Court Out

Chapter Nineteen





By the time I get back into the taxi my head is spinning. A nasty thought has formed at the back of my mind and try as much as I might to ignore it, I don’t think I can. Cassie notices my change of mood and to her credit, doesn’t try to engage me in small talk as the taxi makes its way to her house. I hug her goodbye and sit back in my seat. As we continue the journey I have an idea.

“Driver? Can we please go back into town?”

“What?” he exclaims, “But I’ve just come from there?”

“I know. I need to get something.”

I give him the address for Chambers and rummage in the bottom of my bag to see if I still have my set of keys that will grant me access to the building. It doesn’t take us long to reach our new destination and I leap out of the cab, instructing the driver to wait for me.

Chambers is totally spooky at this time of night. It’s pitch black and every step on the stairs echoes up to the high ceiling. My mind plays tricks on me as I imagine shadowy figures appearing from every dark corner.

After what seems like an age I emerge onto the floor where my room is. I disable the alarm and creep towards my desk. The concept of being discovered is too terrible to contemplate. Not only am I a pariah, I’m dressed like a half-naked, fat, Lady Gaga. Keeping low, I close the door to my room and start to rummage through a box on my desk. As I expected, Roger has put the papers from the Hobbs trial there. I find my notebook from the first day of the trial and hide it under my coat before running out, back to the taxi.

I leap into the seat and shout, “Drive! Drive!” and to my confusion, the car remains parked outside Chambers. “What’s your problem?” I shriek at the driver.

He looks at me in panic through the rear view mirror. “You haven’t just robbed that place have you?”

Despite the situation, I laugh.

“No. I haven’t, plus you’re about to drop me home so you’ll know where I live.” Seemingly satisfied he pulls away and commences the journey to my house. When we arrive I throw a handful of notes at him and run to my front door. Sebastian must still be out with Ewan as the house is silent.

I go to the kitchen and pour myself a pint glass full of water then go into the dining room and settle myself at the table. My laptop is plugged in to its charger and the screensaver dances before my eyes. Eagerly, I open my notebook and flip through the pages until I find the one I’m looking for.

Bingo! In front of me is the list of names that I wrote down when the jury were being empanelled. One of these people is the man who I supposedly tried to bribe. I’ve tried so hard to remember it from the police interview, but I’ve totally drawn a blank. On the jury were seven women and five men. I grab a pencil and score through all of the females on my list.

It's a long shot, but I log in to Facebook and type the name of the first man, Doug Howard, in. There are about a thousand results for that name and I have no way of knowing if any of them are the juror. Half-heartedly I scan through the thumbnail photographs trying to see if any look familiar. I try the next name, and the next, and the next with similar results. The final name on my list is Clive Butler. My depression increases when again, I’m confronted with a seemingly endless list of people who have that name.

I walk back to the kitchen and grab a packet of cookies from the cupboard and return to my task. Perhaps I can narrow down the results somehow? Again I go through each of the names and try to filter them by location. Just as I’m about to give up, my heart stops. The photograph is small but clear. It’s him. His name is Stephen Walker. The police interview comes flooding back to me, yes, Stephen Walker.

I put down the half eaten biscuit and take a few deep breaths. With a shaking hand I click on his name and wait for his profile page to appear. I’m expecting that he has full privacy settings so I won’t be able to see any details, but I’m wrong. I have access to everything: his photographs, his messages and his personal details.

Now what do I do? I start with his details. He’s 47 and lives on the other side of town. He appears to be unemployed with a wife and three young children. In his profile picture he looks a lot more animated than he did the last time I saw him.

I click to read the messages on his ‘wall,’ his virtual message board. It appears he has just returned from a holiday. A luxury holiday by the look of it. There are messages wishing him well on his cruise around the Caribbean and he has posted photographs of himself enjoying the finer things in life: champagne, a top tier cabin and fancy excursions.

A quick check of his wife’s profile informs me that she is unemployed too. How could they have afforded this? From the comments he’s posted about himself it would appear it’s not just a holiday either. He’s got a new sports car and they are moving to a new house next week.

My mind struggles to think rationally, trying not to jump to the obvious conclusion but fails miserably. To me it’s crystal clear. He’s been paid off. He was bribed. How else could he have the money to sustain this sort of lifestyle? Yes, he could have won the lottery or come into money legitimately, but what are the odds? Hobbs has money to burn and I’d bet my life on the fact he’d try and do anything to escape prosecution.

It can’t be that simple though. Hobbs couldn’t have approached him; it would have been way too dangerous. There are only really three suspects. Quinn is a well-respected, busy Silk and could never risk it. Rivers doesn’t seem to me as the type to do his own dirty work, but would he do it to further his career? The reality of my conclusion hits me like a punch. Serena. She was so jealous of me for landing the brief. She’s benefited from my demise more than anyone else, she’s suddenly flush with cash and now she’s landed a juicy brief. Whilst on paper it makes sense, I’m ignoring the fact she’s my best friend. Would she, could she, have really done that to me?

I sit at the table until the sun comes up. Sebastian texted me earlier to let me know that he was staying over with one of his friends. I’ve played the events over and over in my mind, wanting to find some fault in my logic. Unfortunately, I can’t.

I’ve scoured Rivers’, Serena’s and Walkers’ Facebook profiles over and over trying to find some further confirmation of my suspicions but have drawn a blank. Wait a minute, Lucinda. It only takes me seconds to pull up her page. That’s odd. For someone who used to update her status every five minutes, it seems that she has been silent now for about a month. Her personal information still lists her as ‘engaged’ though and there are countless pictures of her with Rivers. I have no idea what to make of this.

The adrenaline that has been sustaining my investigation suddenly subsides and I feel exhausted. I shut down the computer and make my way to bed, head full of impossible scenarios. I’m woken a few hours later by the arrival of Sebastian. From the look of it, he didn’t get much sleep either. I sit up.

“Sebastian, I’m so sorry about yesterday. I didn’t mean to bite your head off,” I say, feeling terrible that I snapped at him.

He comes and sits next to me and embraces me in a tight hug.

“You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. You’ve had a really rough time of it recently.”

“No, you’re right,” I persist, “Look what I’ve done to myself. None of my clothes fit and I feel like crap.” I moan, realising instantly that I’m not just saying this for the sake of it.

Sebastian laughs and hugs me tighter.

“Stop being daft,” he berates, “You’re perfect.”

I laugh reluctantly and enjoy the comforting sensation his hold provides.

“Ewan’s not particularly happy,” he says after a few minutes.

“Really?” I enquire carefully, “Why’s that?”

“It’s Serena, apparently she’s being really weird with him.”

Alarm bells ringing, I sit up abruptly.

“How so?” I ask.

“Well, he said that she’s being totally unreasonable in her demands for the wedding, buying things that they can’t afford, biting his head off at every opportunity and generally being, well, a class A bitch.”

I chew on my nail and contemplate this. “Maybe it’s just nerves?” I speculate.

“Well Ewan’s certainly nervous!” Sebastian replies. “Have you noticed anything?” This is it, this is the ideal moments to confess my completely irrational, unfounded conspiracy theory to him. The theory that is completely unsupported by any real evidence. I mean, just because she’s spending money like it’s going out of fashion doesn’t mean that she had something to do with my arrest. Does it?

“Lauren?” Sebastian is staring at me with a look of concern, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I say slowly. “I noticed she was spending more than normal, but nothing else. She hasn’t mentioned anything to me.”

If I do get firm proof, then Sebastian is the first I’ll talk to, but until then I wont mention it; I’ll look absolutely crazy unless I can back it up.



I meet Serena the following week to go to her final wedding dress fitting. I’ve thought about my arrest for pretty much all of my waking hours and know I have to stop trying to blame Serena. It can’t be her fault. She’s a friend, a real friend and deep down, I know she could never do something like that to me. I’ve been trying to be super healthy too, throwing the packets of sweets loading the cupboards away and replacing them with pineapple chunks and forgoing wine for fresh grapes. I must admit I feel a lot better now that I’m somewhat closer into fitting into my jeans.

I know that if Serena asks me to try my bridesmaids dress on today I’ll have a problem, but there’s a month to go before I have to wear it in public so I should be ok by then.

I walk into Dream Brides and spot Serena with her mother at the back of the shop. She seems to be arguing with the sales assistant about something.

“No. When I called you, I told you explicitly that I wanted the exact sash that was used in the film.”

Her voice is low and cold. The sales assistant looks flustered and unhappy.

“But Miss Taylor, I told you when you called that it is owned by a lady in California who has no desire to sell it. If you’d just look at the samples I have then perhaps-”

She’s cut short by Serena who has rudely raised her hand and put it in front of the lady’s face.

“Enough. If I’d realised how incompetent you were, I’d have purchased my dress elsewhere. However, it seems I’m stuck with you. Help me change.”

I cough loudly to alert the group to my presence. Serena turns sharply. The expression on her face is one of impatience and frustration. It clears slightly on recognising me, but it’s obvious that she is far from happy.

“Oh, hi Lauren. Take a seat, I’ll be out in a moment to show you the dress, providing of course the imbeciles that work here haven’t ruined it.”

I shoot an apologetic look at the sales lady who looks beyond mortified at this slur on her business. She hurries away into a back room and Serena sighs loudly.

“God, you’d think they’d be a bit more prepared. I have bought the most expensive dress they sell so I was expecting better service that this.”

Serena’s mum attempts to placate her daughter. “Don’t worry darling, she’s just gone to fetch it. I’m sure you’ll look perfect.”

“I’d better,” she snaps. “If it doesn’t fit then mark my words, heads will roll.”

The assistant reappears in the nick of time.

“If you’d like to come this way, your dress is ready.”

Serena tuts. “About time too” she snaps, but does follow the lady into a fitting room.

I’m vividly reminded of the show we watched weeks ago about crazy, demanding, American brides to be. It seems Serena is channeling all of them at once.

I take a seat on a comfy sofa positioned opposite the huge cream curtain marking the entrance to the fitting room. Serena’s mum seems to be on edge; she’s positioned right on the end of her seat and is twiddling her hair between her fingers incessantly. I decide against trying to make small talk and instead flick mindlessly through a nearby bridal magazine. I turn the pages without really looking at the articles or pictures and wait for the inevitable to happen. I’m not disappointed.

The hum of classical music is broken by an ear-shattering high-pitched howl of rage. Serena’s mum and I jump to our feet in perfect synchronicity. We look at each other with matching expressions of foreboding then head to the curtain.

As I enter the deceptively large changing area the first thing that strikes me is the vision of bridal perfection that is Serena. She is wearing a stunning piece of ivory couture. The bodice is tight and form fitting and the skirt is a huge masse of tulle. The gown is adorned with thousands of crystals and she easily looks better than anything I saw in my brief flick through the magazine. Sadly, the elegant radiance of the dress is not matched by Serena’s attitude. Her face is a worrying shade of puce and her expression is one of fury.

“How dare you allow me to try on the dress in this state when it’s clearly nowhere near finished!” she screams, “This is totally unacceptable!”

“Serena?” enquires her mum, “The dress looks fine to me?”

Serena turns on her mother.

“Fine? Fine! It’s not supposed to look fine. It’s supposed to look perfect. It obviously doesn’t fit and I asked for extra crystals to make it extra sparkly. Whilst they’ve charged me for them, it clearly hasn’t been done!”

The sales assistant seems to find her tongue.

“Actually Madam, it has. Every extra bead has been applied and I’m sure the six ladies we had working on your dress can account for each of them.”

Serena makes a loud ‘humph’ noise, rather like an angry bull. I decide to try and talk some sense into her.

“And it fits you like a glove!” I exclaim, “It looks like it was made for you!”

I’m not lying. The dress is immaculately tailored to every curve on her body. It’s a fabulous creation and I’m failing to see how she can criticise it. Apparently however, I know nothing.

“Bullshit!” she screams, “Look at the gaps!”

She points to her bust and I completely fail to see what she is trying to show me. Noting my confusion she continues, “There’s a huge gap! It looks totally baggy and cheap!”

“No Serena, it really doesn’t. Take some deep breaths and relax. You look amazing. Stunning.” I mentally cross my fingers in the hope that she sees reason. No such luck.

“Don’t you patronise me Lauren!” she shouts at me “I know when I’m being fobbed off. I bet you just want me to look crap so you can try and look good next to me. Fat chance!”

She deliberately puts emphasis on the word ‘fat’ and I have to summon all of my self control not to say something that I know will inflame the situation further. Instead, I straighten my shoulders and turn to walk out.

“I’ll be outside. When you’ve calmed down we can talk about this sensibly.” Without giving her a chance to reply I push the curtain to one side and return to my seat a few meters away.



Do all women who become brides turn this crazy? How do their fiancés’ deal with them? I sit and contemplate the situation. I can fully understand now why Ewan is concerned about his wife to be; I mean I can’t be sure that he would have proposed if she’d had been acting like this at the time.

Serena appears to have forgotten her earlier rudeness and keeps barking instructions through the curtain at me to check her phone for text messages. Her phone remains silent and having made sure that it would make a noise if any communications were received, it remains on the table next to me. Eventually she comes storming out of the changing area and snatches it from its position. I try and protest that I have been doing exactly as she’d asked, but she ignores me and retrieves the phone. When it is obvious that she hasn’t received any messages she curses loudly and throws the phone to the floor before storming back to resume the fitting.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I pick the phone up from its resting place underneath my seat. I quickly flick to the call registry and see that in the last twenty-four hours, Serena has tried to call Rivers thirty two times. He hasn’t called her at all. There are only two text messages in her inbox, both from him. The first is from a few weeks ago. It reads as follows:

“Darling, how could I possibly cope without you? You’ve been my saviour. Let me show you how much you mean to me tonight.”

The second is just as worrying:

“I’ll tell Lucinda soon, I promise. We just need to sort this out first then I’m all yours.”

As if on autopilot I take my own phone from my bag and turn in to camera mode. Quickly, I take photos of Serena’s phone, showing both of the messages. I’m just about to put her phone away when another thought occurs to me.

From the sounds of it, Serena is still arguing with both ladies with her, so I think I have some time. I scroll to her message outbox and see that she has sent about a hundred texts to Rivers. I randomly pick a few and am horrified to see they suggest their relationship is far from platonic:

“Last night was amazing. I can’t wait for us to be together and this to be in the open xxx,”

“If Lucinda knew what we were really doing it’d wipe the smug smile off her face xxx,” and:

“I know I’m risking everything for you, but you’re worth it xxx.”

Sickened. I drop the phone back on to the floor. How could she cheat on Ewan? Even worse, how could she still be planning to marry Ewan? It seems like Rivers is ignoring her, but even so, to jump back into her relationship and pretend that nothing ever happened? That would explain her hideous mood, I mean she’s clearly been trying to contact him to no avail.

I try to work through what I’d seen of them and what Cassie told me. From the messages, I’d guess it was just a fling for him, but Serena thought it was more. I don’t know whether to be furious with her or feel sorry for her.

My mind races, putting this information together with my other theories. This explains a lot more. Serena hasn’t been trying to frame me to steal my work, she’s been messing around with another man. Any sense of relief I might have is immediately overwhelmed by panic. What am I supposed to do? Should I ask her about this? Should I tell Sebastian? Should I tell Ewan? My speeding train of thought is interrupted by Serena’s mum whose head appears around the curtain.

“Lauren dear, would you mind grabbing Serena’s garter please? It’s somewhere in her bag.”

Mrs Taylor disappears and I look around trying to spot Serena’s handbag. I can’t see her familiar black Radley, but do spot a suspiciously new black leather Bottega Veneta tote. I know that bag. I’ve spent quite a long time lusting over it on Net-a-Porter. I also know how much it costs. Lets just say it’s expensive. Very expensive.

Cautiously, I pick it up and open the lock. I can see Serena’s makeup bag inside, so it’s definitely hers. I have a root around in the main body of the bag, marveling at the soft taupe suede lining. I can’t see any garter in here. Just as I’m about to shout out the bad news, I notice there is a side pocket. I pull the gunmetal zip open and put my hand inside. Instead of being met with a piece of flimsy lace, my hand encounters a rectangular shaped paper book. A cheque book. I pull it out and squint at the details on the first page. It’s my cheque book.