an ugly tosser, but who else has she got to fantasise about? Middle-aged, divorced, her kids have left home.’ Fraser counted off Penelope’s deficiencies on his fingers. ‘She probably hasn’t had it in years. It’s sad, the way she’s always angling for invitations to the pub.’
‘Maybe she’s just lonely,’ Julia said.
‘Then she should find people her own age to hang out with,’ Fraser said. ‘What would we have to talk about – knitting, Songs of Praise?’
‘You know who you really should seduce, Fraser, and do us all a favour?’ Bee said. ‘Jim’s wife. I’m sure she had her eye on you at the Christmas party. A toy boy would keep her happy, which would keep Jim happy, which would get him off our backs.’
‘Suddenly Penelope’s not such a bad prospect,’ Fraser said. ‘What about you, Julia – do you have a boyfriend, girlfriend, crush?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No one.’
‘There must be somebody,’ Bee said.
Julia thought of Christian. Most likely he was wrapped in Ellie’s arms right at that very moment. She downed her wine and made her excuses.
She stumbled back to Downsview Villa at around eleven. Remembering to use the side door, and without turning on the light, she crept through the garage and into the kitchen and hall where the streetlamps provided just enough illumination to see the stairs. As she neared the top, a shard of light fell across the landing. A door opened, and a man stood silhouetted in its frame. Genevieve came out and pulled it shut behind her. The landing fell dark again. She turned and started to ascend the stairs to the attic rooms, then stopped.
‘Who’s that?’
‘It’s only me,’ Julia said.
‘Who?’
‘Julia, Genevieve. It’s Julia.’
She continued to the landing and switched on the light. Genevieve’s face was wet with tears.
‘What’s happened?’ Julia asked.
Genevieve moved towards her, holding her arms straight out in front, as if bracing for a fall. At the last moment she wrapped them around Julia, placed her head on Julia’s shoulder and started to sob.
‘Genevieve?’
She made no response. Julia looked to the door, from which Genevieve had come. It was only a few feet away. The occupant must be able to hear her crying. A little drunk and unsure what to do, Julia decided it best to lead Genevieve to her bedroom and sit her on the bed.
‘Has something happened, Genevieve?’
‘No. Nothing. I know people think I’m …’
Her voice was weak and fractured.
‘Think you’re …?’ Julia prompted.
‘Alan was quite horrible. He doesn’t understand.’
‘Understand what?’
‘Is it so bad for a woman my age to enjoy the company of younger men?’
Julia’s thoughts were fuzzy. She wished she’d said no to the second bottle of wine.
‘I … err … you mean …’
‘It’s not sexual,’ Genevieve said.
‘No?’
‘It’s their vitality, their beauty, their strength.’ It sounded sexual. ‘And now Dominic isn’t here … I was an actress, you know. I was in a Polanski film. My agent said I had Hollywood potential. I gave up all ambition for Dominic. He was everything to me. I miss him every day.’
‘Dominic – your husband?’ Julia asked.
‘My son,’ Genevieve said.
Did women really value their sons for their vitality, beauty and strength? Audrey would never describe Julia’s stepbrother in that way. She’d describe him as a sweet and clever boy, a catch for some lucky girl when he got older.
‘Is Dominic coming back soon?’ Julia asked.
Genevieve frowned.
‘Is he at university?’
‘No,’ Genevieve said. ‘He’s in Switzerland.’
Genevieve’s voice had hardened, the confessional tone gone, discouraging further questions, which, in any case, Julia was too tired to ask.
‘Why don’t you give him a call, if you miss him?’ Julia said.
‘Hmm.’
Genevieve remained seated on her bed. Julia wasn’t sure what to say. Perhaps she still wanted to talk about Alan.
‘The thing is …’ Julia said. ‘I mean, if you go into someone’s room at night, they might think …’
‘I’m sorry,’ Genevieve said. She stood up. ‘You have work tomorrow, and I’m keeping you awake.’
‘It’s not a problem,’ Julia said.
‘I’ve been so silly.’
‘It doesn’t matter, Genevieve. Really, any time.’
Genevieve dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Goodnight then,’ she said.
Julia waited for Genevieve’s footsteps to disappear up the stairs to the attic before going to the bathroom. The landing light had been turned off, but she caught the flash of white gloss on Alan’s doorframe glinting in the streetlight, before the soft shunt of wood on wood.
She was too tired and too drunk to care if he’d overheard her conversation with Genevieve. Julia hadn’t said anything she shouldn’t.
After washing her face and cleaning her teeth, she returned to her room, slipped into bed and lay back with the blinds open, watching the night sky.
Poor Genevieve, she must have been a beauty in her youth, captivating men, not seeking them out in the dead of night, to be rebuffed and humiliated. Not dissimilar to Penelope at work. But Genevieve did not long occupy her mind as wine and exhaustion tugged at her eyelids.
Julia wasn’t concerned with the fading of youth. Middle age seemed as far away as the moon above her. A place to which other people travel but she would never venture herself.
There’s a moment when I wake, still cosy and warm under my duvet, that I forget, and all that lies ahead of me is the Tube and
