Court Out

Chapter Seven





The summons to Roger’s office comes early Wednesday morning. I’m sat at my desk working through an enormous pile of advices when one of our junior clerks, Adam comes running in. He’s out of breath and pauses at the door, propping himself up on the doorframe panting slightly. I wonder with exasperation what the problem is this time. Adam gets ridiculously worked up about the most trivial of issues on an hourly basis, from stray briefs to stray barristers. Happily, the latter only happens when there’s a full moon and even then, it’s never for long. He catches his breath and I wait to see what crisis is causing him to miss his eleven AM cigarette.

“Miss, He needs to see you downstairs.”

“For the last time, it’s Lauren, but anyway, who wants to see me?”

He ignores this, and studiously looks at his feet.

“Roger, Miss, it’s all hit the fan, he needs to sort it out now.”

As Adam rushes back out, his long legs tripping slightly on a badly positioned cardboard box of papers next to the door, I start to panic. I have no idea what I’ve done to incur the wrath of Roger, a figure feared by all in Chambers. With the power to make or break a practice, he is not one to be messed with.

A short, scruffy looking man with a limp, he is perhaps an excellent example of when people should not be judged on their appearance alone. Many years ago a pupil decided that Roger’s air of vagrancy meant that he could demand better briefs and threaten to ‘report him to his father’ if said request was not carried out. I can still remember the collected audience (including our head of Chambers) who had the delight in watching the poor pupil being thrown headfirst out of the fire exit in the clerks room by Roger, shouting “Tell daddy about THIS!” Needless to say he’s no longer practicing on this circuit.

When the smoking ban came in, Roger decided to interpret this as guidance rather than law. The irony is that not one of our criminal team has had the bottle to tell him he can no longer light up in the clerks room for fear of repercussions.

I gather my wits and make the journey downstairs. I forego the lift for the stairs as I think I could do with an extra few minutes to gather my thoughts. The stairwell is empty and as I walk, I rack my brains to try and think why I’m in the firing line. For once, my mind comes up blank. I push the door to the clerks room open and notice immediately that the atmosphere is one of trepidation.

The phones are ringing loudly and the admin staff are constantly putting people on hold whilst trying to get the attention of various clerks. I make eye contact with Stella, another of our clerks who is arguing down her headset with an unknown party. She nods her head towards Roger’s room and mouths ‘good luck.’

Well that’s it then. I’ve clearly done something truly awful. The Lenihan case? Surely not, that’s all been resolved now. Serena? No, she’d have said something. My pulse is racing as I slide open the partition to the inner sanctum and I can feel a cold sweat developing on the back of my neck. I know this is ridiculous as I’ve done nothing wrong, but that doesn’t banish the ever heightening sense of dread.

My eyes adjust to the slightly darker room and I see Roger standing in the corner of the room, eyes darting over a piece of paper held between his yellowing fingers. I nervously clear my throat and he looks up.



“Ah, good. Take a seat Miss.”

I do as I’m told and perch on a hard wooden chair placed near to his desk. Roger assumes the seat on the opposite side of the desk and removes a packet of cigarettes from the top drawer. I watch as he puts one in his mouth and expertly lights it with a match from a book concealed under his keyboard. The room fills with smoke and I try not to cough. He fixes his beady eyes on me and speaks.

“Appears we have a problem Miss.”

I decide that silence is perhaps the best option and say nothing. I sit on my hands in an attempt to stop them from shaking and watch, fascinated as he takes another drag on his cigarette. The ash falls delicately onto a pile of newspaper clippings below.

“It’s Miss Harte, had a nasty accident,” he drawls.

This snaps me out of my trance and I stare it him in horror.

“What’s happened? Is she ok?” Hands forgotten, I run them through my hair. Roger flicks the cigarette in the general direction of where his ashtray is.

“Car accident Miss. Nasty business. She was driving home last night when she got involved in a fight with a HGV on the dual carriageway. Needless to say the HGV won.”

“How is she though? Is she hurt?”

He continues with his customary bluntness.

“She’ll live. Broken leg, arm, ribs. You name it, it’s in plaster. Out of action for a while though Miss. That’s why I need to speak to you.”

I’m so relieved that Samantha’s ok that his words hardly register.

“What? Do you need me to take something to her or cover a few of her cases?”

“Something like that Miss. Does the name Ryan Hobbs mean anything to you?”

No way. It’s a minute before I dare to ask the obvious question that is on the tip of my tongue.

“Are you saying that I’m being drafted in as junior?” I pause and wait for him to start laughing hysterically, telling me that he just wants me to do some research for her about the previous cases. It doesn’t come.

“Got it in one Miss. Trial starts a week Monday. I’ve cleared your diary save for one trial they won’t move, some benefit fraud. I’ve spoken to Corr and whilst he’s not happy about this, there’s nothing any of us can do.”

“Won’t the court delay the Hobbs trial until she gets better?” I venture.

He laughs in disbelief.

“Given that it’s a murder and this is the third trial at that, I’d have more luck in convincing the Pope that Buddhism is the way forward.”

I nod silently. I can’t believe this. I know I shouldn’t ask but...

“Why me? Surely there are more senior people available?”

He frowns whilst getting to his feet and walking over to the office floor.

“Ask me no questions Miss, just thank your lucky stars.”

I realise I’m being dismissed so bid him a quick goodbye and hurry back up to my room, barely noticing the eyes that follow me through the clerks room.

I sit in silence for the best part of twenty minutes before reality kicks in. Fear and excitement run through my veins as I consider the upcoming trial. I’ve never been trusted to do anything as serious as this before and I can only imagine the amount of work I’m going to have to do to prepare; If anything happens to Corr during the course of the trial then the rules state that I have to take over. Me! Prosecuting a murder. How on earth have I ended up with this brief?

I sit and reflect on my good fortune for a few minutes but I’m hit by thoughts of Samantha and sobered instantly. A quick call to the hospital tells me that she’s currently in surgery and won’t be able to accept any visitors who aren’t immediate family for at least a week. I ask the nurse to pass on my regards and look up the number of a local florist. I’m torn between a garish arrangement of orange and yellow lilies and calming white roses when Serena bursts through the door.

“Fancy a cuppa?” she asks, holding up my usual ‘Buffy’ mug.

I can tell she’s bored senseless by the way she’s managed to plait her hair into cornrows; an endeavour that must have taken the best part of an hour.

“Sure” I respond.

As she makes her way to the kitchen I quickly place an online order with ‘Floral and Hardy’ for an enormous bouquet of sunflowers and close my laptop. She returns with two mugs and sits at the desk opposite mine that belongs to a quite family law barrister called Malcolm. He’s very rarely in Chambers so Serena often takes over his desk when she comes in. She hands me my drink and places hers on top of a large brief in front of her, staining it with tea in the process.

“Have you heard the news?” she asks.

“Everyone’s talking about it, Sam Harte’s in hospital. Crazy. I heard that her married lover’s wife found out about their affaire and attacked her. Can you imagine! Although, Bill said that she’d been found doing loads of coke and attempted to commit suicide to prevent the scandal getting out.”

This is so typical of the Bar grapevine.

“Sorry to disappoint, but she was in a car crash. No sex, drugs or rock and roll involved.”

Serena rolls her eyes at me.

“Whatever. I bet she’s just having loads of plastic surgery.”

I throw my stapler at her.

“No, really. She had an accident last night. She’s broken pretty much everything but thank God she’ll be ok.”

Bizarrely, Serena looks quite deflated by this piece of information. Obviously the rumour mill has no use for the truth.

“You’re such a ghoul,” I add. “The reason I know is because I’ve been asked to take over from her in the Hobbs case.”

Serena’s face freezes “What?” she whispers.

“I know, I can hardly believe it myself.”

“Seriously? You, you’ve picked up the brief?”

She looks at me with an expression of absolute amazement on her face.

“Yep. God, that means we’ll be working together doesn’t it!” I laugh as I remember Serena’s role in the trial. “That’s fantastic, you’re being paid to take a note so I don’t have to!”

She winces slightly and a troubled look crosses her face. It passes and she smiles broadly.

“Well this warrants a proper drink! Come on, first round’s on me!”

“But it’s half twelve?”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s six somewhere in the world! This needs to be celebrated!”

As expected the bar already has four members of Chambers in it despite the early hour. We buy our drinks, apple juice for me and a gin and tonic for Serena and go to sit near them. I can hear them talking. Unsurprisingly, the topic of conversation is Samantha’s accident.

“Well I heard that her brakes just went and she shot across into the path of an oncoming lorry,” comments one.

“Yeah, that’s what she was apparently saying to the paramedics when they got to her,” confirms another.

“Matthew called me last night,” continues the first “Absolutely devastated. At least they haven’t got any kids to look after. He’s just relieved she’s vaguely in one piece.”

I turn my chair away from them, still feeling guilty that I’ve benefited from someone else’s misfortune. Roger’s words come floating back to me “...I’ve spoken to Corr and whilst he’s not happy about this...” What was that meant to mean? I can understand that Corr is unhappy about the whole situation, but for him to be unhappy he has me specifically? That’s a bit unwarranted. I know I’m not as senior as Samantha and there’s not much time for me to learn the ropes but... but... oh God, there really isn’t much time for me to learn the ropes. Less than two weeks to go and I’m sat in the pub? I look at Serena who, alarmingly has already polished off her g and t.

“I’d better get back. They’ve taken all of my cases out but I still have one in next Monday for trial, just a quickie but I need to prepare the Hobbs case now too.”

She drains the last of her drink with her straw and places her glass down onto the table.

“You’re so lucky Lauren. Everything always just seems to fall in your lap. First pupillage, now this.”

I try to laugh and finish my juice too.

“You’re conveniently forgetting everything in the middle! Normally the only thing that falls into my lap is a piece of jam covered toast when I’m running late in the morning!” I stand up and on cue topple the empty glass in front of me. “See! I’m a magnet for disaster, not success!”

As I scoop under the chair and fish underneath for my bag, she speaks.

“Did you send that cheque?”

“No! But as luck would have it it’s in here somewhere.”

Serena watches in disbelief as I upend the contents of the bag on to the table in front of us. Soon, the whole surface is liberally coated with goods including what appears to be half of the MAC counter, old diaries, loose change, various receipts, photographs of me and Sebastian and enough biros to supply an entire office block for a month. I rummage through the detritus and eventually retrieve my cheque book from near to the bottom of the pile.

“Got it! Who do I make it out to?” I ask, handing her the accompanying letter and looking for a pen that works.

I find one and she reels off the details of the recipient. As I stuff the documents into a dog-eared envelope it dawns on me that I haven’t got any stamps. I look up and see Serena holding one out on her index finger.

“Cheers!” I laugh, “I’ll pop it in Chambers’ outgoing mail in a minute.”

“Make sure you do! I’m not joking, if I have to sit next to someone boring then I’ll hold you personally responsible”

We make our way back into the building and Serena wanders off to talk to this week’s work experience students. By the time I get back to my desk the promised papers have arrived. I look with a rising feeling of panic at the numerous green lever-arch files stacked neatly on my desk. I haven’t got the foggiest where to start.

I decide to delay the inevitable and a quick check of my mobile reveals a missed call from a number I don’t recognise. Happy to have a legitimate excuse not to start work, I press redial and wait.

“Corr” comes the brisk voice. Shit. I should have thought this through. I’m tempted to hang up, but I didn’t withhold my number.

“Hi George,” I start, “It’s Lauren. Lauren Chase. How are you?” There’s a long pause and I check the display to make sure we’re still connected. His deep voice is sharp and devoid of any conversational pleasantries.

“As I’m sure you now know, I could be a great deal better, but what’s done is done. I expect you to be fully conversant with all aspects of the evidence by Friday at the latest and ready to draft any amendments to the case summary by Monday as I want it faxed to me before midday.”

I gulp. He continues.

“Further, when you get to the agreed facts can you cross-reference them with all of their corresponding exhibits? I need to be confident they’re word and number perfect for the jury. I’ll see you in Chambers next Thursday so if you have any questions I trust they can wait until then.”

I’m speechless. He seems to be waiting for some sort of response.

“Of course!” I say, my voice sounding impressively calm “Not a problem.”

“I should hope not” he replies before hanging up.

Right, well today is Wednesday, so I have two days to read twelve folders full of papers and digest them enough to understand everything about this brief. I’m sure it’s not impossible. That’s it, positive mental attitude. That’s all this’ll take.

I send Sebastian a text letting him know what’s going on and tell him that I won’t be home for dinner. I know that I’ll need shed loads of caffeine to get through this so I go to the kitchen and put the kettle on, happily remembering my secret stash of pro-plus somewhere in my bag.