shocked when I told him what had happened during the Goodridge trial but soon began to look on the positive side of events.
“Lauren, imagine you’d just singlehandedly thrown a trial away. You’d be mortified and in denial that it was your fault, of course you’d try and convince yourself if wasn’t.”
I shook my head.
“You didn’t see her, she was so mad with me!”
He’d kissed me on the forehead and placed a pain au chocolate on top of some cases I’d printed off.
“Give her some time to cool off and she’ll say sorry. I’m sure of it. For now, concentrate on your work. You’ll see her during the trial anyway, so she’ll have to say something to you.”
I took a mouthful of the pastry and munched with a troubled expression on my face.
“But what if she doesn’t?” I’d mused, spraying crumbs on top of my neatly ordered papers.
I’ve been in Chambers since six AM today, making sure that everything is in order. I had a very short meeting with Corr last week when he waltzed in, barked a few requests at me and left. I’d been expecting a cozy chat where we could sit and discuss theories over a glass of wine or two, bouncing ideas off each other to ensure the prosecution not only went to plan, but ran seamlessly too.
Instead, it felt like a meeting with the head teacher following being caught copying off another student. He’d been curt to the point to rudeness, demanding to see all of my notes, checking that I was up to speed. When he left I felt as if I’d disappointed him somehow, all of the promise from his note disappearing in an instant.
I’ve dressed carefully today in a classic black suit: a closely tailored jacket and a neat pencil skirt with kick pleats near to the hem. My bands have been washed and starched within an inch of their life and my hair is shining in its tortoiseshell clip. I’ve put on my favourite pair of ‘court’ shoes, black leather round-toed Mary Janes from Kurt Geiger with a five-inch stiletto heel. I can’t really walk in them all that well, but hopefully I’ll be sat down most of the day.
I spend a while re-reading my notes and wait for the masses to come in to start work. It’s a little bit scary being in such a big building on your own when it’s not quite light outside. I’m full of apprehension and excitement. I’ve been able to go through the transcripts of the last two trials and have seen who said what. The more I read, the more I’m convinced that Hobbs is guilty. His version doesn’t seem to add up and from what I’ve seen of him on the television, he seems far too pleased with himself for someone who is currently on trial for murder.
I check my watch, eight fifteen. I’m going over the part of the evidence in the first trial where our expert collapsed during his evidence. Doctor Rudd was in the middle of explaining his interpretation of his findings of the postmortem when he just went to the floor. Understandably, it appears to have been quite dramatic, people rushing to his aide, paramedics treating him in the well of the court.
His unexpected illness caused the trial to be aborted. They never did figure out what caused it. Happily, he’s fit and well now and I’ll be meeting him later on this morning.
The door to our suite opens and I see Cassie make her way to a nearby computer. She looks about as stressed as I feel and is chewing on a piece of her poker-straight pale hair. I wander out and pull up a chair next to her.
“What’s up?”
She jumps in her seat.
“Gosh Lauren, you scared me! I thought I was the first one in!”
She clicks her mouse despondently. “I’m fine, I’m just getting stressed about being in court on my own. I need to do well; if I don’t get in here then I don’t know what I’m going to do!”
She turns to face me, panic in her eyes.
“Oh God, I shouldn’t be telling you this. I’m not trying to influence you or make you feel bad if you vote against me!”
To my horror, she begins to cry.
I run to my desk and grab a packet of tissues from my Mulberry. This isn’t easy in five-inch heels but I manage to get back to her without breaking anything. She mops up her tears and I try