The Verdict. Olivia Isaac-Henry

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СКАЧАТЬ she says firmly. ‘You think you’re being very modern, don’t you, Julia? When ninety-nine per cent of your marital problems are down to your attitude. If your husband was neglectful, it’s because you made it clear you don’t need him. You’re so masculine.’

      ‘Remind me to shave my beard off.’

      ‘And sarcastic.’

      ‘You’re feminine, Mum, always let Robert rule the roost. How did that work out for you? Is he still changing secretaries every few years?’

      She ignores my dig.

      ‘What I’m saying is, all marriages go through rough patches. Often much more serious than yours. You can both get through this.’

      ‘Neither of us want to get through this. We’ve not been happy for years, and anyway he’s found someone else.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Plain Jane.’

      ‘Well you’re definitely in with a chance of getting him back. You’ve still got your looks. My genes, no need to thank me. Though a little make-up wouldn’t go amiss. You should be making more effort now you’re separated, not less.’

      I smile. ‘Jane’s not really plain,’ I say. ‘I just call her that because she’s so boring. I think they were seeing each other before.’

      ‘Maybe you should try being a little more boring. It’s all very well being a career girl—’

      ‘No one’s used that expression since 1979. In the same way that no one says “lady doctor”.’

      ‘So what am I supposed to call female doctors?’

      ‘Doctors?’

      ‘You’ve got an answer for everything, haven’t you, Julia? I don’t know why you always have to be so hard on me.’

      ‘Not as hard as you are on me. Sam’s going to grow up hardly knowing who you are, the amount you work. Is it any wonder your husband’s had enough? I’m not taking your side in all this.’

      ‘They’re called home truths,’ she says. ‘And I may be hard on you but at least I don’t sneer.’

      ‘I—’

      Audrey raises a hand.

      ‘Don’t deny it. Poor Mum, the little woman at home in the kitchen who gets into a tizzy if her husband’s dinner’s not warm enough and worries that her windows aren’t as clean as next door’s.’

      ‘That’s not true,’ I say.

      ‘And it’s not just the words I use or being a housewife. It’s everything. Oh, she reads Joanna Trollope and Maeve Binchy, while you’re reading something with no plot that’s won a prize, thinking it makes you clever.’

      ‘I like those books.’

      ‘Well I like Maeve Binchy and Joanna Trollope. There’s nothing wrong with them.’

      ‘I never said there was.’

      ‘No, but I see you smirking every time I pick one up. It’s the same with television or even the curtains. If I was clever and educated, I’d like better television and have better curtains. Well, where’s your cleverness got you? Halfway to a divorce and relying on a handout from your stepfather to put a roof over your head. And you look down at me for not being independent.’

      ‘Touché.’

      ‘And why haven’t you got any money after all your years working?’

      ‘Sam has to stay in the house, and I have to help pay for it and Sam’s upkeep.’

      ‘No savings?’

      ‘Sam’s starting university soon.’

      ‘He can’t cost that much. I know you’re at fault …’

      ‘Yeah, we covered that.’

      ‘But you should be able to live decently. What would you have done if I hadn’t been able to lend you the money for the deposit?’

      ‘You did, and I’m doing OK.’

      I go to the stove. The pasta’s turned to mush. I hold up the soggy mess. Audrey shakes her head. Another example of my domestic ineptitude.

      Audrey looks out of the window. It’s clear tonight and the lights of the City outline its buildings against the inky sky.

      ‘I suppose when Sam does leave home, you’ll get your share of the house,’ she says.

      ‘Hmm,’ I say.

      After dinner we go to the lounge and watch Audrey’s favourite television programme. It’s about an English couple renovating a French château. There’s about a hundred episodes. After the first advert break I sneak off to the bathroom and check the phone. Nothing new pops up.

      I come back to the lounge and slip the phone down the side of the sofa. After three episodes of the château programme Audrey says, ‘I’ll go up and read. It’s been a long day. I’m leaving early tomorrow. I’ll ring you when I get back.’

      ‘I’ll be at Pearl’s tomorrow,’ I say.

      ‘Friday then, when you’re free.’

      I kiss her goodnight. When she’s gone, I retrieve the bottle of vino cheapo lurking at the back of the fridge and pour myself a glass.

      I’m a third of the way down when the buzzer goes.

      It must be for the previous occupants – no one ever calls for me. I decide to leave it. It buzzes again.

      ‘Hi,’ I say. ‘Rex and Sol have gone.’

      ‘Is that Ms Winter, Julia Winter?’ a male voice says.

      ‘Who’s this?’

      ‘I’m Detective Inspector Warren and I’m with Detective Constable Akande of Surrey Police.’

      The intercom crackles.

      ‘What’s this about?’ I ask.

      ‘Perhaps we could come up and speak to you?’

      ‘It’s getting late,’ I say.

      ‘It is rather urgent, Ms Winter.’ Another voice, female – this must be Akande.

      ‘Can you tell me what it’s about?’ I ask again, though I know what they’re going to say.

      ‘We’re here to talk to you about Brandon Wells.’

       Chapter 13

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