of it off or else I’ll have to buy new suits to accommodate my growing bum. Whilst I’m all for shopping, I normally like spending my money under happier circumstances.
My plan to grab a conference room and read Mr. Lenihan’s report is cut short by the appearance of Ms Goodridge. A small lady with long dark curly hair, beaded purple top and flared jeans steps in front of me and speaks
“Miss Chase? Are you Miss Chase? I’m Gillian Goodridge, I think you’re looking for me?”
I note with dismay that she has a piece of A4 paper in her hand that looks suspiciously like my Chambers website profile.
“Yes,” I say. “Please come with me.” I take her into the empty conference room and indicate that she should sit in one of the four plastic chairs placed around a worn looking table.
“Right, I’ve read through all of the prosecution papers in this case and have to tell you that at the moment, it’s not looking too good. My advice to you is that if this allegation is true, admit it now so you get full credit when it comes to sentence.”
Her brow furrows.
“What does that mean?”
“Ah, my fault, I forgot that this is your first experience before any court. Well, if you plead guilty today, the Judge will give you a third off any sentence. But, that’s supposed to be a carrot for the guilty not a stick for the innocent. If you haven’t been living with Mr. Lukes as a married couple then this is your chance to tell me what has been going on so we can try and sort out what is the best plan of attack”
She looks at me with narrowed eyes.
“But they’ll never believe me. I know how this works. I didn’t do it, but it’s not worth all the hassle.”
“Well try me,” I say. “Sometimes it’s better to get a fresh perspective on things, see how I react. After all, if I take the garb off then I’m just a member of the public too.”
She picks up my biro from the table and begins to tap it on a sheaf of documents that she has bought with her. I can see that something is troubling her as she stares fixedly at the wall. Finally, she speaks, turning to look me in the eye.
“Ok, but you’ll be straight with me right?”
“Right,” I promise.
It turns out that Mr. Lukes is in love with an ex-girlfriend of his who takes their children to the same school as Ms Goodridge. He lost his house having been made redundant and had been sleeping on her sofa until he could get back on his feet. The icing on the cake was that in an attempt to make his ex jealous and realize what she was missing, he asked Ms Goodridge to be seen in public with her acting like she was his new beau.
“Well you’ve certainly got yourself into a bit of a mess,” I comment. “But as long as you haven’t been receiving money from him we should be ok.”
“Not at all!” she replies defiantly. “Even if he had any to give then I wouldn’t take it. He’s a mate.”
A short while later we leave the conference room, Ms Goodridge walking towards the court cafe, head held high whilst I have a cursory look for Mr. Lenihan. There is no obvious sign yet. Ms Goodridge surprised me, her story was both plausible and one that I think could be accepted. More importantly than that, given her lack of any previous offending, it’s important that she gets her day in court and is allowed to have her case tested before a jury. Who am I to tell her to give that up?
I fill in the requisite form to inform the court that this will be a ‘not guilty’ plea and hand it to the Prosecutor, a jovial man who is from a small set of Chambers just outside of Birmingham. I can remember his first name, but his surname escapes me entirely. He has a perfunctory look at the top sheet and looks up at me with a quizzical look on his face.
“Eh? Not guilty? But she’s bang to rights?”
“Innocent until proven guilty Glenn. All will become clear soon,” I tease.
“Have you filed your defence statement?” he asks, referring to the mandatory document required in criminal proceedings where the defence have to set out the exact nature of why they contest the charges against them.