Court Out (12 page)

“That concludes the case against you. You are free to leave.”

With an expression that makes it clear she can’t quite believe what is happening, Ms Goodridge steps out of the dock.

“Wait outside” I mouth to her. She nods back.

“Well thank you very much ladies,” says the Judge, getting to his feet. Serena and I follow suit and wait for him to exit. I turn to Serena, face full of mirth, ready to dissect every element of the exchange between the Judge and our bigoted foreperson. Instead of being met with laughter and jokes, I’m stopped in my tracks when I instead see an expression of utter fury on the face of my best friend. Confused, I continue regardless.

“Hey! What’s up with you? I thought I was going to burst out laughing at the look on that woman’s face when she thought she was going to have to sit in the dock!”

I wait, expectantly for a reply. It comes

“You bitch,” she says coldly.

“What!” I exclaim.

I feel like I’ve been slapped round the face. I look at her, shocked and bewildered. I’m acutely aware that the court staff have stopped what they are doing and are watching us with curiosity.

“You heard me. This is all your fault. You’ll do anything to win. I just can’t believe you’ve stooped this low.”

My court manner deserts me.

“What the hell are you on about?” I say, gripping the edge of my seat for support. “How have I stooped to anything?”

“You set me up. You sat there and let me miss out the key piece in the case.”

I could almost laugh if she wasn’t being deadly serious.

“Humour me, how did I do anything to influence your prosecution?”

“You sabotaged me,” she hisses. “You knew I’d missed it and kept quiet. You mislead the court when you kept quiet when I was being asked by the Judge if I was happy to close my case!”

Ok, that does it.

“Have you totally lost the plot?” I shout, no longer caring if we have an audience. “I’m not here to babysit you. I have no duty to help you do your job competently. It’s not my fault you messed up and made a fool out of yourself, pardon me for presuming you know what you’re doing!”

She throws her papers back down in front of her, clearly as angry as I am. She points at me in fury.

“You’re just so desperate to make a good impression that you’ll screw over anyone who stands in your way!” she yells, jabbing her finger with every word to emphasise her point.

“Serena, I don’t need to impress you, I was here first. Plus, you’d have done exactly the same as me, anyone would have! What was I supposed to do? Stand up and say ‘Oh, by the way, I know I’m doing everything I can to represent and defend this lady, but I must point out that you’re not going to get a conviction unless you do X, Y and Z?‘ Get real.”

She takes a step towards me and speaks directly next to my face.

“No, you get real you backstabber. No-one will trust you after this.”

She retrieves her papers and storms towards the exit door. She pauses, and for a crazy moment I’m sure she’s come to her senses.

“Bitch” she spits, before slamming the door behind her.

My legs are shaking and it takes me a few moments to compose myself. I have an awful feeling that I’m going to cry. Obviously I look as though I am going to cry too as the court clerk rushes over to me with a box of tissues usually reserved for distressed witnesses.

“Here you go,” she says, proffering the box in my direction.

I take one and take a big gulp of water. It tastes musty and stale and I cough.

“Thanks” I reply, collecting my belongings from around me and making sure to take deep breaths to hold back the tears.

As I step out on to the concourse there’s a lone figure waiting for me, but it’s not Serena.

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. You were the only one who had any faith in me and it paid off.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I protest weakly, “It was just a technicality.”

“Well that doesn’t make much difference to me! It’s all over, thanks to you!”

She steps forwards and envelopes me in a hug. I don’t normally encourage physical contact with people I represent, but at this moment, it all just becomes too much for me. Biting my lip hard, I return the pressure for a split second before breaking the embrace.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope I never see you again!” I say.

She laughs “Me too.”

As Ms Goodridge makes her way out of the building I slump into one of the chairs in the public waiting area and watch the security staff mill about on the ground floor. I know I’d better make my way back to Chambers but I just can’t summon the energy to move. This is like a bad dream. It’s not unusual to have a disastrous day in court, but normally it’s of my own making. This time, I know I’ve done nothing underhand and the injustice of it stings.

I’m furious with Serena for trying to blame me for her cock-up and furious with myself for letting me make me feel like I’m in the wrong. She owes me one major apology and I’ll be damned if I’m the one to offer the first olive branch. Knowing Serena, she’s probably in Chambers now telling anyone who’ll listen to her how corrupt I am, negating to mention her actions at all. She’ll probably distort events to include how I hid her exhibits in my handbag.

My thoughts are interrupted by a passing cleaner who gives me a look that must mean I look as bad as I feel. I whip off my wig and gown and bundle them up to carry out and make my way to the front of the building.

I step into the clerks room and am met with the usual hustle and bustle that the hour brings. Papers are being allocated for the next day, briefs lined up on a long bench for the barristers to collect and prepare. I hand the papers from the Goodridge trial to one of my clerks, Alex who looks up in with confusion.

“I thought this was due to finish tomorrow?”

“Well we managed to get it done today, so can you bill it now please?” I didn’t mean to snap but he gives me a wounded look.

“Ok?” he says, “Do you have the page count form?”

It may sound ridiculous but at the end of each criminal matter, the barristers have to agree how many pages of evidence have been accumulated so the right amount can be claimed. I don’t have the form; given the way our trial ended it wasn’t exactly top on my list of priorities. I shake my head at him.

“Never mind. You complete your half now and you can get Serena to do hers when you next see her.”

I take the piece of paper from my brief and jot down the relevant figures. I sign my name on the bottom whilst I assure him that I’ll pass it on to Serena.

I haven’t got the energy to go into what’s happened so I walk over to wall stacked with our pigeonholes. I look for Serena’s initials, SYL and place the sheet in the empty space. I cleared mine out this morning but suppose I’d better have a quick look to see if anything has arrived. It is full.

On the top there are two sheets stapled together. The first is a confirmation that the fax I sent to Corr on Sunday evening arrived successfully. The second is a compliments slip from his Chambers. On it is a single word written in dark green. I make out the letters through the spidery writing and despite the day I’ve had, I smile. The message is simple. ‘Thanks’.

Chapter Nine

Monday whizzes round at a ridiculous speed. I’ve spent every waking hour analysing the Hobbs case. Sebastian has been super supportive, supplying me with endless cups of tea and rounds of hot buttered toast to keep my energy levels up and little books of multicoloured post-its to mark my various bundles. He was initially shocked when I told him what had happened during the Goodridge trial but soon began to look on the positive side of events.

“Lauren, imagine you’d just singlehandedly thrown a trial away. You’d be mortified and in denial that it was your fault, of course you’d try and convince yourself if wasn’t.”

I shook my head.

“You didn’t see her, she was so mad with me!”

He’d kissed me on the forehead and placed a pain au chocolate on top of some cases I’d printed off.

“Give her some time to cool off and she’ll say sorry. I’m sure of it. For now, concentrate on your work. You’ll see her during the trial anyway, so she’ll have to say something to you.”

I took a mouthful of the pastry and munched with a troubled expression on my face.

“But what if she doesn’t?” I’d mused, spraying crumbs on top of my neatly ordered papers.

I’ve been in Chambers since six AM today, making sure that everything is in order. I had a very short meeting with Corr last week when he waltzed in, barked a few requests at me and left. I’d been expecting a cozy chat where we could sit and discuss theories over a glass of wine or two, bouncing ideas off each other to ensure the prosecution not only went to plan, but ran seamlessly too.

Instead, it felt like a meeting with the head teacher following being caught copying off another student. He’d been curt to the point to rudeness, demanding to see all of my notes, checking that I was up to speed. When he left I felt as if I’d disappointed him somehow, all of the promise from his note disappearing in an instant.

I’ve dressed carefully today in a classic black suit: a closely tailored jacket and a neat pencil skirt with kick pleats near to the hem. My bands have been washed and starched within an inch of their life and my hair is shining in its tortoiseshell clip. I’ve put on my favourite pair of ‘court’ shoes, black leather round-toed Mary Janes from Kurt Geiger with a five-inch stiletto heel. I can’t really walk in them all that well, but hopefully I’ll be sat down most of the day.

I spend a while re-reading my notes and wait for the masses to come in to start work. It’s a little bit scary being in such a big building on your own when it’s not quite light outside. I’m full of apprehension and excitement. I’ve been able to go through the transcripts of the last two trials and have seen who said what. The more I read, the more I’m convinced that Hobbs is guilty. His version doesn’t seem to add up and from what I’ve seen of him on the television, he seems far too pleased with himself for someone who is currently on trial for murder.

I check my watch, eight fifteen. I’m going over the part of the evidence in the first trial where our expert collapsed during his evidence. Doctor Rudd was in the middle of explaining his interpretation of his findings of the postmortem when he just went to the floor. Understandably, it appears to have been quite dramatic, people rushing to his aide, paramedics treating him in the well of the court.

His unexpected illness caused the trial to be aborted. They never did figure out what caused it. Happily, he’s fit and well now and I’ll be meeting him later on this morning.

The door to our suite opens and I see Cassie make her way to a nearby computer. She looks about as stressed as I feel and is chewing on a piece of her poker-straight pale hair. I wander out and pull up a chair next to her.

“What’s up?”

She jumps in her seat.

“Gosh Lauren, you scared me! I thought I was the first one in!”

She clicks her mouse despondently. “I’m fine, I’m just getting stressed about being in court on my own. I need to do well; if I don’t get in here then I don’t know what I’m going to do!”

She turns to face me, panic in her eyes.

“Oh God, I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’m not trying to influence you or make you feel bad if you vote against me!”

To my horror, she begins to cry.

I run to my desk and grab a packet of tissues from my Mulberry. This isn’t easy in five-inch heels but I manage to get back to her without breaking anything. She mops up her tears and I try to offer some words of comfort.

“Everyone in your shoes feels like this now, I promise. It’s a horrible feeling to think that people are going to discuss you behind your back, but you’ll be fine. I’ve only ever seen people be turned away if they’ve done something truly terrible.”

This doesn’t seem to help as she starts crying again.

“Not that you have!” I hastily add, patting her on the shoulder. “Just keep at it. In a few weeks you’ll be wondering what you were worried about. You’ve got six months but when you are taken on, the champagne’s on you!”

She lifts her head and smiles. I hope she realises I’m not joking about the champagne.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just I keep thinking people are bitching about me behind my back, making lists of reasons not to take me on permanently.”

Welcome to my world I think. Whilst they probably are dissecting every aspect of Cassie’s personality, I try to look reassuring.

“For you, it’s the biggest thing in the world at the moment, but I’ll be amazed if anyone else has registered it to be honest. Tell you what, I’ll put the kettle on. Tea? Coffee? If you’re lucky there might be a stray Jaffa Cake lurking about somewhere in the kitchen.”

She nods and blows her nose. I walk to the kitchen, put the kettle on and rummage through the cupboards. Ah ha! There’s a packet of Jammie Dodgers that have gone unnoticed and have been left over from the last Chambers meeting.

I make the drinks and wedge the packet under my arm to carry back to Cassie. She’s perked up and is reading through what I assume to be her work for the day. We both sit in companionable silence, dunking biscuits and highlighting our respective briefs.

I’m miles away when Robert walks in with Serena close behind him. He ruffles my hair as he walks past and I hear Serena make a tutting noise. She addresses him loudly as they pass.

“It’s a total travesty. Roger said they won’t instruct me anymore. I’ve tried to explain but they just won’t listen.”

Whilst I internally reason that she could be talking about anything, I know that she is still blaming me over the loss of the trial last week. I’m so tempted to stand up now and tell her that if she’d have spent less time with her head up her arse she might’ve seen her mistake, but just about stop myself from doing so. I’ve got enough on my plate today without starting a fight in Chambers. Anyway, what sort of example would that set Cassie?

I look over at the younger girl to see that while she is still looking down at her brief, her eyes are no longer following the path of the text on it.