‘I thought you were taking a week off.’
‘I never said that.’
‘Then you better chat to Jess.’
‘Why Jess?’
‘Mel, I’m only following instructions. Plus, I should tell you, there was a problem with Gonzalez, the Interim Care on Friday.’
‘What about Gonzalez?’
‘Your solicitor never got a call.’
‘I called him after the case. I always do. Anyway, I emailed the Attendance Note.’
‘He says not.’ She couldn’t answer him. Was it possible she had forgotten? Her memory of that day was confused.
‘It’s not like you to forget, Mel. Anyway, I asked Natasha what had happened and she gave me details so I called the solicitor myself. Plus, I never got the printed copy of the Attendance Note. I’ll need that for billing.’
‘There was definitely an Attendance Note. I asked Natasha to print it off and give it to you.’
‘Well, you’ll have to sort that with her. Like I say, I never got it, nor did the solicitor.’
‘I’m sorry, Andy. I guess I was a bit distracted with the mugging. I really can’t explain it. Listen I’ll come in tomorrow.’
‘Jess reckons it’s better if you take a week off. Give us a call on Friday. I’ll tell you what there is in the diary.’
She sat down and stared at her coffee. The air in the flat was heavy with silence. This was not good. It wasn’t like her to make mistakes. Not this sort of mistake. There were always moments in a case when you could do better, when you came back afterwards rethinking your cross-examination, kicking yourself for asking one question too many. But not administrative mistakes. Those were the mistakes that made you unpopular with your clerk and your clerk was the key to everything. A chill ran through her.
She waited till later in the day when Jess would be out of court and rang her on her mobile.
‘What’s this about me taking a week off?’
‘Hang on, Mel. I’m in the middle of something,’ Mel heard voices, movement, and then Jess was back on the line.
‘It’s fine now. I’m in the corridor. Didn’t want the others to overhear.’ Why not? What was going on that Jess needed to speak to her in private? ‘Shoot,’ said Jess.
‘You spoke to Andy. He wants me to take a week off.’
‘We all thought it would be best. You’ve been driving yourself, Mel. The mugging was traumatic. I don’t think you realise how that can affect you. You need to rest and learn to delegate. Listen, it’s nothing formal. But I had a word with Jeremy, and we decided it would be best if you left things to the rest of us for a couple of weeks.’
‘A couple of weeks? Andy said one week.’ Worse and worse. Jeremy was head of chambers. How had things got so bad that Jess felt she needed to speak to him? ‘What about Natasha?’
‘She seems to be picking up work. I’ve arranged for her to talk to Georgie or myself if there’s a problem. I don’t want to make you feel worse, Mel, but you’ve been a bit snappy with other members of chambers. It’s a clear sign of stress. There’ve been one or two comments from other barristers. You’ve not been your usual competent self. Is everything all right at home?’
‘Comments from who?’
‘I really can’t say. It’s hearsay and probably just gossip. You know what it can be like in chambers. Everyone worrying about losing work. I’m only telling you because I’m your friend and I’m concerned for you. I’m sure it’s nothing. But you don’t want to give people ammunition.’
‘Give me names. This isn’t fair.’
‘Just give yourself a break and come back refreshed. Is everything all right at home?’
Mel thought of her worries about Jacob, her difficult mother, her distant lover. But barristers don’t show weakness. And many people’s domestic lives were far more troubled.
‘No one likes to be mugged,’ she said.
‘Exactly. Have you been to the police?’
‘I’ll go tomorrow.’
‘If they offer victim support, take it. These things can take their toll.’
‘Goodbye, Jess.’
She didn’t want to hear any more.
That afternoon she went to the police station, but the only person known as GJ on their books was at least ten years older than the sweet-faced boy who had run his hand under her shirt. Photographs were produced. None of them fitted. The police didn’t seem concerned. There were no serious injuries. When the officer asked why she hadn’t come in earlier she explained she hadn’t felt strong enough. It sounded lame. She could imagine what he was thinking. The police had terrorism and stabbings to deal with. One more mugging wasn’t worth the expenditure of resources. She was offered victim support. She said she would think about it.
Paul rang on Wednesday. He had a free afternoon. But there was an assumption in his announcement which grated and she felt herself biting her lip before offering him a much edited version of her mugging. He was sympathetic but there was a distant edge to his voice she had never noticed before. Then, for the first time, she lied to him, told him she was busy.
On Friday she rang Andy to ask about the following week. She was wanted for a pre-trial hearing at Snaresbrook on Monday morning and he would email over the papers.
‘ABH,’ he explained. ‘It’s come in from a new solicitor. He asked for you. We said you might be stuck on a part-heard case. But we’d get back to them by lunchtime. Better not to say you were unwell.’
‘Thanks for that, Andy.’
‘Conference at nine thirty. Case of Stevens. He’s in custody. I’ll email the papers over. No worries. Natasha’s out of court, so she can come along.’
‘Fine.’ It wasn’t fine. Mel wished her pupil would simply disappear.
Chapter Ten
Mel
Snaresbrook Crown Court is a Victorian Gothic pile situated at the end of the Central Line. Defendants arriving by van see nothing of its grey castellated splendour, fifteen acres of parkland and landscaped lake. From prison vans they would be led in handcuffs through the holding area to the cells, small windowless cubes, where stark white light displayed graffiti and ominous brown stains on cracked cream walls. Mel had never been in a Snaresbrook cell. But her clients were graphic in their descriptions.
The interview room was just big enough to fit four metal chairs around a grey rectangular table and was illuminated by a single glaring strip-light. Natasha, who’d arrived at the court a few minutes before Mel, followed her into the room and sat down. She opened her laptop, took out her copy of the instructions and waited. Her hair was tied back into a knot, accentuating her sharp features and her wide, clear forehead.
The guard brought in Conrad Stevens, a lightly built man of thirty-two. He hadn’t yet made a statement and Mel would need to work out his defence. He was charged with assaulting his girlfriend, Lily Parsons, who’d sustained a broken arm and a black eye. Stevens had told his solicitor that he never intended to hurt Lily. If her arm was broken, he reckoned it was because she had brittle bones. They’d had a row. She could be violent herself, and he might have pushed her in self-defence. He’d given the solicitor a photo to show a bruise on his leg where he said she had kicked him. He didn’t know why she had fallen. They’d been in the kitchen. Maybe the floor was wet.