door to the cells to escape from Mr. Walsh who is vomiting copiously and indiscriminately.
I pivot back to face the twelve nauseated chosen, I really only have one option here.
“I rest my case.”
Chapter Two
“No. Way. Like absolutely no way!”
Serena is still laughing, leaning forwards in the burgundy leather cube chair she is occupying, her intonations making her sound like a Californian sorority princess. Her wine glass is also leaning forwards at a precarious angle so I hastily take it from her hand.
“What did Robert do?” she snorts.
“What? When the Judge literally ran out court before giving the shortest summing-up in the history of the profession or when the jury came back two minutes later and found the Defendant not guilty?”
“Both!” she chuckles.
“He took it remarkably well. I think he was in shock, no-one has ever seen our Judge move that fast before! Even better though, Mr. Walsh came into Chambers later in the day and dropped off a bottle of whisky as a present. I’ve put it on Robert’s desk”
“Why on earth would you do that? Wouldn’t Sebastian want it?”
“Maybe, but seeing as this bottle came missing about two-thirds of its contents I doubt he’d be brave enough to take a swig!”
We both fall about giggling. The bar is packed with solicitors and members of local Chambers who are making merry this Friday night. This particular watering hole is our regular haunt given its proximity to Chambers and the unmistakable fact that regardless of what time of day you visit, there are always at least two other barristers in here. Accordingly, the owners changed the name three years ago to ‘Bar-Bar’.
Most people labour under the common misconception that we have shares in the place. Whilst untrue, I’ve often thought that to be a very good idea given the extortionate prices of their drinks.
Serena gets to her feet.
“The usual?” she asks.
I hesitate for only a second, “Better make it a large one!”
As she walks to the bar I can feel my mobile vibrating against my leg from somewhere deep within the recesses of my bag. It takes me a good few minutes to retrieve it from the precarious depths inside, narrowly avoiding being stabbed by numerous uncapped biros and the odd piece of cutlery I’ve amassed. I really must sort this out.
By the time I have hoisted it out, I’ve missed the incoming call. I scroll through the display to find that it was Sebastian and I have a warm and fuzzy moment. Despite the fact that I rarely make it home on a Friday night before midnight, he always likes to know how I’ve got on in court.
I send him a quick text as it’s way too loud to hear in here anyway and if I step outside then I run the risk of some opportunists stealing our seats before Serena gets back; I’m really not in the mood for a fight with some of the commercial lot about who has proprietary rights.
I glance up to the crowded bar and manage to spot my partner in crime talking to the barman and laugh as I notice a very old, very married member of the judiciary blatantly checking out her rear view.
Serena is a couple of years older than me, having celebrated her 31st birthday in January. We met after uni at Bar School and instantly clicked. I remember our first ethics lecture together when our eyes met over a discussion about what we were supposed to do when a Defendant told us they were guilty but still wanted to be represented at trial.
“Depends how much they’re paying me!” whispered Serena who then fell about laughing at the disapproving look on my face. I couldn’t help but join in and we went for a drink at a nearby student pub after the session ended.
I learned that Serena, having happily progressed through higher education was, like me, hoping to join a criminal set of Chambers in the Midlands. That night we bonded over several bottles of terrible house Chardonnay and far too many shots of even worse tequila. As we stumbled, late, into our seminar the next morning still half-cut, our friendship was cemented.
Over the course of the nine months we worked together, revised together and got very, very drunk together. Whilst Serena is definitely not a ‘girl’s girl’, she must have seen something in me that she could relate to. We spent hours in my little room in halls worrying about our assignments, planning what we would wear to various socials