The Verdict. Olivia Isaac-Henry

matter. I must act normally – whatever that is.

      I have to calm down and think. The shock of the news, the picture of the Downs bathed in golden light, the shaded dells hinting at the darkness, the tightness in my gut – all this has stopped me from asking the most important question. Who sent the text?

       Chapter 4

       1994 – Guildford

      Stepping past Genevieve and into Downsview Villa for the first time, Julia was struck by its sense of space. The entrance hall was double-heighted, stretching to the roof and opening up the whole house. A window spanning both floors flooded the room with light. It was as far from her friends’ poky dives in North London as Audrey’s was from the dog hair and coffee-mug rings of the charming cottage she’d viewed earlier.

      ‘And where have you come from today?’ Genevieve asked.

      ‘Flaxley, Worcestershire. You won’t have heard of it. It’s a tiny place just south of Birmingham.’

      Genevieve’s face expressed a mixture of horror and pity.

      ‘Oh dear, never mind, you’re here now and you’ll very much like it – so much greenery.’

      ‘There’s greenery in the Midlands too.’

      Julia suddenly missed the fields and woods in which she’d played, growing up.

      ‘I thought it was all factories,’ Genevieve said. ‘Queen Victoria used to insist the curtains of her railway carriage were lowered when travelling through Birmingham. Like me, she was unable to tolerate ugliness. I’ve never been north of Cheltenham, except for Norway, but that’s something quite different. Have you ever been?’

      Julia was unsure if Genevieve was referring to Cheltenham or Norway. But as she’d visited neither, she simply said, ‘No.’

      ‘You’re young, there’s still time,’ Genevieve said.

      Perhaps the first house hadn’t been so bad. The mug stain could be cleaned and the dog smell Shake n’ Vac’d from the carpet.

      ‘Can I see the room?’ Julia asked.

      ‘First, you must see the rest of the house.’

      Genevieve skipped around her and opened the door on the other side of the hall.

      ‘This is the kitchen,’ she said. ‘My lodgers are free to use this room. The lounge and dining room are for my personal use, but the kitchen is large enough for you all to socialise in. And there’s a television if that interests you. Can’t bear the dratted thing myself.’

      The room was large, its mahogany cabinets outdated but not unpleasant. Patio doors opened onto a terrace with steps leading down to a well-maintained garden. At the far end, a woman in a burgundy body warmer pottered about clipping at plants and placing discarded stems into a bucket. Another woman, Julia’s age or a little older, twenty-five perhaps, was sitting at a wooden table in front of the doors, eating a cheese sandwich. Her mouth was full, and she merely lifted a hand in greeting.

      ‘This is Lucy,’ Genevieve said.

      ‘Hi, I’m Julia.’

      ‘You can ignore her,’ Genevieve said curtly. ‘She’s leaving us.’

      Lucy shrugged and smiled.

      ‘I’ll show you the room now.’

      For a woman in her fifties, Genevieve was light on her feet, as if she’d been a dancer. She floated up the stairs and Julia had trouble keeping pace. The staircase was in two flights. The first led to a landing running along the large window at the front, before going up another flight to the first floor. A separate staircase led to the attic.

      ‘My rooms are on the top floor and the bathroom is at the back of the house,’ Genevieve said. ‘And this one will be yours.’

      The bedroom was on the far side of the staircase. Genevieve opened the door and allowed Julia to enter before her. The room was small, with a single bed and a double wardrobe. The walls were magnolia, the carpet beige, and pine-scented furniture polish hung in the air. It was neat and orderly, too bland to be objectionable. It would do.

      Julia walked to the window. A green bank rose sharply above the hedge on the opposite side of the road. She couldn’t see the tops of the hills but was aware of their presence and how abruptly the town ended and gave way to open countryside. Genevieve followed her gaze.

      ‘The Downs,’ she said. ‘I told you, I can’t tolerate ugliness. It’s wonderful to wake every morning to this beauty, the pure blue colour of the sky you only get here. I grew up just down the road. I don’t suppose many people appreciate it as I do. Even when I lived in the Alps, I longed for the Downs, to lie on the grass on a summer’s day and look up at the clouds blowing across the sky.’

      It was a performance, Genevieve’s lines rehearsed and repeated many times before, an impression reinforced by her switch to a pragmatic tone when the discussion turned to business.

      ‘It’s two hundred and eighty-five pounds a month including bills,’ she said. ‘Payment sharp on the first of every month and two months’ rent in advance.’

      Julia was tired. And if Genevieve was a little annoying, at least the place was clean, and she wouldn’t be sharing with Norman Bates.

      ‘I’ll take it,’ she said.

      ‘Wonderful,’ Genevieve said. ‘Come downstairs and we’ll sort it all out.’

      They returned to the kitchen.

      ‘I’ll need the deposit now. Make the cheque out to Genevieve D’Auncey,’ she said. ‘I’ll just pop to the lounge and get my receipt book and you can sign the contract.’

      Julia took her chequebook from her bag and sat at the table, as Lucy was finishing her sandwich.

      ‘So why are you leaving?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Moving in with my boyfriend.’

      A shard of pain sliced across Julia’s chest. Until two months ago she’d used the same casual tone as Lucy to say, ‘I’m moving in with my boyfriend.’ As if it were the most normal thing in the world. Instead, here she was with strangers, two hundred miles away.

      Julia realised Lucy was looking at her and expecting her to speak.

      ‘What’s it like here?’ she asked.

      ‘OK,’ Lucy said. ‘Genevieve’s a bit …’

      ‘Theatrical?’

      ‘I suppose,’ Lucy said. ‘That as well.’

      ‘As well as what?’ Julia asked.

      ‘She’s fond of—’

      Light footsteps, scampering across the hall, signalled Genevieve’s return.

      ‘Ah Lucy,’ Genevieve said as she entered the room. ‘Haven’t you anything to do?’

      By way of reply, Lucy stood up and took her plate to the dishwasher.

      ‘Who else lives here?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Well, there’s Alan,’ Genevieve said. ‘Been here five years – a fixture you could say – though he’s not in much. And the other three rooms will be free once Lucy’s left. You’ll be taking one of them, of course. I wasn’t sure when you first came to the door, but now I can see you’ll be perfect. I have a good sense about people. It’s a … a …’ She wound her hand in a circular motion from the wrist but didn’t finish her sentence. Out of the corner of her eye, Julia saw Lucy smirking. ‘Yes, you’ll do very well,’ Genevieve concluded.

      Julia