Court Out (24 page)

I follow her in silence down the grey corridors, past other cells and back into the custody block. I’m immediately confronted by an assortment of people: police, lawyers and detainees waiting to be processed. Some of the lawyers gape in astonishment at the sight of a bedraggled barrister who is obviously not here for a professional visit. I try to keep my head bowed as I’m taken forward to the custody desk. My heart is racing, as I know I’m about to find out what they’re going to do with me.

A slim Asian male officer reads through a few pages of notes before looking up at me.

“The allegation against you is going to be referred to the Crown prosecution Service to determine whether or not you are to be charged with an offence. In the meantime you are going to be released on bail. Having considered this case, that bail will be unconditional.”

It takes a moment for this to sink in. I can go. They’re not charging me. Why aren’t they charging me? For a split second, I imagine it’s because the police have realised that there is no way I could ever have been involved in any of this. Before the rational piece of my brain can remind me of the real evidence that I face, the officer speaks again.

“I would charge you now, but given the ah, sensitive, nature of this case, the boss wants to make sure we’ve covered all our bases, dotted all the i’s and crossed all the t’s.”

He smiles at me and it’s not a pleasant sight. He hands me over some release forms and I sign them, paying little attention to the words dancing across the pages in front of me.

All around, people are being jostled through the room and the smell of urine, alcohol and body odour is starting to become overwhelming. I’m aware that the other ‘criminals’ are somewhat confused by my presence amongst their number. I step closer to the desk and try to make my mind focus on what is happening in front of me.

The custody officer hands me over a large clear plastic bag with my property in and I practically weep at the thought of seeing my mobile phone again; the idea of being able to get in touch with Sebastian and my parents versus seeing the inevitable messages of shock and confusion tears me apart. My reverie is interrupted by the continuation of the officer.

“You are to attend this station on the date specified within your papers when you will either be re-bailed, charged, or the case against you will be discontinued. You are free to go.” There’s a pause. “For now.”

I snatch the bag from the counter and practically run towards the exit. I pause before the double doors and sit down on a bench, tearing open the clear bag with my thoroughly bitten nails. I remove my shoes from the plastic, take off my bands and put them with my wig in a small bundle surrounded by my gown, which I’ve been carrying. I locate my handbag and rummage around for a mirror.

Sure enough, the reflection that greets me resembles something from a low budget horror film. I’m as white as a ghost and my red eyes are surrounded by streaks of black mascara, stuck firmly to my face. My hair looks like it is currently housing a family of very angry birds and my hairbrush refuses to glide through the tangled mass. After a few moments of frustrated attempts to make myself look human, I decide that I’ve made the best of a very bad job and that the only antidote to this royal mess is a hot shower and lots of products. I grab my beloved McQueen shoes from the bag and slide them onto my feet, for once not caring that they’ll start to pinch in a short while. As I quickly stand, grabbing my possessions in my arms, I feel myself fall to floor, watching my demise as if in slow motion. I hit my right knee on the cold concrete surface and yell at the shooting pain that darts up my leg. My wrists smart from my attempt to break my fall and I feel tears prick my eyes for the millionth time in the last twenty-four hours.

I remain on the ground for moment, confused as to what has happened. I look around, trying to ascertain the cause of my clumsiness. It only takes me a second; the heel of my left shoe has snapped clean off.

I hobble the short distance back to my car, ignoring the temptation to make my way into Chambers. My phone keeps beeping to remind me that I have new messages, both texts and voicemails but I’m putting off looking at it until I’m somewhere more private.

The drive home is mercifully short and I arrive back at my house ready to collapse. I pull the car onto the drive but before I have a chance to kill the engine, the front door of my house opens and Sebastian runs out. It’s quite possible he looks as bad as I do; his dark hair is disheveled and he clearly hasn’t been to bed.

He rushes over and yanks open the driver’s side door, pulls me from the car and envelops me in a tight hug. As he squeezes me tight, with one arm clasped around my waist and the other around the back of my head I break down and begin to sob into his shoulder.

We go back inside and into the kitchen. As if on autopilot I put the kettle on. Sebastian takes my hand and we sit at the small table in the corner of the room. He hands me some tissues from his pocket and I make futile attempts to dry my eyes.

“Please sweetheart, don’t cry,” he says in a low, soothing voice. This sadly has the opposite effect as taken aback by his kindness, I relapse into tears. After a few seconds I gain the momentum to speak.

“Why, why are you being nice to me?” I venture, my words coming out in between my heavy breaths. “You must hate me now you think I’m a criminal!”

To my utter astonishment, Sebastian laughs and cups my face in his hands.

“Lauren, you once left money with the receptionist at the dentists to by a new magazine to replace the copy you accidentally spilled a bit of coffee on.”

My faces creases in confusion and I wait for him to expand. His tired eyes show a trace of humour as he strokes my face.

“We just need to figure out what has gone on here,” he continues. My head feels like it’s about to explode from the enormity of the situation.

“I’ve been trying to do that since they arrested me!” I exclaim. A thought strikes me. “Sebastian, who told you what had happened?” My head is swimming with thoughts of press reports or the rumour mill working overtime.

“George called and told me yesterday afternoon,” he replies.

“George? Who’s George?” I ask in confusion. I’m sure I don’t know anyone called George. My aunt used to be married to someone by that name, but they divorced years ago.

“George Corr,” says Sebastian simply.

I’m rendered momentarily speechless. How did Corr get Sebastian’s number? How did Corr even know about Sebastian? God, what did he say?

“He told me that you had been arrested for something you hadn’t done,” Sebastian states simply.

As his words sink in, I’m hit by a wave of something akin to happiness. I don’t know whether it’s because Corr believes in me or because Sebastian hasn’t once asked me if there is any truth in the allegation, but in this moment, I feel safe. There are no questions, no awkward queries about my actions, just complete relief from him that I’m ok.

As before, I have no appetite whatsoever, a fact I would normally celebrate. Sebastian, however, has other plans and forces some soup down me before running me a hot bath. After scrubbing away every trace of the police station I collapse gratefully into bed. Sebastian joins me and we sit in silence watching some bland documentary on the TV. I’m far too tired to worry anymore and for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I feel secure at this moment. I know that when morning comes and reality hits I’ll have to deal with this, but for now, ignorance really is bliss.

Chapter Sixteen

The call comes shortly after eight, waking me from a restless sleep where I’m tormented by dreams of being on trial, facing a courtroom packed with my peers, friends and family, watching them give evidence against me, telling the faceless jury of my dishonesty. The shrill ring of my phone interrupts my vision of seeing myself being cross-examined by my father about my lack of scientific prowess.

“Hello?” I croak.

“Lauren, it’s Alexander.”

My blood runs cold as I realise I have just been connected to my Head of Chambers. I know that at least one of my many answerphone messages is from him too, but I just couldn’t bear to listen to any of them last night. Sebastian stirs beside me and I quickly get up and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

“We need you to come into Chambers today,” he continues.

“I really don’t think I’m up to it,” I reply in a weak voice. At the moment, I can’t think of many things worse than facing members of Chambers who all no doubt know about what I’m supposed to have done.

“I thought you’d say that, but I’m afraid I’ll have to insist,” Alexander states firmly. “I’ll expect you at one. Please do not go to the clerks room, come straight to my room.”

I disconnect the call and sit on the side of the bath. I really, really do not want to see anyone I know right now. I half-heartedly wash my face and brush my teeth. My hair has kinked badly in my sleep and I scrape it back into a low bun. By the time I get back into the bedroom, Sebastian is sat up in bed looking at me expectantly.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” I ask.

“The phone did. Who was it?”

“Alexander. I’ve been summonsed to his room to face the music,” I say, the knot of anxiety in my stomach growing as I envisage the meeting.

“That’s ridiculous!” he explodes. “How can he expect you to go in today, after everything that has happened to you! Surely he can give you a few days to let things settle, allow you to try and come to terms with this?”

“Apparently not,” I say wearily. “He’ll just want to read me the riot act about talking to the press and work out what the official line should be. It’s probably better that I get it over and done with so that I can get back to work and try and get back to normal.”

“Do you want me to come too?” he asks, reaching over to hold my hand. For a moment, I waiver. I would love Sebastian to come, but I’m supposed to be a big girl now; I need to act professionally and remind everyone that I’ve done nothing wrong, not hide behind my boyfriend.

“Thanks, but no. I’ll be fine.”

We both know I’m lying but he simply nods and reaches for my hand. He squeezes it and I feel comforted by the reassuring pressure.

“Well I’ve got to go in to work, but the very least I can do is drop you off.”

I start to protest but he cuts me off before I have a chance to mount any successful argument.

“I won’t take no for an answer,” he continues, “That’s final.”

I grab him in a tight hug and feel the familiar prick of tears at my eyes.

“Thanks,” I eventually manage to reply.

I stand and stare at the outside of Chambers, amazed at how unfamiliar my place of work looks to me now. The red bricked building looks formal and intimidating and the feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach is rising. The best thing to do is to get this over with as soon as possible, rather like pulling a plaster off.

As I walk into the foyer I keep my head low and pray silently that I don’t see anyone I know. I decide not to risk getting caught in the lift by a colleague and choose instead to brave the back staircase.

The inevitable happens after three flights of stairs. I see a pair of well polished black leather brogues descending in front of me and look slowly up to see who it is. I instantly recognise Charles Fayre, who joined Chambers a few years before me. He’s someone who I’ve always got on with and have spent many a drunken night with in the pub. Sebastian and I went to his wedding last year. I let out an audible sigh of relief that out of everyone, I’ve bumped into a friendly face.

I give him a weary smile as we meet. “Heya” I venture, stepping to his side so we can talk.

“Hi,” he replies in a quiet voice. He’s not looking at me; he seems far more interested in a damp spot of wallpaper near to my left shoulder.

“So,” I venture, in an attempt to keep things normal “What’s new with you? How’s Cathy?”

“She’s fine. Look, I have to get to court,” he says in an odd voice. It sounds like he is annoyed with something.

“Court? But it’s lunchtime?”

To my surprise, he doesn't reply and simply brushes past me to walk down the stairs. It takes me a few seconds to find my voice.

“What’s your problem?” I shout after him before I can stop myself. He stops, but doesn’t turn around. His voice reaches me anyway.

“I always thought more of you Lauren.”

I’m lost for words as I watch him walk away. In that second the last vestiges of confidence I have seem to desert me and I contemplate turning and running, going home and hiding until this all goes away. Just as I am about to put this plan into action, I imagine Sebastian’s reaction to my sudden reappearance. I know he’d be furious about Charles’ rudeness, but he’d be right in pointing out that I have to sort this out at some time; better late than never.

I stand and continue up the next two flights of stairs, giving myself a mental pep talk at the same time. By the time I reach Alexander’s landing my adrenaline levels have reached maximum levels and I’m itching for a fight.

“Lauren? Come in,” calls Alexander after I firmly rap on the wooden door leading to his room. I push the door forcefully open and stride in. Attack has to be the best form of defence in this situation. I launch into my speech before he can continue.

“Hi. I presume you want me here to try and help me sort this mess out? I’ve been thinking about it and given the press are undoubtedly all over this, I want Chambers to issue a statement saying that all is being done to help clear my name. I mean, I haven’t been charged yet, so hopefully this all can be sorted out soon.”

I pause for breath and look for the first time properly at Alexander who is stood by the window, facing away from me. He looks immaculate as ever in a charcoal grey suit with a faint chalk stripe. His lime green tie provides a beautiful contrast to his deeply tanned skin.

I hear him sigh and he turns to me, fixing me with a hard look. I find it impossible to break away from the pull of his nearly black eyes, so I wait, silently with baited breath to see what is coming. With hindsight, I really should have seen it coming.