Court Out

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.

“Alright Lauren!” he yells cheerfully, snapping away at me. I’m blinded by the flash and try to conceal my face using my hands.

“So what about this bribery business then?” he continues.

“Go away!” I scream “No comment!”

It’s clear that he’s not going to stop, so I start to run away, gaining speed as I go. I don’t know where I’m headed but when I’m sure that he hasn’t followed me I stop and turn round. In the distance I can make out the man getting into a battered old car parked across the road from my house. He’s got his pictures.

I reach for my mobile to call Sebastian and realise that I’ve left it at home. I have however, got my wallet so I make my way to a nearby corner shop. Inside, I grab a basket and fill it with packets of biscuits, chocolate bars, packets of sweets and most importantly, wine. I pay without looking at the cashier and make my way home, all the time keeping an eye out for lurking paparazzi.

I eat my stash quickly, without really tasting it. I don’t feel any better now, but as I was stuffing the fat and sugar-laden food into my mouth it was like I was blocking out all of the crap that has happened lately. I feel really, really sick now. I know that adding wine to my already swollen stomach is not the answer, but hey, in for a penny and all.

I pour myself a large measure of the cheap alcohol into a tumbler and throw in some ice for good measure. The wine tastes sour and I try not to gag as I swallow a large mouthful. Undeterred, I carry on working my way through the remaining food in an attempt to block out the thoughts haunting me about the photographer from earlier. Halfway down the bottle I start to feel a little better and turn the television on and flick to a documentary about sloths. Fascinated, I sit and watch, drinking more and more wine until fatigue overwhelms me, and probably due to the alcohol, I decide to have a nap on the sofa.



When I wake I realise with a start that it’s now early evening. Sebastian has a meeting and won’t be back until near midnight. I don’t know how, but I’m hungry again so I go to the kitchen and start to open the cupboards, already knowing that this is a pointless exercise.

I really don’t want to leave the house again in case there are more press outside looking for another humiliating shot of me. Inspiration strikes and I run upstairs and grab my laptop. I open two windows: one so I can do an online grocery shop and another so I can find the details of a local takeaway. I settle on a large stuffed crust meat feast, some potato wedges and happily, as they are licensed, a couple of bottles of wine. As I phone through the order, a small voice in my head is telling me that this is not what you’re supposed to eat or drink when you’re on your own and depressed but I push it to the back of my mind and successfully ignore it. Order placed, I turn my attention to the shopping. I guess I should start to think about economising, as without any sign of a regular income, money may get tight. I know Sebastian could easily support us both, but I can’t bear the thought of becoming a burden.

I spend a happy twenty minutes filling my virtual basket with all sorts of wonderful goodies (all on offer!) to keep me full over the coming week. By the time I’m finished I feel better; I’ve managed to combine three things that cheer me up: shopping, food and alcohol. The order is coming first thing in the morning so I’d better make sure that I set an alarm.

My pizza arrives quickly and I wolf it down, appreciating the rich cheese and juicy meat topping. The wine goes down easily too. I wonder why I didn’t think of this before? Everything has a fuzzy edge now, the trauma of what’s happened seems much further away and I almost feel like I can cope. I reach for my phone and fire off a text to Serena, letting her know that I’m looking forward to her hen do. Actually, that’s a good point.

I retrieve my laptop and load up some fancy dress websites. It only takes me a few minutes to find the perfect costume. I add it to the basket and checkout quickly. Job done, I return to my wine and nondescript movie.