The Verdict. Olivia Isaac-Henry

muttered something that Julia was sure involved the word ‘tradesman’. If Genevieve heard, she ignored it.

      ‘Lovely,’ she said. ‘He’ll be here at eight.’

      Julia hurried to put her plate away and get out of the kitchen and back to her room, to avoid the inevitable snide comments from Alan.

      An hour or so later, a taxi pulled up outside.

      Julia peered through the window. A man squeezed himself out of the car and threw a backpack over his shoulder. A black baseball cap covered his face, but Julia could see that he was tall and bulky and wore dark baggy trousers. Genevieve ran up the drive to meet him. Julia returned to reading the Iain Banks book Pearl had lent her, until Genevieve knocked on her door.

      She entered the room, more flushed and agitated than Julia had seen her before.

      ‘You must come downstairs and meet Brandon, Julia. He’s simply wonderful.’

      Julia wasn’t sure how wonderful the scruffy mess she’d spotted emerging from the car could be.

      ‘I’m reading, Genevieve,’ she said.

      ‘Julia, you simply must come and meet him. I insist.’

      Being told how wonderful he was prepared Julia to dislike him, and she wasn’t disappointed. When she first came into the kitchen, he made no disguise of looking her up and down like a farmer assessing a prize heifer.

      ‘Which one are you?’ he asked.

      ‘Julia,’ she replied coolly.

      ‘Fantastic,’ he said.

      Alan was sitting at the table, his habitual sneer hardened to a scowl.

      ‘Are you staying long, Brandon?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Dunno. I’ll see how it pans out.’

      Julia examined Brandon more closely. He was broad, bordering on chunky, and had a square jaw and heavy brow. Not bad-looking, but no film star.

      ‘Why are you in Guildford?’ she asked.

      ‘I thought I could find work here. And Ronald said I should look up Jenny. I mean Genevieve.’

      All the time Genevieve was watching him, her eyes wide and glistening, an expression of rapt wonder on her face.

      ‘I want to get to know the area,’ Brandon said. ‘Know any good bars?’

      The question was directed at Alan, and Julia was expecting a curt reply. Instead he said, ‘The Grape’s good, more of a country pub.’

      ‘Girls?’ Brandon asked.

      Julia braced for a comment about ‘slags’.

      ‘You’re better off in town. Bar Midi, or somewhere like that.’

      ‘Great. Up for a quick drink?’

      ‘Sure,’ Alan said.

      Julia looked at Alan, in utter amazement. He carefully avoided her eye. She thought back to her first impression of Alan, as a thin schoolboy. Perhaps he’d been one of the frail and effete ones, bullied as a child and forever desperate to be accepted as one of the lads.

      ‘Do you want to come?’ Brandon asked Julia as an afterthought.

      ‘I’ll leave you two lads to it,’ she said.

      Alan was still avoiding her eye.

      ‘Enjoy yourselves,’ she added.

      The boys left around nine. Julia watched their easy lope up the drive before they disappeared behind a hedge, only to reappear further down the road. Alan was nodding along as Brandon talked, his obvious discomfort amusing her. He’d have to spend the evening listening to Brandon and pretending to be interested in sport and the girls from town. Would he tell Brandon about his girlfriend? Julia had yet to meet her. She imagined a timid girl, with zero personality, who would consider Alan as clever as he thought himself.

      Genevieve interrupted her speculation by knocking at the door and entering without waiting for a reply. She appeared dreamy, her eyes glistening as before, and she was carrying a photograph. She sat on the bed without asking and held the photo face down in her lap.

      ‘And what do you think of Brandon? Isn’t he just as I said?’ Her voice was low and languid.

      ‘Yes, he’s er …’ Julia glanced down at the photograph. It had May 1985 written on the back. ‘He’s very nice.’

      ‘I know people think I’m delusional. I’m sure Alan’s said something.’ Fortunately, Genevieve wasn’t expecting a reply. ‘But I’ve always known Dominic would come back.’

      ‘He’s been found?’ Julia asked.

      ‘I’m not religious,’ Genevieve said. ‘But I do believe in something. A force, I mean, something powerful at work in the universe. I just knew Dominic would return. Stupidly I thought that one day he would walk back through the door. But it doesn’t work like that. Things aren’t always as you imagine they’re going to be. Look.’

      Genevieve peeled the photograph from her thigh. It revealed a faded print of a lanky teenage boy, looking away from the camera lens.

      ‘You see?’ she said.

      ‘Is this Dominic?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Yes. But don’t you see?’

      Julia studied the picture. It had been snapped in the back garden at Downsview Villa. She recognised the terrace and bushes, which had grown several feet since the photograph was taken. For the first time it struck her how strange it was that there were no pictures of Genevieve’s son about the house. Perhaps she kept them in her bedroom or the lounge, which was off-limits to the lodgers.

      ‘You must be able to see it.’

      Julia wasn’t sure what was required of her. Genevieve looked on, willing her to understand the picture’s significance.

      ‘See?’ Genevieve said again.

      The awkwardness was becoming tangible.

      ‘I’m not sure,’ Julia said. What was Genevieve talking about?

      ‘They’re so alike.’

      ‘Who are?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Dominic and Brandon.’

      Julia studied the photograph again. They were both male and, had Dominic lived, they would be about the same age. The similarities ended there.

      ‘Is that why you like Brandon so much?’ Julia asked.

      ‘It’s some sort of miracle. I don’t believe in them in the religious way. But my astrologer—’

      ‘Your astrologer?’

      Alan’s irritation with this woman was becoming more forgivable.

      ‘My astrologer said I would find solace for Dominic’s loss. He has come back. Not in the way I thought. But he has come back.’

      Julia examined her face to find traces of acting but Genevieve appeared completely sincere. Perhaps she’d been playing the role for so long she’d forgotten who she was. Forever Genevieve and never Jenny.

      ‘And you think Brandon is Dominic?’

      ‘Not exactly, but in essence they are the same. I’m letting him have Dominic’s room – you know, the one overlooking the garden – rather than the downstairs one directly below yours. It feels fitting.’

      Neither Valium nor vodka could produce this. Genevieve needed help.

      ‘Have you told your sister any of this?’ Julia asked.