Court Out

Chapter Eight





It’s Tuesday evening and I know that I look like something the cat’s dragged in. I’m convinced that people in Chambers are actually walking past my room on purpose so they can get a glimpse of me in my bedraggled state. I can hear the sniggers as the progress down the corridor.

I’ve managed to nip home to grab the odd shower and a clean outfit, but without the usual hour spent with my ghd’s and liberal application of grooming products, I’m really a sight to behold. To be honest, I’m not overly concerned with the state of my hair at the moment, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

Having spent the entire weekend reading all of the witness statements, interviews and experts reports in the Hobbs trial, I’ve just been handed my trial for tomorrow, Ms Goodridge and her benefit fraud. I could really do without it, but it should be finished in a day. The good news is that Serena is prosecuting me; I haven’t had time to answer any of her calls or meet her for drinks since last week so it’ll be good to catch up.

It’s funny being against each other, you have to temporarily put your friendship to one side and focus on your side of the case. Luckily, we always manage to laugh about it afterwards and the loser buys the first round.

I re-read Ms Goodridge’s case and jot down a few questions that I need to ask her when she tells her side of the story. In essence, it’ll all come down to whether or not the jury believe her explanation of things and in theory, should be quite a simple trial. Enough is enough. I throw a few papers into a travel bag I keep in the bottom draw of my desk and switch the desk lamp off. Outside I can see people packing into bars, couples going into a nearby pizzeria and all-round general merriment. I’m tempted to wander down to the bar and see if anyone’s about but I know it’ll end in tears if they are. The last thing I need tomorrow morning is a hangover.



I double check that I’ve got everything I need from the Hobbs case and shut the door. I hope Corr was satisfied with my case summary that I sent to him yesterday. I haven’t heard anything from him, but I guess that in this case, no news has to be good news.

By the time I’ve driven home, gotten undressed and crawled into bed it’s after eleven. Sebastian is sound asleep next to me and as much as I’d like to wake him for a chat I leave him alone. As I drift off to sleep my dreams are full of being clubbed to death with footballs whilst taking part in a penalty shoot-out.

Our trial has been listed in front of one of my favourite Judges. Young, with a wicked sense of humour and a pronounced twinkle in his pale blue eyes, he is a delight to appear before. He isn’t one for messing about and dithering over irrelevant pieces of evidence and he won’t stand for any farcical submissions or ludicrous cross-examination. He’s in a fine mood this morning I note, as I watch him speed through the short applications to be heard before our trial is called on.

Serena is sat, ready to go in her place on Counsel’s row and she looks slightly tense. I can’t imagine any reason why this trial would cause her any loss of sleep; all she has to do is read out parts of the evidence and summarise the rest before the Defendant has to face the jury.

The Judge is losing patience with a junior barrister from another set of Chambers. Instead of getting to the whole point of his application, he’s skirting around the issue, muddling up various dates and confusing the statutes he’s citing. From experience, I know that this judge doesn’t suffer fools gladly and will make him repeat his submissions until he gets it right. I don’t think he does it to be cruel, I suspect he has a genuine desire to help people learn from their mistakes.

When I was in front of him for the first time, not only did I manage to rely on a piece of law that’d been out of date for the last thirty years, but call him ‘Sir’ throughout as well. I had been blathering on for what seemed like a lifetime, but in actual fact couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes before through our interactions I realised my schoolgirl error and righted the situation. Since then, I’ve developed a great respect for him, instead of sitting back and letting people perform poorly, he demands the quality of advocacy necessary for his court.

The junior barrister appears to have cottoned on to the point the Judge is making and I slip outside to have a quick word with Ms Goodridge before the jury are empanelled. It’s a daunting concept, having to explain yourself to twelve strangers and she looks understandably nervous. Her long curls are tied back today and she’s swapped her beaded top for a simple cream shirt and black trousers. The only hint at her usual dress sense comes from a small stud in her nose. She gives me a small smile and stands as she sees me approach her. I can see that her hands are trembling as she puts down her newspaper.

“All set?” I query.

“I think so,” she replies. “Are you sure this is worth the risk?”

“It’s up to you,” I say. “If you’ve told me the truth you’ve got a defence. You can plead guilty, but it’d be to something you haven’t done. I can’t say whether the jury believe you, but that’s a decision for you.”

She looks at me thoughtfully.

“Do you believe me?” she asks, looking me straight in the eyes.

I laugh and wish I had a penny for every time I’ve been asked that question. “You’ve done something quite foolish that, as a woman, I can relate to. Pretending to be someone’s girlfriend is always a recipe for disaster but luckily, not a crime in itself. Just remember, people who tell the truth during their time in court always stand out; liars are easily tripped up and don’t come across well. Whilst you have nothing to prove, you’re going to be judged nevertheless, so this is your only chance to have your side heard.”

“Sorry,” she says. “I know I’m going on about this, but I just can’t face the thought of my kids seeing their mum in the local paper.”

“Whatever happens, it’s tomorrow’s chip paper,” I say, happy that she hasn’t pushed the point.

Our usher appears from the courtroom, black gown billowing behind him.

“All parties in the case of Gillian Goodridge to court twelve please!”

We file in dutifully behind him and Ms Goodridge assumes her position in the dock. As she is identified and the charges are put to her, I feel a pang of sympathy for her predicament; it’s one thing to try and play the system and lose, it’s another altogether to be accused and convicted of something you haven’t done.

As the jury are being empanelled, Serena passes me a note ‘Can’t you make her plead? She’s obviously guilty!’

I roll my eyes, fold it up and file it deep within my papers before raising a casual eyebrow at her. The names of the jurors to be sworn are being read out to the court and as usual they go in one ear and out the other. I glance briefly over to see if I recognise any of them, but the rows of faces staring at us are unfamiliar. It’s a beautifully sunny day today and I can’t blame anyone for feeling slightly resentful that they are stuck in a stuffy courtroom rather than enjoying the potential start to our summertime.

To start proceedings, Serena opens the case to the jury, giving them a brief outline of what Ms Goodridge is supposed to have done:

“You may all be familiar with the benefits system by one way or another, but I’m sure, Members of the Jury that each and every one of you know that it is a privilege and not a right that the weak are supported by the strong of society.”

Uh oh, it appears that Serena’s been reading the Daily Mail again.

“This woman,” she says in a theatrical voice, pointing at the dock, “This woman has abused our system. She lied to the Department, told them that she was single, living alone, when in fact she had a partner. She knew that fact would reduce her ill-gotten gains and that’s why she concealed it when her claim was up for renewal!”

I know I could stand up at some point and point out that claiming benefits is not ‘ill-gotten gains’ per se, but I let it pass. The Judge’s eyebrows are almost in his fringe so I know I haven’t heard wrong.

Serena then proceeds to read out various statements taken from the mothers at the school gates who have seen the pair canoodling each morning. I drift off, familiar with the various versions of their antics, ranging from an innocent peck on the cheek to a brazen bum squeezing incident. She progresses to a short statement from a council officer detailing that the total amount that has been overpaid to Ms Goodridge is just over fifteen thousand pounds.



After reading through my notes, I next become aware that Serena is reading out the full transcript of Ms Goodridge’s interview. Have I missed something? I turn around to see my solicitor behind me also looking puzzled. Serena reaches the final page of the interview and with a flourish, speaks.

“Your Honour, that is the case for the prosecution.”

This means that she had presented all of her evidence and intends to put nothing else before the jury. Instead of thanking her and allowing me to call my client, the Judge frowns deeply.

“Jury out,” he requests of the usher.

Serena turns and looks at me in bewilderment as the jury are shepherded out of the small door. When they’re all successfully through and the door is shut firmly behind them, he speaks, each word carefully considered.

“Miss Taylor, is it your opinion that now is an appropriate time for you to close your case?”

Serena looks affronted.

“Yes. All of the evidence I’ve read out has been agreed and there’s nothing else I can or want to give them.”

What she hasn’t spotted is that she’s failed to adduce the benefit form that Ms Goodridge signed declaring that she was living as a single woman; without it there is no case. It’s a technicality, but a crucial one.

The Judge picks up a copy of the charge sheet and takes a minute to read it to himself.

“You will of course appreciate that after you close your case then I will not allow you to introduce any further evidence?” He says slowly.

“Of course,” she replies haughtily; rather than acknowledging that he is trying to help her for some reason she seems to be taking his comments as negative interference. I know that some judges would just tell her that she’s missed something huge, but this one prefers to be more subtle. The relevant documents are literally spread out in front of me and as she looks over, I’m tempted to hide them under the rest of my papers. I refrain and keep my eyes forward.

“Well, if you are satisfied that you have made out your case? I am perfectly happy to give you a little time to reflect on your answer?”

“I don’t need any time,” she insists “I’m ready now.”

“So be it.”

He turns to the court usher and indicates that the jurors are to be returned to their positions. I shuffle in my seat as they resume their places, a knot of anxiety forming in my chest. When they are all in their seats, Serena continues where she left off.

“Your Honour, that is the case for the prosecution.”

She takes her seat with a satisfied expression on her face. Rising to mine, feeling like a complete bitch, I clear my throat.

“Your Honour, a point of law has arisen. I wish to discuss it in the absence of the jury.”

Grumbling, the twelve selected made their way out for the second time, shooting me evil looks in the process. I address the Judge when they are out of earshot using the shortest sentence I can manage to get the job done.



“Given that the prosecution are no longer able to prove the charge against Ms Goodridge, it is my submission that there is no case for her to answer. Accordingly I invite you to stop the case and invite you to direct the jury to enter ‘not guilty’ verdicts.”

Serena looks at me openmouthed. Before she has a chance to challenge this, the Judge addresses her.

“You accept Miss Taylor that you can not prove that the Defendant has dishonestly failed to declare a change in her living circumstances?”

“I do not!” she explodes. “The Defendant has signed a declaration stating that she is a lone female, when in fact she was living with a man, who was effectively her spouse.”

I swear I can see a look of pity in our Judge’s eyes.

“That may be so Miss Taylor, but where is the evidence before the jury of that?”

“It’s, it’s-”

She tails off as the penny drops. Serena picks up some pages from the bench in front of her and shuffles through them. We sit in silence as she turns them over in order before stopping at the relevant exhibit. I can see that in her hand she has found her copy of the form signed by Miss Goodridge relating to her latest claim to benefit. She looks at it, then at her pile of notes, then at me. It’s almost like she’s expecting me to save her, to tell the Judge that actually, it’s ok and I’ll let her fix her problem so we can carry on. Sadly, I’m not going to do that and I wouldn’t even if I could.



The Judge speaks again and I can clearly detect an air of sympathy in his tone.

“I’m very sorry Miss Taylor, but as things stand, there is no evidence at all that the Defendant had claimed or had failed to notify the Department that her living circumstances had changed.”

“But she doesn’t accept that they had,” she bleats.

He looks at her with something bordering on exasperation.

“That may well be so, but at this stage of the case I have to look at what the jury have been told, and without the final claim form, no properly directed jury could find her guilty in any event. Is there anything you wish to add Miss Chase?”

In a very small voice, I reply.

“No. Thank you.”

I turn around to see how Ms Goodridge has taken the news. Perhaps unsurprisingly she looks totally baffled at the exchange that has just taken place. I’d better go and explain.

“Your Honour, I wonder if I could have a moment at the back of court?” I ask.

He nods.

“Of course Miss Chase.”

I trot to the dock and crouch down so that my face is positioned next to a break in the Plexiglas screen.

“Did you understand what just happened?”

She shakes her head looking perplexed.

“Not a bit. I was gearing myself up to have to talk to the court and I couldn’t work out why we stopped.”

“In a nutshell, the Prosecutor’s forgotten to give the jury a copy of your latest benefit form, you know the one you signed when Mr. Lukes was living with you, when you said you were single?”

She nods.

“Well, without that there is no case. They can’t prove you were dishonest if they can’t prove you did it in the first place. Game over.”

A look of disbelief covers her face. She speaks.

“But they’ve got that form, you’ve got that form, I’ve got that form? Can’t the jury just be given it now?”

“Nope, too late. She had a chance to do just that but thought she’d sealed the deal. It's a stupid mistake on her part, but one you’ll get the benefit of. Hold tight, you’ll see.”

I make my way back to my seat just in time to see the jury come in. They’re still scowling at me, as if I’m the cause of all of their upheaval. A few are openly glaring at Ms Goodridge, resenting the fact they have been dragged out of their usual routines to sit in judgement on someone whom they already believe to be a criminal.

Unusually for me, I study their faces as they wait for the Judge to speak. The hostile ones meet my gaze and I try my hardest not to display any signs of triumph.

The Judge instructs the juror sat closest to him to act as foreperson for the procedure that we are about to follow. The juror is a middle-aged lady with a bright pink cardigan and I note with satisfaction that she was one of those giving dirty looks to us. The Judge explains that there has been legal argument heard in their absence and he has to ask the foreperson to return a verdict. The pink lady looks smug at the thought of being able to tell her friends she’s played an active role in proceedings.

“When each count is read to you, you will be asked if you find the Defendant ‘guilty’ or ‘not guilty’. Please answer ‘not guilty’ to all questions.”

Oddly, she nods with gusto. Maybe I misread her. I had her pegged as on the prosecution team from the word go. The court clerk reads out the first charge.

“And on this first count, do you find the Defendant guilty or not guilty?”

Pink lady inhales deeply and turns to face Ms Goodridge. “Guilty!” she says with feeling.

What? My head jerks up in alarm to see the court clerk looking equally concerned. She presumes she’s misheard and repeats her question. Still, the same reply comes.

“Guilty!”

The Judge gives her a funny look. “Madam foreperson, just a moment ago I instructed you to answer ‘not guilty’ in respect of both counts. I’m sorry if there has been any confusion.”

“There has not been any confusion. I think she is guilty. We all do,” she replies indignantly.

“I don’t,” whispers a small voice on the back row.

“Scroungers, the lot of them,” continues Pink Lady.

“That’s quite enough Madam,” says the Judge. “Please enter the correct verdicts now so I don’t have to hold you in contempt of court; whilst I’m all for a bit of ignorant prejudice, I have better things to do today than sentence you for your little outburst.”



Pink lady turns an unattractive shade of green. For a wonderful second she looks as if she is going to argue with him. She obviously thinks better of it as she simply nods mutely. When the charges are put to her for the third time, she enters the correct ‘not guilty’ verdicts and the jury are discharged. The Judge then turns his attention back to Ms Goodridge.

“That concludes the case against you. You are free to leave.”

With an expression that makes it clear she can’t quite believe what is happening, Ms Goodridge steps out of the dock.

“Wait outside” I mouth to her. She nods back.

“Well thank you very much ladies,” says the Judge, getting to his feet. Serena and I follow suit and wait for him to exit. I turn to Serena, face full of mirth, ready to dissect every element of the exchange between the Judge and our bigoted foreperson. Instead of being met with laughter and jokes, I’m stopped in my tracks when I instead see an expression of utter fury on the face of my best friend. Confused, I continue regardless.

“Hey! What’s up with you? I thought I was going to burst out laughing at the look on that woman’s face when she thought she was going to have to sit in the dock!”

I wait, expectantly for a reply. It comes

“You bitch,” she says coldly.

“What!” I exclaim.

I feel like I’ve been slapped round the face. I look at her, shocked and bewildered. I’m acutely aware that the court staff have stopped what they are doing and are watching us with curiosity.

“You heard me. This is all your fault. You’ll do anything to win. I just can’t believe you’ve stooped this low.”

My court manner deserts me.

“What the hell are you on about?” I say, gripping the edge of my seat for support. “How have I stooped to anything?”

“You set me up. You sat there and let me miss out the key piece in the case.”

I could almost laugh if she wasn’t being deadly serious.

“Humour me, how did I do anything to influence your prosecution?”

“You sabotaged me,” she hisses. “You knew I’d missed it and kept quiet. You mislead the court when you kept quiet when I was being asked by the Judge if I was happy to close my case!”

Ok, that does it.

“Have you totally lost the plot?” I shout, no longer caring if we have an audience. “I’m not here to babysit you. I have no duty to help you do your job competently. It’s not my fault you messed up and made a fool out of yourself, pardon me for presuming you know what you’re doing!”

She throws her papers back down in front of her, clearly as angry as I am. She points at me in fury.

“You’re just so desperate to make a good impression that you’ll screw over anyone who stands in your way!” she yells, jabbing her finger with every word to emphasise her point.

“Serena, I don’t need to impress you, I was here first. Plus, you’d have done exactly the same as me, anyone would have! What was I supposed to do? Stand up and say ‘Oh, by the way, I know I’m doing everything I can to represent and defend this lady, but I must point out that you’re not going to get a conviction unless you do X, Y and Z?‘ Get real.”

She takes a step towards me and speaks directly next to my face.

“No, you get real you backstabber. No-one will trust you after this.”

She retrieves her papers and storms towards the exit door. She pauses, and for a crazy moment I’m sure she’s come to her senses.

“Bitch” she spits, before slamming the door behind her.

My legs are shaking and it takes me a few moments to compose myself. I have an awful feeling that I’m going to cry. Obviously I look as though I am going to cry too as the court clerk rushes over to me with a box of tissues usually reserved for distressed witnesses.

“Here you go,” she says, proffering the box in my direction.

I take one and take a big gulp of water. It tastes musty and stale and I cough.

“Thanks” I reply, collecting my belongings from around me and making sure to take deep breaths to hold back the tears.

As I step out on to the concourse there’s a lone figure waiting for me, but it’s not Serena.

“Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. You were the only one who had any faith in me and it paid off.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I protest weakly, “It was just a technicality.”

“Well that doesn’t make much difference to me! It’s all over, thanks to you!”

She steps forwards and envelopes me in a hug. I don’t normally encourage physical contact with people I represent, but at this moment, it all just becomes too much for me. Biting my lip hard, I return the pressure for a split second before breaking the embrace.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I sincerely hope I never see you again!” I say.

She laughs “Me too.”

As Ms Goodridge makes her way out of the building I slump into one of the chairs in the public waiting area and watch the security staff mill about on the ground floor. I know I’d better make my way back to Chambers but I just can’t summon the energy to move. This is like a bad dream. It’s not unusual to have a disastrous day in court, but normally it’s of my own making. This time, I know I’ve done nothing underhand and the injustice of it stings.

I’m furious with Serena for trying to blame me for her cock-up and furious with myself for letting me make me feel like I’m in the wrong. She owes me one major apology and I’ll be damned if I’m the one to offer the first olive branch. Knowing Serena, she’s probably in Chambers now telling anyone who’ll listen to her how corrupt I am, negating to mention her actions at all. She’ll probably distort events to include how I hid her exhibits in my handbag.

My thoughts are interrupted by a passing cleaner who gives me a look that must mean I look as bad as I feel. I whip off my wig and gown and bundle them up to carry out and make my way to the front of the building.



I step into the clerks room and am met with the usual hustle and bustle that the hour brings. Papers are being allocated for the next day, briefs lined up on a long bench for the barristers to collect and prepare. I hand the papers from the Goodridge trial to one of my clerks, Alex who looks up in with confusion.

“I thought this was due to finish tomorrow?”

“Well we managed to get it done today, so can you bill it now please?” I didn’t mean to snap but he gives me a wounded look.

“Ok?” he says, “Do you have the page count form?”

It may sound ridiculous but at the end of each criminal matter, the barristers have to agree how many pages of evidence have been accumulated so the right amount can be claimed. I don’t have the form; given the way our trial ended it wasn’t exactly top on my list of priorities. I shake my head at him.

“Never mind. You complete your half now and you can get Serena to do hers when you next see her.”

I take the piece of paper from my brief and jot down the relevant figures. I sign my name on the bottom whilst I assure him that I’ll pass it on to Serena.

I haven’t got the energy to go into what’s happened so I walk over to wall stacked with our pigeonholes. I look for Serena’s initials, SYL and place the sheet in the empty space. I cleared mine out this morning but suppose I’d better have a quick look to see if anything has arrived. It is full.

On the top there are two sheets stapled together. The first is a confirmation that the fax I sent to Corr on Sunday evening arrived successfully. The second is a compliments slip from his Chambers. On it is a single word written in dark green. I make out the letters through the spidery writing and despite the day I’ve had, I smile. The message is simple. ‘Thanks’.