‘But I’ve made arrangements to meet someone in town,’ Lucy said.
‘Invite whoever you like, but I won’t take no for an answer, Lucy.’
Julia made a little shake of her head. Lucy didn’t see it.
‘I suppose I’d catch Linden if I called now,’ she said.
‘Excellent,’ Genevieve said. ‘Gideon said it would be a good idea.’
‘Gideon?’ Julia said.
‘He suggested it. Such a considerate young man. If I were twenty years younger. Ha ha.’ She waggled her finger. ‘Now, have to get on. Delia’s a hard taskmaster when it comes to accompaniments.’
‘Who the hell’s Delia?’ Lucy asked as Genevieve drifted back to the kitchen. ‘If I were twenty years younger,’ she said when the door was shut. ‘Or even if she wasn’t. Poor Gideon – perhaps we should warn him.’
‘I’m sure he can take care of himself,’ Julia said.
‘Talking of which. What do you think of Gideon? Hot, right?’
‘He’s all right.’
Julia didn’t want to tell Lucy that he reminded her of Christian. Or that they’d arranged a cinema date, if that’s what it was. She’d barely seen him since the night of their shared insomnia.
‘You’re either blind or have a heart of stone. If it wasn’t for Linden – and that may not work out—’
‘But you live together. It’s a bad idea,’ Julia said a little too quickly.
‘You’re probably right,’ Lucy said. ‘Shame though, he really is … Hi, guys.’
Gideon, Alan and Brandon were coming down the stairs. The hall really wasn’t the best place to gossip.
‘Was this barbecue your idea?’ Julia asked Gideon.
‘It will be too hot and crowded in town,’ he said. ‘And it keeps Genevieve happy.’
‘It was supposed to be a girls’ night out,’ Lucy said.
‘Ah, the lipstick, the dress,’ Alan said, looking at Julia. ‘Makes sense now.’
‘I’m wearing the dress because we were going to a cocktail bar, not the pub,’ Julia replied, half watching Brandon.
‘Touchy,’ Alan said.
‘Come on, Alan, tonight’s supposed to be bringing us all together,’ said Gideon.
Genevieve reappeared. ‘You’re all here, fabulous. Look what I found, my old Polaroid.’ She carried an ancient camera in her hand. ‘Come into the lounge. You can all fit on the sofa.’
‘Do we have to?’ Alan said.
‘Now, Alan, don’t be a grouch,’ Genevieve said.
Alan gave her an exasperated look but did as she asked.
They shuffled into the lounge, its parquet floor covered by a geometric-patterned rug. Above the fireplace hung a print of the Alps, which took up most of the chimney breast. Julia and Lucy saw it at the same time and exchanged puzzled glances. Wasn’t it morbid to choose a picture of the mountains that killed her son? There were no pictures of Dominic. Julia remembered how jealously Genevieve had guarded the one photo of him she had seen, as if it were some sacred image, and only those truly worthy were granted a glimpse.
A small, open bureau held various bundles of correspondence as well as pens, pencils, envelopes and a large pair of scissors. The other surfaces, sideboards, mantelpiece and display tables were covered in vases, figurines and one rather hideous marble lamp, all swirls and gold leaf, far too large for the slender display table on which it stood.
‘Squash up – you can all fit in,’ Genevieve said as they sat on the sofa together. ‘Now then, if I can only remember how to work this.’ She fiddled with the camera’s settings for a while.
‘Here, let me,’ Lucy said, taking the camera. ‘Like this.’ She pointed and clicked. The camera started to whir. ‘Oh damn.’
‘What is it?’ Genevieve asked.
‘It’s out of film. You’ve got more, right?’
‘They’re may be some in the drawer upstairs,’ Genevieve said. ‘I’ll go and check.’
Julia stood over Lucy as she shook the photograph and the figures seeped into life.
‘It’s not bad, I suppose,’ Lucy said.
The camera does lie, Julia thought. Anyone viewing the snap would assume them to be friends. Somehow the photo had caught them looking relaxed, comfortable with one another, a happy band of housemates, instead of a random collection of individuals brought together by the need for a roof over their heads.
Brandon stood up. ‘If I have to go to this barbecue—’
‘You don’t have to,’ Alan said.
Brandon ignored him. ‘I’m going to the pub to bring some friends back.’ He stomped out.
Alan looked baffled. ‘I didn’t know he had any friends.’
The heat didn’t dip with the dusk, nor as it darkened into night. Genevieve was in a flurry of activity Julia hadn’t believed she was capable of, receiving food deliveries, making an array of colourful salads, placing lights and cushions around the garden. An industrious, organised woman who, having seen everyone was well fed, now sat, gin and tonic in hand, on her terrace, talking animatedly with Edward. She would not have looked out of place in any garden in Surrey. Even her choice of clothes bordered on the conventional and her general manner had been organised and rational. The food had been excellent, plates of marinated meat, chicken, pork and lamb, all perfectly cooked and seasoned, bowl upon bowl of salads and slaws, exotic mixes of fruit and grains unfamiliar to Julia.
It was a pity Genevieve didn’t find a job. Julia was sure it would be more effective in nullifying her grief than vodka, pills and young men, like Brandon, who had brought an entourage of five girls and three boys back with him. None of whom he introduced to the rest of the house. Alan looked around him with disdain. As if he couldn’t believe he’d lowered himself by participating in such a gathering. Gideon was the only one at ease. And somehow, Julia knew he would always fit in, whether at a cocktail bar, a rough boozer or a party full of strangers. He would have made a good spy, blending in, making friends.
The moment Linden arrived, Lucy ran over to him and they found a corner of the garden away from the rest, where they cuddled up, whispering in each other’s ears between bursts of laughter. Julia sat with Gideon and Alan on the lawn. The grass was just long enough to clutch between her toes, having swapped her Converse for sandals.
She was watching Brandon. His behaviour troubled her. He was standing next to the barbecue, working his way through a plate of cold chops. His hair had grown into a thick, curly mop down to his shoulders. He looked like a grizzly bear, hunched over a kill. When she’d tried talking to him, earlier in the evening, he’d been uncommunicative and morose. Julia had seen him angry, but this was a different mood, not the work of a momentary irritation.
‘What’s wrong with him today?’ Gideon asked, pointing the neck of his beer bottle in Brandon’s direction.
‘He’s drunk,’ Julia replied.
‘So, what’s new?’ Alan said.
For some reason Julia felt responsible for Brandon. She was sure that, despite the gaggle of girls he’d brought to the barbecue, he was lonely. Ostracised by his housemates, mistrusted by Ruth – only Genevieve took an interest, and she was no substitute for a friend. Julia felt lost a mere two hundred miles from home, when Audrey, Pearl and Andre could all be reached within a few hours and she spoke to them on the phone most days. Brandon was thousands of miles from home and had no one and she’d never heard him make or receive a call. It couldn’t be the cost of calling New Zealand, because Genevieve was sure to cover it.
Julia put her wine down on the grass and walked over to him. Her approach drew his attention from his food. He threw down a bone stripped of meat and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
‘Are you all right, Brandon?’ she asked.
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
‘You’re not with your friends.’ She nodded at the girls.
‘What’s it got to do with you?’ he said.
‘I’m just a bit worried.’
He pushed his face forward, s
o that it was only a couple of inches from hers.
‘That’s very touching. And what about Gideon, are you worried about him too?’
‘I don’t follow,’ Julia said.
He looked at her with contempt. ‘I’m not in the mood today, Julia. I’m really not.’
He turned away from her. She stood where she was for a moment, unsure what to do. Brandon picked up another chop and started gnawing at it. Julia returned to Gideon and Alan, sitting on the grass.
Gideon was now telling Alan about his godfather’s business, which Alan appeared to find engrossing, while Julia thought it beyond dull. She had no one to talk to – not that she cared so much. Guildford wasn’t for ever. She had an interview for a job in Hounslow and if that didn’t work out, another would come along. Tonight, she’d enjoy the beer, the warm evening and the food. Soon she’d leave and forget all of them. Except maybe Lucy. Perhaps she’d see Lucy after she left.
After switching to red wine, Julia felt a pleasant warmth run through her core. The barbecue was now dead ashes. The night was still warm and nearly everyone was drunk, laughing and shouting. Gideon was the exception. He was still sipping his first beer, Julia noticed, though not making a big deal of ‘someone has to stay sober’.
Brandon finished his plate of chops and sat down with the group he’d brought back from the pub. He fell into easy conversation with these near strangers and, again, Julia felt sad and a little ashamed that he was more comfortable with them than with his housemates. The girls were pretty and the boys friendly. No wonder he preferred them.
‘Jealous?’
Julia hadn’t realised Alan was watching her.
‘Why would I be?’
‘You tell me,’ he said.
It was the second time he’d hinted at knowing something about her night with Brandon. Julia watched his face. Alan was guessing.
‘If anyone’s jealous, it’s you,’ Julia said. ‘When was the last time a girl gave you any attention?’
‘I’ve told you,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a girlfriend.’
‘Who no one’s ever met.’
‘Cut it out, you two,’ Gideon said.
Alan looked like he had a whole lot more to say, but Gideon gave him a meaningful stare and he refrained from commenting. Instead he downed his wine.
‘This stuff’s disgusting. I’m getting a lager. Gideon?’
‘I’m all right.’
From his walk, Julia thought he was far drunker than she had realised. Not that it improved his mood.
‘And what’s his excuse for his girlfriend failing to materialise yet again?’ Julia asked Gideon.
‘She’s at a festival, apparently,’ he said.
‘That’s it. He’s definitely made her up. Girls who go to festivals would never go out with someone like Alan.’ Julia was thinking of Pearl.
‘You could be right,’ Gideon said. Then after a pause, ‘And you, Julia, you’re horrified by Alan’s celibacy, but you’re single. I know you said you’ve just come out of a long-term relationship and being single’s fine, if that’s what you want, but you don’t seem the sort.’
Julia wasn’t sure if she should object to Gideon not thinking she was the sort, that she was some needy, clingy female, incomplete without a man. Or was it a vague compliment to an amiable nature and feminine charm? The wine and the slight unease caused by Brandon’s strange mood made her thinking muddled. She didn’t want to talk about the mess that was her love life, but she didn’t want to seem aloof.
‘It’s complicated. I met Christian on the first day of secondary school. We started going out together when we were about fourteen.’
Gideon rested his head on his elbow and concentrated on her face. Then the whole tale came out. Her refusal to leave home while at university. Ellie’s betrayal and Julia’s longing for escape.
‘And did you escape?’ Gideon asked.
‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Gideon said.
‘I’m getting there,’ she said.
It was true. She still cried, but only two nights out of three, and she no longer framed every event by wondering what Christian and Ellie were doing at that moment.
‘And Brandon?’ Gideon said.
‘What’s he got to do with it?’
‘I thought—’
‘What’s he said?’
‘Nothing.’
Julia looked towards Brandon, still chatting away with his pub pals.
‘I think he’s unhappy,’ she said. ‘Have you noticed he never calls home?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it.’
‘The only contact he seems to have is with girls he’s pulled. He doesn’t have any friends.’
‘He’s got Genevieve,’ Gideon said.
‘That hardly counts. We should be nicer to him.’
‘You’ll have a job persuading Alan.’
Gideon looked over his shoulder. Alan was coming back, a can of lager in each hand. Even if he hadn’t been about to join them, Julia wouldn’t have mentioned that Alan’s current contempt for Brandon dated from Gideon’s arrival. It was a weak analogy but it made her think of Christian, leaving her for Ellie. She was still looking at Brandon and hadn’t noticed Gideon was observing her, until he put a hand on her shoulder.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
Alan was right next to them. She lightly pushed Gideon’s hand away.
‘I’m fine,’ she said.
Alan planted his drinks down.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked.
She now realised, her comment about Alan being jealous of Brandon must have struck closer than she knew. Of course he was jealous of Brandon, who was out every other night with a different girl, while Alan was in a fake relationship.
And what about Gideon? How easily she’d confessed to him the most painful details of her break-up with Christian, but she knew nothing about him. Did he have a girlfriend? He never mentioned one. Most of his time spent away from the house was with his godfather, plotting their world takeover of nutritional supplements. Sometimes Julia thought Gideon showed her a preference, at others it seemed like general friendliness.
By now Julia was very drunk but didn’t care. It was manageable drunk, not fall around and throw up drunk. The irritation she’d felt with Alan and Brandon dissipated as people drifted away from the party.
‘I hope you’ve all had a delightful evening,’ Genevieve announced from the terrace. ‘I’m retiring now.’
‘Night,’ they called to her.
‘I’m off too,’ Lucy said. ‘Going back with Linden.’
‘That’s the last we’ll see of her till Saturday afternoon,’ Alan said.
Julia glanced at Gideon. He looked on calmly with an expression of mild amusement. What did he think of them? Brandon oafish, Alan snide, Lucy slutty. You couldn’t tell.
Brandon’s friends had left, but he still wandered about the garden, beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other.
‘Hadn’t you better go up?’ Alan said. ‘Genevieve will be expecting you.’
‘What the fuck is that supposed to mean?’
Alan was lying down and Brandon was on the other side of the garden.
‘Well, all this was for you. Genevieve will be expecting something in return.’
‘Alan,’ Julia warned.
He ignored her. ‘I mean, all the pretty girls have gone – you’ll have to go for something more mature.’
Brandon was across the garden and standing over Alan in an instant.
‘Fuck you,’ he said.
Alan looked surprised and scared. Gideon jumped to a standing position.
‘It was just a bit of fun,’ he said, holding both palms out.
‘I’m sick of his smart-arse comments. What makes you think you’re so special?’ Brandon prodded Alan with his toe.
‘Don’t kick me!’ Alan scrambled to his feet.
‘If I’d kicked you, you’d know about it.’
> ‘Listen here.’ Alan’s voice was that of a whiny child.
‘Guys, guys,’ Gideon said. ‘There’s no need for this.’
‘You’re right about that,’ Brandon replied.
‘Look, I’ve got just the thing to mellow us out,’ Gideon said.
‘What’s that?’ Brandon’s eyes were still fixed on Alan.
‘Green barley isn’t the only type of dried leaf I have in my possession.’
Julia stood up. ‘You can’t do that here,’ she said.
‘Somewhere else then.’
‘There’s only one place to go,’ Brandon said. ‘Up on the Downs.’
Chapter 36
2018 – Guildford Crown Court
Guildford Crown Court has none of the oak-panelled majesty associated with law courts in the common imagination. It bears more resemblance to a 1980’s lecture theatre than the forbidding grandeur of the Old Bailey. With red patterned carpets and flip-down seats, its harsh lights work hard to compensate for the natural deficit, due to the room’s high narrow windows. Gideon, Alan and I sit with a security guard in the dock, a glass cage from which we, the accused, can be observed at all times. No eye contact is made.
‘Be upstanding,’ the court clerk declaims.
His Honour Judge John Fleetwood looks like he was born in a courtroom. He is tall and lean, his walk is purposeful, his air resolute. He presides over the court, as poised and watchful as a heron over a pond, alert to the minutest ripple. The red sash and purple-sleeved robes of his office denote his pre-eminence, a rare dash of colour among the monochrome of lawyers.
On the other hand, the seven men and five women of the jury could have been randomly fetched from any shopping mall in the country. A lad on the front row, wearing a blue hoody and jeans, barely looks old enough to serve. A middle-aged woman wears a floral dress and bottle-green jacket, another about the same age is in loose slacks, a cream blouse and a pink scarf flicked over her shoulder. A younger man to the side has tattoos visible under his T-shirt. The only one formally dressed is a man of about forty in a grey suit and white shirt.
I’m wearing a fitted navy dress. Ralph told me I must be feminine but not sexy. There’s little chance of either at forty-eight, and having spent the last six months on remand. I wonder how Judge Fleetwood views me. Ralph described him as ‘fair’. Is that a euphemism for harsh?
The Verdict Page 17