JULIAN

I’D learnt long ago not to be optimistic about situations, but when Rosie opened the door with her face streaming with tears, lugging a battered suitcase behind her, I knew things had been particularly bad. I took her suitcase and set it down in the living room, then wrapped my arms around her as she cried.

“Mum wouldn’t listen to me,” she said through the hurt. “I told her everything, about Scottie, about you saving me, about how what they spout in the Brewery is nothing but bullshit, but she wouldn’t accept it. She wouldn’t accept me being with you.”

If truth be told, I didn’t blame Beverly for...