Court Out (25 page)

“Lauren, we both know that isn’t going to be possible. Effective immediately you are suspended from Chambers until this is resolved.”

He walks over to where I am stood and casually perches on the end of a wooden desk.

“How dare you?” I question, giving each word the emphasis it deserves “After all I have done for Chambers, all the hours I’ve put in, all the lectures, all the mindless PR? How fucking dare you doubt me.”

I note with a tiny, minuscule sense of satisfaction that my words have had some effect on him.

“It has nothing to do with doubt Lauren, it’s just that, well, we have to be seen to be doing something. Our solicitors have already heard about this and we need to limit the potential damage to our sources of work. I mean, they might think that we all try to bribe juries when we prosecute them.”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth I can see that he regrets them but even so, it takes every fiber of self-control I have not to pick up the paperweight next to me and launched it at his head.

“You’ll regret this, I promise,” I say, turning away from him to leave.

“Threats now Lauren?” he remarks, softly.

“No, as I said, a promise.”

With that I turn on my heel and exit the room, slamming the door behind me for good measure. Whilst I know I should go to my desk to retrieve some odds and ends that I’ll probably need over the coming days, weeks, months, God know, years maybe? I just can’t risk seeing anyone else and having to try and protest my innocence.

As I hurry out of the side door, I rack my brains for a suitable sanctuary. Sebastian has gone to work and I can’t face returning to my empty house and an ever-ringing phone full of messages I just can’t bear to listen to.

I stand, helplessly surveying the traffic for a few minutes before inspiration strikes. My parents! Sebastian was kind enough to phone them and let them know what was happening. I didn’t ask him what their reaction was, but I’m working on the basis that parents are supposed to love and support their children unconditionally. That has to apply in this situation too. Right?

It doesn’t take me long to reach my old home and before I can shut the garden gate the front door is flung open and my mum flies out down the garden path, arms wide open. Siddy who is yapping follows her in close proximity at her heels. “Lauren!”

She rushes over and embraces me tightly, all the while making reassuring noises. The familiar tears come and I don’t bother trying to stop them. She is crying too and we make our way into the house followed by the little dog.

We sit and talk for hours about what has happened and like Sebastian, not once does she question my innocence. By the time we have thoroughly examined every detail I feel able to manage one of the many biscuits she has been pressing on me.

“I just can’t get over it,” she continues “What a terrible mix-up!”

“I know. The worst thing about this whole mess is that so many people think I’ve done something wrong!” I dunk my Hobnob in my tea pensively.

“Don’t you worry about them. They’ll soon see.”

I jump as the front door opens and it takes me a moment to realise that it’s my father coming in from work. I shoot mum a worried glance and she gives me a comforting pat on the leg.

“John? We’re in here,” she calls.

As if on autopilot I straighten my clothes and sit up straighter. Just as I’m brushing crumbs from my trousers, he walks in. Is it my imagination or does he look older than normal? The lines around his eyes seem deeper and his hair is somewhat disheveled, far from his usual military perfection.

“Hi Dad,” I venture in a small voice.

He doesn’t reply but he remains standing next to the doorframe, looking at me with an expression I don’t recognise. Mum and I hadn’t got round to discussing his reaction to my arrest, but seeing as this is the man who was upset with one of my A-grade GCSE’s (It should have been an A*, naturally) then it’s a safe bet he hasn’t taken the news of my criminal career well.

Right, the best thing to do is to try and get my version of events in before he can start to tell me off. I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

“Dad-”

Before I can properly start my sentence, all the air is knocked out of my lungs and I feel an immense pressure on me. I open my eyes and nearly break down when I realise my father has enveloped me in his arms and is squeezing me, tight. He is stroking my hair and whispering over and over into my ear,

“No-one messes with my little girl. No-one messes with my little girl.”

By the time I get home my emotions are well and truly mixed. I’m staggered at the amount of unconditional support I’m being shown by Sebastian and my parents, but still utterly horrified that some people clearly think I’ve done something wrong, something criminal.

I figure now is as good a time as any to face the music and go through the messages on my phone to see what people want. My parents and Sebastian’s messages account for about half of the voicemails and texts. The rest are from an assortment of people, Roger, Cassie, Rivers and Serena. To her credit, Serena has left about five voice messages and sent about thirty texts. I really should call her back. She answers after the first ring.

“Lauren? Where are you? What happened?” she shrieks in a loud, piercing voice.

“Hi Serena.”

“Oh my God Lauren, they’ve been saying all sorts. It’s not true is it?”

“Well that would depend on what they’ve been saying, wouldn’t it?”

“Lauren stop it! You have to tell me what happened,” she persists.

“Well, it’s quite straightforward really. Apparently I tried to bribe a juror to convict Hobbs. Unsuccessfully.” I don’t know why I’m being facetious, I really can’t help it.

There’s silence on the other end of the line and I can hear Serena breathing, thinking about what to say to me. I decide to put her out of her misery.

“Look, I haven’t been charged with anything. Yet. Look, we both know I didn’t do anything, so I’ve just got to sit and wait to see what happens next.”

“Holy crap. How are you?” she continues in a smaller voice.

“I’ve been better. I must admit being kicked out of Chambers didn’t do much for my mood earlier though.”

“What!” she explodes, “They’ve thrown you out of Chambers? They can’t do that!”

“Ok, I haven’t been kicked out, I’ve been suspended. Semantics really.”

“We need to appeal. Have you spoken to Alexander?”

I give a bitter laugh.

“You could say that. He was the one who suspended me and pretty much said he thought I did it. I mean come on, this is me we’re talking about! He obviously, even after all these years doesn’t know me at all.”

“Fuck,” she replies.

“Fuck,” I agree.

We talk for a little while longer then I cry off, pretending that someone is at the door as a means to end the call. To her credit, Serena seems to be genuinely distressed, which makes a refreshing change from the rest of Chambers. She’s promised to try and rally support on my behalf and spread the word of my innocence. Whilst I suspect this may well be a lost cause, a tiny part of me hopes that it will work.

I don’t bother replying to any of the other messages, instead deleting them all. I’m trying to pretend that nothing is wrong, but my ostrich-like approach keeps being ruined by the constant beeping of my phone informing me that someone else has sent me a message. I had a tentative look at my Facebook account earlier and to my horror found that people had posted comments about my arrest on my wall. All from concerned ‘friends’ of course, but it’s had the net effect of informing close to 300 people about my current predicament. Fantastic.

Sebastian comes in to the room and slams the door behind him. He doesn’t look happy. Scrap that, he looks furious.

“What’s up?” I query.

He runs his hand through his hair and looks up at me. His expression is one of fury, his eyes are blazing with something close to hatred.

“Sebastian? You’re scaring me”

In an instant, his expression snaps back to concern and he rushes over to take my hand.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m just, well, I’m totally…” he trails off. “Don’t, under any circumstances turn on the TV.”

I may be a bit dippy sometimes, but I’m not stupid. The reality of his comment hits me like a sledgehammer.

“Which, which channel?” I manage.

“It doesn’t matter. Just don’t turn on the TV, don’t go online and don’t buy the paper for a few days until the dust has had a chance to settle. Actually, I hate to suggest this, but you might want to consider staying in for the rest of the week. I’ve cleared my diary, so we can watch loads of crap telly and order in.”

“Which channel?” I repeat. There’s a note of determination in my voice which Sebastian obviously hears by the expression on his face,

“All of them,” he replies. “Someone has obviously tipped the press off. They’ve used the footage from your arrest and your Chambers photo.”

“For God’s sake!” I exclaim, “I’ve been arrested for something I haven’t done, exiled from Chambers and treated like a leper by people I thought were my friends. If that wasn’t bad enough they’ve used that sodding picture too?”

Sebastian ventures a smile. Before I can register what I’m doing, despite everything, I find myself returning it.

Chapter Seventeen

The next week goes surprisingly quickly. Sebastian and I (Despite my protests that he should return to the real world) move from room to room, finding tasks to keep us occupied during my period of self-inflicted house arrest. So far, we’ve painted the bathroom, baked some truly atrocious cupcakes and watched more American chat shows than I ever thought existed. We’ve steered clear of the UK channels for obvious reasons.

There was a sticky moment on the day after I found out about my newfound fame. I got up at the crack of dawn, crept downstairs and put the news on with subtitles. I didn’t have to wait long until my spectacular demise was shown as part of their regular loop of current affairs. I could only watch it for a few seconds, but in that short space of time I imagined all of my friends, my family and my peers judging me on the basis of some misinformed journalism.

Sebastian found me sobbing into one of the cushions from the sofa, desperately trying not to wake him. To my surprise, he immediately turned the set back on, flicked to a random music channel and began to dance like a crazy man to Lady Gaga. Given he was still in his boxers, with his hair unbrushed and sleep in his eyes, the effect was somewhat amazing. His routine had the desired effect and I couldn’t help but to crease up in laughter at his antics.

Serena has been amazing too. She came round the morning after our phone call with a box of wine and two huge bags of Malteasers. To her credit, after striding into the lounge and sitting cross-legged on the floor she got straight to the point.

“Hobbs has walked.”

It was a good job I was sat down at that point, as had I been standing I expect my legs might have given way. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t expected it, but even so, hearing it still hurt like hell. I asked the expected question

“Why?”

“Well as you know, it was the third trial so it’d only be in very rare circumstances that the prosecution would be allowed to try him again. Plus, well, given the circumstances of how the trial ended…” she trailed off.

“I know, I know,” I sighed, “Seeing as it looks to the world like I tried to pervert the course of justice on behalf of the prosecution, it’d look really shitty to start a fresh one against him. Interests of fairness and all.”

“Exactly, they can’t look like they’re that desperate to get him.”

I picked up another Malteaser and surveyed it. Deciding it looked appetizing I put it in my mouth and began to chew pensively.

“I just can’t make sense of it. I mean what the hell has happened? How did that man get my cheque? How was my signature on it?” As I asked the questions my voice raised in pitch and volume.

“Whoa, calm down,” said Serena. “I know it’s only half nine, but I’m going to open this,” she said, indicating to the three litre container of rose.

I attempted to protest, but my heart wasn’t in it. Heck, my career has gone down the loo, may as well wreck my liver too. By the time Sebastian got back from his run we were both merry, watching a program about control-freak brides. Serena offered him a glass of our pink poison but he declined with a wry smile, stating that he had a few phone calls to make.

She’s popped round a few times since and called at least twice a day to keep me informed of the latest gossip and wedding news. Her hen do is coming up soon and she’s decided on a fancy dress theme to inflict on us all - ‘Pop stars.’ I did try and make excuses not to go, but she’s having none of it.

I had hoped that the wagging tongues in Chambers would have stopped by now, that they had found something more interesting to talk about than me but apparently not. On my instruction, Serena has given me a no-holds barred rendition of the gossip about me and it seems that most have deemed me guilty already.

It’s a sad state of affairs when a load of lawyers neglect the fundamental principle our criminal justice system is based on: innocent until proven guilty.

Before I know it, our week is over and Sebastian has to return to work. I sit, alone, trying to formulate some sort of action plan to keep me occupied. We have absolutely no food in the house, so I guess I should pop out and get some bits. We’ve lived on an assortment of fast food for the last week and we’re totally out of bread and milk.

I pull on an old pair of jogging bottoms and one of Sebastian’s hoodies from the laundry basket. I contemplate a baseball cap and sunglasses but dismiss them as too z-list celebrity wannabe. There is absolutely no point in makeup and as my hair looks like it belongs to someone who has never heard of anti-frizz serum. I don’t even bother trying to brush it.

I feel a strange sense of liberation as I leave the house looking like an absolute state. I turn out of the bottom of the drive and my heart nearly stops when I’m confronted by a seedy looking man wielding a camera.