The Truth About Julia: A Chillingly Timely Psychological Novel by Schaffner Anna

they came from, what they’d done in the past, how they had ended up on the street, how they were spending their days, what they thought of government policies on tackling homelessness, and so on. The shelter crowd adored Julia – they called her ‘angel’ and felt incredibly flattered by her interest in them. They had a glow in their eyes when they spoke to her, and some even cried when she touched them – she often took their hands in hers, rubbed their backs, and removed leaves from their hair.
    During the weekly school debates, I’d usually sit right by my sister’s side, and fetch things like water, crackers and pens when needed, and otherwise just listened to her rhetorical artistry, completely spellbound like the rest of the audience. Julia set specific topics for each session, such as ‘Should Rapists be Castrated?’; ‘The Psycho-Politics of Charity: Altruism or Narcissism?’; and ‘Redistribution: Ethical Obligation or Economic Suicide?’ Usually two or three kids agreed to debate with her each week, which was pretty brave considering that Julia always won any argument, no matter whether she really believed in the side she had adopted for the purposes of the discussion. No one ever even got close to posing a semi-serious intellectual challenge to her. I think she saw these debates as practice, like a boxer who lets laughably unworthy opponents into the ring just to keep himself fit for a real fight in the future. In any case, the rest of us just enjoyed the show. But after a few months Julia got bored with the society, appointed a new president and debate leader and moved on. The society withered away soon after her departure.
    Her waning interest in the debating society was also directly related to her growing interest in someone she’d recently met at the Oxfam shop. He was twenty-three years old, tall, and had floppy blond hair that kept tumbling into his face. He used to flip it back with a jerk of his head that made him look like a camp horse attempting to get rid of a bothersome fly. He always wore green corduroys, white shirts with cuffs, cravats and a tweed jacket – a bit Brideshead Revisited , you know? That ridiculously arch lord-of-the-manor style? Five Saturdays in a row, he lingered for hours in the shop during Julia’s shifts, pretending to study the record and book collection. Behind his back we giggled because he was just so totally obvious – we couldn’t believe the amount of time and energy he invested in keeping up this farce. It was clear what he was really interested in. Julia would always politely ask him whether she could help him with anything, and he’d blush, shake his head, tug at his ridiculous cravat and pull out a random book, which he’d then stare at for half an hour.
    Eventually – I think it took him about six or seven weeks – he mustered up the courage to ask Julia out for a coffee. He was called Jeremy and was studying for an MA in Politics at King’s. Obviously I trailed along to their first date. We went to some boho café in town after Julia’s shift, where the two of them hotly debated until closing time whether or not communism was compatible with human nature, or whether the accumulation of private property and personal privileges was a necessary driving force for economic and creative productivity. I got bored with their discussion, and I can’t remember what they agreed on in the end. I was also disturbed by some changes I perceived in Julia that day. All evening, she didn’t make any effort to include me in the discussion, not even once. Usually, she’d do that, and make sure that her friends spoke to me, too, so that I wouldn’t feel left out. But that evening, she didn’t even look at me – her gaze remained fixed on Jeremy. They agreed to meet again the next day.
    On our way home Julia was silent. I was kind of hoping she’d mock Jeremy’s absurdly posh accent, or his vain hair-tossing, or that she’d dismiss his preposterous