The Verdict. Olivia Isaac-Henry

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СКАЧАТЬ get to meet Alan until Wednesday at breakfast. She had a spoonful of Fruit ’n Fibre in her mouth when he sauntered into the kitchen, still in the process of doing up his tie. He was much as his silhouette had suggested, of average height and a little too thin. He must have been older than he looked because, in grey trousers and a white shirt, he had the appearance of an overgrown schoolboy.

      ‘Hi,’ he said and was out of the door before Julia could respond.

      She ran into him again that evening, when she came in from work. He was sitting at the kitchen table, watching television.

      ‘Hello, again,’ Julia said.

      He turned slowly from the TV and scanned Julia, as if seeing her for the first time.

      ‘Hello,’ he said and turned back to the TV.

      Maybe he was shy, and she should be the one to instigate conversation.

      ‘I’m Julia, by the way,’ she said.

      ‘I know,’ he said without looking at her.

      ‘And you’re Alan, right?’

      ‘Well deduced.’

      His eyes remained fixed on the television. Julia was sure he wasn’t actually watching the soap opera that droned on in the background. She tried again.

      ‘Is there much to do around here? Do you go out much?’

      This time he did make the effort to look at her.

      ‘You’ve got to be joking,’ he said. ‘I’m glad I’ve got a girlfriend back home. All the girls round here are right slags and the guys are no better.’

      His expression made it clear Julia was included in this derision.

      The prospect of sitting alone in her room all evening wasn’t great, but it was better than being with Alan.

      She was about to leave when he switched off the TV and swung his leg over to sit astride the bench. She automatically turned to face him.

      ‘What do you think of Genevieve then?’ he said.

      Julia was sure whatever her opinion, he would deem it contemptible.

      ‘She seems nice,’ she said neutrally.

      Alan pulled a disappointed face, as if this was exactly the sort of wishy-washy comment he’d expected of someone so dull-witted.

      ‘I saw Genevieve leaving your room the other night,’ he said.

      Julia remembered his sly closing of the door as she went to the bathroom.

      ‘She didn’t try it on with you, did she?’ he asked.

      The question shocked Julia. She knew that was exactly what Alan had intended and managed to feign nonchalance.

      ‘Why would you think that?’ she said.

      He tipped his head to one side. ‘No reason. I thought she might swing both ways. She seems the sort and she certainly can’t resist young flesh.’

      He smiled and stood up as if to leave. Julia didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of riling her but couldn’t hide her irritation.

      ‘If Genevieve’s behaviour bothers you, why are you still here?’ she asked.

      Alan stopped and looked at her, a sneer twitching at the corner of his lips.

      ‘Who said it bothers me?’

      ‘I wouldn’t like it, someone coming into my room at night.’

      Alan raised himself up and looked more superior than ever. ‘Ah, but she did come into your room at night.’

      ‘Not for that reason,’ Julia said.

      He laughed. ‘If you say so. And anyway, as far as I’m concerned, Genevieve can drop in any time she likes. She’s hardly going to overpower me, is she?’

      ‘What are you talking about – she’s just missing her son,’ Julia said.

      ‘And what exactly do you know about her son?’

      ‘He’s in Switzerland.’

      ‘In Switzerland. Technically accurate, I suppose,’ Alan said.

      God, he was infuriating.

      ‘What do you mean – is he in jail or something?’ Julia asked.

      ‘It’s a bit more permanent than that.’ Alan slowed down his speech as if waiting for her clunking brain to catch up. ‘He’s dead.’

      This time Julia couldn’t hide her shock.

      ‘Why didn’t she say?’

      ‘Hello.’ Alan waved his hand in front of Julia’s face. ‘This is Genevieve. She and reality have never been the best of friends, y’know. And Valium and vodka aren’t helping the situation.’

      Julia had thought Genevieve affected and melodramatic. It hadn’t occurred to her that she might be grieving.

      ‘What happened to him?’

      ‘He was on a climbing expedition in the Alps. There was an avalanche. The body was never recovered, which is why she can kid herself he’s coming back.’

      ‘There’s no chance?’

      ‘No one survived.’ His tone was matter-of-fact. ‘It was six years ago. You’d think she’d have moved on.’

      Julia thought of Audrey’s miscarriages. The absent children, never spoken of.

      ‘She lost her son,’ she said.

      ‘And how is pretending he’s still alive helping her?’ Alan said. ‘You know she keeps his room exactly how it was, buys him birthday and Christmas presents for when he comes back?’

      ‘What about Dominic’s father?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Never on the scene, as far as I can tell. Genevieve was cuckoo long before the whole thing with Dominic. You know she changed her surname to D’Auncey by deed poll. That’s Dominic’s father’s name. He never married her, already had a wife and he wasn’t going to leave her. And who could blame him?’

      ‘Poor Genevieve,’ Julia said.

      ‘Ah yes, the poor Genevieve narrative,’ Alan said. ‘The script she wants us all to stick to. Well, you can if you like. I’ve better things to do with my time.’

      He ended the conversation by turning from her and exiting the room, leaving Julia unsure what to believe.

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