room floor. She said it was a valuable experience.’
‘I bet her cameo wasn’t the only thing that ended up on the floor,’ Alan said.
Lucy snorted into her Chartreuse.
‘And now she’s the one chasing younger men. And with Brandon, it’s working,’ he continued.
‘Did Genevieve tell you lot to use the side door when you first moved in?’
‘Yeah,’ Alan said.
Gideon and Lucy agreed.
‘When I mentioned it to Brandon, he hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.’
‘More favouritism,’ Lucy said.
‘When was this?’ Gideon asked.
Julia remembered it was when she had walked back from the Cross Bar with Brandon, drunk.
‘Can’t remember exactly,’ she said.
They finished the garlic bread and wine, while Gideon entertained them with stories of his clients. The woman who’d ended up in hospital because she’d tried to exist on algae powder for a month. The man who wanted to sue because his sexual performance hadn’t improved after taking every coffee with a scoop of green barley. They sat there laughing and drinking. For the first time they felt like friends rather than just housemates.
A knock silenced them. Brandon opened the door and leant on the frame.
‘Mind if I join you?’ he said.
The room fell silent. They all looked at each other, before Gideon stood up. ‘We’re all off to bed, mate.’
Brandon pulled himself upright, as if Gideon were squaring up to him. His eyes flicked around the room. He said nothing and turned away. Gideon looked back into the room and smirked and Alan started to laugh, which Brandon must have heard.
‘You should all go now,’ Julia said. ‘I’ve work in the morning.’
She shooed them out, Lucy making a face and laughing as she passed out of the door.
It had been stupid, letting them talk about Brandon like that. How much had he heard? But then, what had they said that wasn’t true?
She listened to the others use the bathroom and go to their rooms. Below her, Gideon was listening to the radio on low. The floorboards creaked and she heard someone move across the landing with unpractised stealth. She tensed and watched the door. The handle moved, a fraction of an inch. Then stopped. Julia stared at the door. The handle swung back to its original position. The footsteps retreated, creaking as they went. Julia breathed again.
She lay stiff and still on the bed. Soon after she heard lighter footsteps she knew to be Genevieve’s coming up the stairs. Then the lightest tap on a door across the landing. It creaked open and shut behind her.
Chapter 34
2018 – Bronzefield
Ralph Williams, my barrister, comes to Bronzefield to discuss my defence. My first shock is when he tells me I’ll not be giving evidence in court.
‘I’d assume anyone who won’t give evidence is guilty,’ I say.
‘The burden of proof lies with the prosecution,’ he says in a clear Home Counties accent. ‘It’s up to the Crown to prove you did commit a crime, not for us to prove that you didn’t.’
‘The jury won’t see it like that – I wouldn’t.’
He stirs sugar into his coffee. ‘It’s a risk worth taking,’ he says. ‘I’m not prepared to put you in the witness box, especially as there’s three of you. With multiple defendants, one invariably gives conflicting evidence to the others and raises doubts. And if one of you were to break down …’ He stops stirring his coffee and looks me straight in the eye. How much does he guess? ‘If one of you were to break down, it would be disastrous for all three.’
‘The truth is irrelevant?’ I say.
‘The truth doesn’t always win trials.’ He removes the stirrer from his cup. Black globules drip onto the table. ‘Even if all of your testimonies confirm the others, there’s the matter of likeability. If a jury finds you unsympathetic, well, I’ve seen them convict on weaker evidence than this.’ He lifts the file half an inch.
I imagine Gideon would charm the jury, just as he did the magistrate, who expressed regret at not granting bail, the serious nature of the charge making it near impossible. Gideon portrayed himself as a businessman, responsible for the livelihood of many and, moreover, a selfless single father, dedicated to the upbringing of his only child.
I can picture the scene, Gideon in court, expressing the right amount of outrage to suggest it’s barely credible that he, an upstanding citizen, could be accused of such a heinous crime. But the outrage would be tempered by concern, to show he fully respects the law and understands the necessity for such proceedings. I wonder if Sam was there to witness it. He’s not responded to my request that he visit me on remand.
There’d be a repeat performance in the Crown Court. By the time of his summing up, the judge would probably recommend Gideon for inclusion in the New Year’s honours list. I can see why there would be concerns about Alan. He would be either haughty or obsequious. Then I realise Ralph is my defence barrister. It’s me he’s thinking of. This takes a moment to sink in.
‘Are you saying I’m unsympathetic?’
‘No, no, no,’ he says in the soothing tones usually reserved to assuage petulant children. ‘All I’m saying is that the prosecution would undoubtedly portray you as such. You had a fling with Brandon and then dumped him.’
‘That’s not what happened,’ I say.
‘And your husband’s currently divorcing you for having an adulterous affair with your son’s rugby coach – Hugh something or other, was it? The jury won’t warm to you.’
‘I was single when I had the fling with Brandon. And Hugh, he was a mistake. One mistake after twenty years of unhappy marriage.’
‘You abandoned your son.’
‘He won’t see me.’
‘That’s not going to secure you any more sympathy. The prosecution will portray you as a bad mother, who screws around behind her husband’s back. A hard-nosed career woman, more concerned with climbing the corporate ladder than caring for her family.’
‘How does any of that make me a murderer?’ I ask.
‘The jury are looking at your character as well as the alleged crime.’
‘But … but …’
Ralph presses his hand on mine. ‘I’m not saying this about you, or that you’re a bad person. What I’m saying is, that’s the angle the prosecution will take.’ He smiles at me. ‘Don’t look so deflated. There’ll be no hatchet job, because, as I said, you’re not going anywhere near the witness box.’
Ralph’s character assassination feels like a physical assault. But why am I surprised? It’s no more than Audrey’s been telling me for years. Ralph even said ‘career woman’. Apologies to Audrey, people do still use that term.
‘What about Gideon and Alan? Will they be giving evidence?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘I know their briefs, Helena Dryden and Arianne Baptiste – both pretty astute. We’ve agreed the same strategy. None of you will be giving evidence.’
‘What if they change their minds?’
‘They won’t,’ he says. ‘However acrimonious the relationship between you, you’re in this together. If the ship goes down, you’re all going under.’
Chapter 35
1994 – Guildford
‘Meet me in Sundowns at seven-thirty,’ Lucy said.
Julia was sitting at her desk in Morgan Boyd Consulting. She picked up a pen and pad as if taking a professional call. Her boss watched her from the far end of the office.
‘Of course, and may I ask where exactly that is, Mrs Howse?’
‘Mrs Who? Oh yeah. It’s the new cocktail place just off the high street. Linden’s coming – it will be a laugh.’
‘Linden?’
‘Hot bloke I met last week. I’m sure his mates will be with him. See you later.’
The rest of the day dragged. Julia watched the clock’s minute hand until the exact moment it hit half past five, before switching off her computer an
d rushing home. She was pleased Lucy had called. She wasn’t going to London until Saturday and had spent most of the week on her own. On Thursday, the boys had gone to the pub again, without asking her – Brandon’s doing, no doubt.
She threw on her only non-work dress, Converse trainers and applied a caramel-coloured lipstick she’d bought the previous week in London, and was about to leave when Brandon stopped her.
‘Got a date?’ he asked.
It was only six o’clock and his breath was heavy with alcohol.
‘Just meeting Lucy, she wanted to try the new cocktail place,’ she said.
‘Sundowns, cool, see you there.’
‘Er …’
He’d already left the room.
Julia wished she had said she was going on a date. Now she couldn’t think of a reason to tell him not to come.
‘He didn’t even wait for an answer, just assumed he’d been invited,’ she told Lucy when she joined Julia in the hall.
‘He likes you,’ Lucy said.
‘No, he doesn’t. He just wants me to like him – male ego. That’s why he lets … Oh, hi, Genevieve.’
Genevieve sauntered in from the kitchen, wearing a long print skirt and white blouse.
‘Why have you got your bags with you? You’re not going out, are you?’ she asked.
‘It’s Friday, Genevieve,’ Lucy said.
‘But I’ve spent all day preparing.’
‘For what?’
‘The barbecue,’ Genevieve said.
‘No one said anything to me about a barbecue.’
‘It’s a surprise.’
‘It certainly is,’ Lucy said. ‘Why on earth are you doing a barbecue?’
Genevieve tilted her head and gave an unfriendly smile, which fell mostly upon Julia.
‘It’s been brought to my attention that certain members of the household are resentful of my making meals for Brandon.’
‘Who told you that?’ Julia asked.
‘It’s not important,’ Genevieve said. ‘I must say, I can’t think why I shouldn’t cook for him, seeing as he’s family.’ Lucy rolled her eyes at this. ‘But some people will always be a little ungenerous. However, to show I bear no grudges, I’m cooking for all of you. And what’s better than a barbecue on a summer’s evening?’
The Verdict Page 16