Law and Disorder (18 page)

‘So, mate. This is the way I see it. I might have been a bad boy in the past but I ain’t bin caught doin’ nuffin’ for two years. Goin’ straight, you can say. Tell ’em about me daughter and ’ow I’ve been workin’ the doors to look after ’er. Might’ve skimmed a bit off the takings that night but never done it before. Know what I mean, mate? So you tell ’em I bin lookin’ after me daughter and that if they sends me inside she’d be back in care.’

When we eventually got into court, the bench was chaired by a stern-looking lady who resembled an older version of TheBoss’s mistress BattleAxe.

‘I see Mr BullDog has a long list of previous convictions.How does he expect to avoid a custodial sentence in these circumstances?’

I explained BullDog’s sorry tale and was met with an unflinching glare from the bench.

‘Anything more?’ I was asked at the end of my submissions.

‘Er,no,I don’t think so,’ I wavered,not sure if they were suggesting that I had missed something.

‘Good.’

They then disappeared for a few minutes and came back and sentenced BullDog to six months in prison. Before he was taken away, he asked for a word with me, which was granted.

‘Shame about that, mate. ’Fraid I’m gonna have to report you now. Real shame that. Just when you done all that work an’ all to qualify.’

‘I’m very sorry, Mr BullDog. I honestly did my best in there. Honestly. And I’m also really sorry I didn’t tell you that I was new.’

‘Too late mate. Although . . . it might be useful to have another brief on me books. Get quite a lot of me staff up on drugs charges, if ya know what I mean?’

‘Well, if I can help with their defences . . .’

‘Might take you up on that mate. S’pose I could ’old off on that complaint . . .’ he said as he was led away. Then he turned round and gave me his best chubby little smile, ‘. . . for now, anyway.’

So, one appearance in court and already I’m in debt to a hard-core gangster.

On balance, not a good day.

Tuesday 3 April 2007

Day 129 (week 27): Up and coming

In my search for someone to play the fictional Ginny, TopFirst’s new pen pal, I contacted one of those ‘Test Your Boyfriend’ agencies you see mentioned in the newspapers and went to visit them in my lunch hour. Easier, in the end, to hire someone who can later simply claim to be a prostitute than the real McCoy. As I embark upon my biggest act of war so far, I take some consolation in the fact that he professes to be happily engaged and the reality is that my plan will fail if he remains faithful.

I found this agency in an extremely seedy office in King’s Cross. Whatever the estate agents say, the only thing that is ‘up and coming’ in that hole of a grottsville area is the kerb crawlers. I explained the email correspondence by saying that I was the brother of TopFirst’s fiancée and was concerned about his fidelity. It was a tall order, but Ginny had to be posh, bright and beautiful. They said that they had a couple of star students on their books who only occasionally worked for them to pay off their student debts at the end of each academic year. I looked at their profiles and one in particular stood out due to a particularly haughty look which I think TopFirst might go for. They said they’d get back to me as to when she’d be available. I then returned to chambers and emailed TopFirst from Ginny’s account with the photo of Ginny the HoneyTrap, my virtual creation, who is suddenly becoming very real.

Wednesday 4 April 2007

Day 130 (week 27): Confusion

‘The car came from the offside.’

‘No, the nearside.’

‘Offside.’ It was my first small claims hearing and I was getting my nearside and offside thoroughly mixed up. So much so that the witness was also becoming confused since he couldn’t believe that a barrister could get it so wrong.

‘Er, OK, maybe the offside. I don’t know.’

Not the most dignified way to win the case but I’ll take it any way it comes, particularly when the client saw my mistake as some sort of inspired tactical manoeuvre . . .

In the meantime, Worrier was round again reporting on BusyBody’s progress.

‘This is top secret, BabyB.’ She had started to sound like the secret agent from
’Allo ’Allo
.

‘Of course.’

‘It’s just I think you should probably know as she’s going to need supporting through this.’

‘So what have you heard?’

‘I asked her outright yesterday morning. She denied it outright and went off in a storm. But then today she came round to visit and told me that I was right.’

‘She’s pregnant.’

‘Yes. But you can’t tell a soul.’

‘Because of the father issue or because it’d ruin her career?’

‘Both, but probably more the career thing actually. She figures no one will take her on if there’s any suggestion she’ll be a part-timer.’

‘Sad, but possibly true.’

‘Equality for all. Except barristers.’

‘So what’s she going to do?’ I asked.

‘Sit tight for the moment, though she’s realistic enough to realise that it’s probably not going to be long before someone guesses.’

‘Is she going to continue with pupillage?’

‘I think so. Kind of got a nothing-to-lose attitude now which might actually be quite healthy.’

Hmm.

‘So how was your first case?’ I asked, trying to change the subject.

‘I’d rather forget it if I could.’

‘That bad?’ I asked.

‘Oh BabyB, the difficulty was that I just couldn’t simplify it all down. You know, sort out the wood from the trees.’

Oh, now that’s one to put in my back pocket if ever there was one. Out of the mouths of babes. Poor Worrier had put her finger on the problem she had with life, not merely court hearings. Except it’s not wood from trees. Worrier will show you the whole forest. There are just too many details in WorrierLand. Couldn’t be more clear than that.

‘The judge said I was “wittering” at one point, BabyB, and then later told me to “spit it out”.’

‘That sounds a bit rude to be saying in a court of law,’ I said, trying to make light of it all.

‘Oh BabyB, you are awful.’ She perked up slightly, smiled and put on her best comedy voice. ‘But I like you.’

Thursday 5 April 2007

Day 131 (week 27): FaceOff

I spent the day at court with my new pupilmistress, UpTights. Quite a contrast to TheBoss who would generally sidle up to opponents and suggest something like, ‘Don’t suppose we can get rid of this and be back in chambers for lunch can we?’ UpTights on the other hand hardly ever settles a case at court, on the basis that ‘we’re paid to fight, not settle’, and therefore she said to her opponent today, ‘There’s no point talking if you’re not prepared to look at this case sensibly.’

‘Well, quite,’ said the other side’s barrister, who today just happened to be OldSmoothie. He clearly knows her well enough to have decided the best strategy was to wind her up. He leaned in a little too close for her liking, given her ‘personal space’ issues, and continued, ‘Though I’m sure you’ll take your client’s instructions if I do make an offer.’

UpTights moved away from OldSmoothie. ‘A little space please . . . Of course I’d take instructions, not that that’s any of your business. But I really don’t think there’s any point talking further.’

After this, OldSmoothie needled her further by getting a mini-pupil who was following him to come over and make an offer to UpTights.

‘Can’t he be bothered to come over here and tell me himself?’

‘No, he can’t,’ the mini-pupil answered, obviously having been briefed what to say. The offer itself was ridiculously low and only served to irritate UpTights further. The mini-pupil didn’t make it any better when he followed up with, ‘OldSmoothie says that if you don’t accept by the start of the hearing, it will be withdrawn.’

‘Well, you can tell OldSmoothie . . .’

‘. . . and he also said to tell you that he looks forward to hearing what your client has to say about the offer.’ After which the mini-pupil turned on his heels.

It only got worse when we went into court. OldSmoothie started calling UpTights ‘Mrs’ rather than ‘Ms’ which, though she didn’t correct him, clearly grated, particularly when he also started mispronouncing her name. He also took two extremely weak points at the start of the hearing which left UpTights even more jumpy and impatient than usual. It only took a couple of hours of this before UpTights finally snapped at the judge in response to a question he had asked.

‘With respect, Your Honour, if you read the witness statement of the claimant you will see . . .’

‘Are you suggesting that I haven’t read the witness statements?’

‘Of course not, Your Honour . . .’

UpTights by this point couldn’t help herself and during OldSmoothie’s provocative submissions she started shaking her head and muttering, ‘No, no, no.’ OldSmoothie stopped mid-flow and said to the judge, ‘I’m sorry, Your Honour, but it seems my learned friend Mrs UpTights wishes to address you early.’ At which point he sat down.

‘Yes, Ms UpTights. Your opponent is right. I, too, find your constant interrupting and muttering extremely irritating and would be grateful if you would refrain from it in future.’

UpTights was speechless and simply nodded angrily at the judge before OldSmoothie stood up, smiled over at her and continued.

By which point we were done for.

Tuesday 10 April 2007

Day 132 (week 28): Horsehair and HoneyTraps

TopFirst has really done it now. I went off to court today and, relying on his advice, didn’t take my wig and gown. ‘You don’t need them for fast-track trials these days,’ he said. ‘Only multi­track ones.’

That made sense to me as fast-track trials are often not much bigger than small claims hearings and you definitely don’t need your robes for those. I say that because without a second thought I trotted off to court, happy not to be lumbered with the cumbersome paraphernalia that comes with this job. Two hours’ travel and I was at Swindon, chatting with my clients and all ready for our hearing. Just as we were about to go into court, my opponent arrived in the waiting room all dolled up in his robes.

‘You’re robed, I see,’ I commented, trying to sound nonchalant.

‘I know. It’s in fast track, so no option.’

I tried not to look too stupid in front of my client and decided that the only hope was to try and brazen it out with the judge. In we went. We all rose as the judge entered in full court dress. He nodded and we sat down.

‘Mr BabyBarista. Please stand up.’

‘Yes, Sir.’ I rose.

‘I’m afraid I can’t hear you.’

‘Is this better, Sir?’ I spoke a little more loudly.

‘No. I said I can’t hear you.’

‘How about this, Sir?’ Just less than a shout.

‘No, you don’t understand. I can’t hear you.’

‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ I shouted. ‘Would it be better if I approached nearer to the bench?’

‘Mr BabyBarista. You are in enough trouble without adding insolence to your problems.You seem determined not to understand what I am telling you. Without your wig and gown, I am unable to hear from you.’

‘Oh. Sorry, Sir. Er . . . might you be able to hear me as to why I don’t have them?’ That seemed to get him and he paused and had a think. We were now definitely in Alice in Wonderland territory.

‘After all,’ I added, ‘it would cause great injustice to my client if you were unable to hear the case today.’

‘So. What is your excuse, then?’

‘I’m afraid, Sir, that they were stolen on the train this morning,’ I lied. Not clever, I know, but hey.

‘Oh . . . well . . . that puts a different complexion on things. Please continue.’

After which no more mention was made of the issue. Now, I realise how serious it is to lie to a judge and normally I wouldn’t defend it but it felt like the world had gone mad and no one seemed to be even questioning it. I was furious with TopFirst by the time I arrived back into chambers. A smug ‘Oh, sorry, didn’t realise’ was all I got from him. Makes me more determined to implement my plan. Got on the phone to Ginny’s agency and booked her for next Monday. I then emailed TopFirst from Ginny’s account suggesting a meeting in a bar in Covent Garden. Within half an hour, TopFirst had emailed back saying,‘Great.Very much look forward finally to meeting you. By the way, liked your photo. Here’s one to help identify me on Monday ;-)’

Well, I had to laugh. TopFirst may be many things, but a lager-drinking sportsman he is not. In fact this couldn’t be further from what he is. Yet, there he was, with probably the only pint of lager he’s ever sipped in his life held aloft with one hand, whilst the other clutched a rugby ball. And to cap it, a huge pair of shades, Blues Brothers style. What he was thinking by sending that photo I just don’t know. It was neither cool nor in any way recognisable as him. It’ll be interesting to see what he turns up wearing on Monday.

Meanwhile, Worrier was back in my room whispering about BusyBody. ‘She’s been spending quite some time with ThirdSix, who’s a very good listener, apparently. Can’t think of a more attractive shoulder to cry on, I’d say.’ By her look you could tell that Worrier also has something of a soft spot for him.