by Ros Carne
Alisha started with the background, the relationship with Natasha, the meeting in Dulwich, Natasha’s interest in Darcy Black. The Attendance Note allegation was common knowledge since the tenancy interview, but Mel chose not to dwell on that. Her story would focus on Natasha’s surprise infiltration into her mother’s life, Mel’s suspicion about the designer shoes, the costumes and jewellery. Whether she was right or wrong was not the issue. Indeed, being in the wrong with regard to Natasha’s intentions could only assist her. It would give Natasha a motive for lashing out.
A slender young man with eyes as lovely as Alisha’s was tapping away beside them on his laptop. Alisha had introduced him as her pupil, Ilias. Apart from smiling and standing up as she entered, he had said not a word.
After about twenty minutes, Alisha asked Ilias to make them all some tea and he left the room with a quiet grace. Mel wondered whether he would object after she had gone. She remembered Natasha taking a stand on making tea.
In his absence, Alisha asked what Mel had been doing since she stopped working.
‘Helping Mum mostly. Looking after Jacob.’
‘Must be nice to have a bit of time off.’
‘In a way, yes.’
She’d had no choice. The Bar Standards Board had told her they would delay any regulatory proceedings until after the outcome of the trial, but the charge had hit both the legal and the national press. One satirical legal website called it the ‘clash of the barrister babes’ using provocative photoshopped pictures of her and Natasha in court wigs, boxing gear and gloves. At the pre-trial review of R v Goddard, the judge warned that further comment whether in traditional print, online or social media could lead to charges of contempt of court. Traditional print and online media ceased speculation, but social media swirled with anonymous comments.
Mel was astonished at the level of interest and flurry of attacks. Georgie suggested they were probably disgruntled trainee barristers who had failed to get tenancies. After one particularly vicious Tweet, Paul called her. He apologised for his long silence, explained he had been preoccupied himself with the student allegations he had told her about and asked if she’d like to meet for lunch. She was polite but cool, telling him she didn’t feel like talking to anyone at the moment. It was hard to imagine that their bodies had once been entwined in ardour, soaked in each other’s sweat, that she had experienced an ache of separation when he stood up to go to the bathroom. After the call she uninstalled Facebook, Twitter and Instagram from her phone, wondering why she hadn’t done it long ago.
But though Jeremy had asked her to remain absent from chambers while the charge hung over her, in private a few of her colleagues were supportive. She was particularly touched by her clerk, Andy, who called her once a week to see how she was getting on. Georgie’s support she had expected, though he was always careful not to slag off Natasha. Most of the tenants were wary about taking sides publicly, but after Natasha’s pupillage had come to an end, Jess had rung and suggested a walk on Hampstead Heath. They had crunched through dead leaves, talking generally about their children, their elderly parents, the grim happenings in the wider world, anything but the forthcoming trial. Their conversation was unremarkable, but Mel felt as if she had been invited in from a storm and wrapped in a warm rug.
There were other friends, women she had neglected in the flurry of work, and over a drink or a coffee she could focus on their concerns and almost forget her own. She took up swimming again. Ploughing through cold water gave her some relief from seemingly endless rumination. But these were merely temporary respites. She considered contacting her solicitor friend Lauren who had taken on her case and instructed Alisha. Mel would tell her what had really happened. That it was she who had lunged towards Natasha. But as she moved to bring up Lauren’s number, she hesitated then put away her phone. A guilty plea might ease her conscience. With luck she would get a suspended sentence or even just a fine. But it would mean the end of her career. A conviction would not automatically disbar her from practising. Barristers had been involved in brawls before. But no chambers would take on a woman who was convicted of assaulting her own pupil.
She had spoken to Jacob, told him what she planned to tell the court. Natasha had rushed her. Mel had held up her hands to protect herself, an act of self-defence that had led to Natasha tripping and banging her head. He appeared to believe her and as the weeks passed, she began to believe her own story. When she tried to raise the issue of the photographs he refused to discuss it.
‘Leave off, Mum. Nothing anyone can do now. I was a fool. I know that.’
But he looked anxious and she needed to reassure him, ‘She won’t post them online. I’m sure of that. But promise…’
He interrupted. ‘Of course I won’t fucking do it again. I’m not a complete idiot.’
Though she sounded more sure than she felt. Natasha had a reckless streak. She was capable of anything. And if she wanted to give the jury a motive for Mel’s attack, the photos would be perfect. Her pupil’s thirst for revenge might well be stronger than any instinct of self-preservation.
She told Alisha some of this, commented on the media frenzy, her relief as it died down. What she didn’t tell her, what she told no one, was her sense of being cut loose, the blank mornings after Jacob left for his new sixth form college, the unlooked-for leisure time. It was not clear whether the work gave meaning to her life or simply disguised her life’s lack of meaning. What did it matter? It had kept her away from a black hole. The edge, the hurry, had disappeared. Perhaps forever. If she had known it was to be forever it might have been easier to bear. She could mourn. Put her career behind her. But this was like losing a loved one without knowing how they had died.
Ilias came back with the tea. They had already covered Mel’s relationship with Natasha, the difficulties, some of which Mel had explained, some of which she chose to ignore. Once Ilias was settled with his laptop, they moved on.
‘Why did you go to your mother’s house that Sunday when you knew she would be out with her new friend?’
‘I needed to get out of the flat. I was struggling with an Advice. Plus, I was worried about Mum. Last time I saw her the house was a mess and I was sure she wasn’t eating properly. I had a key. I just thought I’d go over. Check that everything was as it should be.’
‘In what way?’
‘Mum mentioned a new cleaner. I wondered how she had managed. The house was a disaster zone when I last went round. I thought I might do a bit of cleaning.’
Alisha looked unconvinced, possibly remembering the chaos of Mel’s desk when they shared a room, ‘And did you? Clear up? Clean?’
‘I didn’t need to. The place was spotless. Never seen it so tidy.’
‘So, you waited for your mother and her new friend.’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you have any idea this new friend was Natasha?’
‘None whatsoever. Why is that significant?’
‘Only that Digger might try to suggest you were waiting to confront Natasha, possibly even harm her.’
At the mention of Digger her heart thumped.
‘Digger?’
‘Diggory-Brown, yes. He’s prosecuting.’
‘All I can say is, I’m glad I’ve got you. He’s a pit bull.’
‘Tough yes, but of course as a prosecuting counsel he will need to be even-handed.’
‘I’ll believe that when I see it. If I wasn’t in the dock, I’d say this could be fun.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘I had no idea Natasha had met my mother.’
That at least was the truth. They moved on. Mel described her edited version of what happened that afternoon. Her irritation that Natasha had befriended her mother behind her back, her suspicion as to her motives prompted by seeing her in her mother’s clothes and jewellery. Her insistence that Natasha leave, followed by Natasha’s sudden outburst. Natasha had accused Mel of failing to support her, of ensuring she didn’t get the tenan
cy. They had argued, voices were raised then Natasha had rushed at her. Mel instinctively raised a hand to protect herself. Natasha, still unsteady after her hypo, had toppled backwards. As far as she could recall Natasha was still wearing high heels. Mel could remember her body twisting as she fell onto the edge of the dressing table.
As soon as Mel had finished, she remembered the shoes on the floor. Hadn’t she already told someone it had been the shoes which caused Natasha to trip? The police? Lauren? She needed to get her story straight. Her other potential problem was her mother. Isabel was a prosecution witness. Her statement emphasised the ill-feeling between Mel and Natasha, referred to raised voices, accusations. But there was no mention of an assault by either woman. One minute Natasha was shouting at Mel, the next minute she was flying across the room.
‘I won’t be challenging your mother,’ said Alisha. ‘Your versions differ in tiny details but not fundamentally. I’ve told the CPS her statement could be read. I’m not sure why they want her.’
‘I don’t trust Digger. What’s he playing at?’
‘Don’t worry, Mel. I’ll make sure he sticks to the rules.’ Ilias was still tapping. Alisha stopped and wrote something in her own notebook.
The conference was going as well as she could have hoped, but Mel knew how quickly things could turn in court. She was firming up her story. She might have forgotten about the shoes but that was hardly surprising. Everything had happened fast. Some details were precise, others vague. A hint of muddle wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She didn’t want to sound too rehearsed.
An hour had passed. She was describing the trip to the hospital, Natasha’s continued confusion, the stilted parting outside her flat. Alisha was no longer prompting her but was looking hard into her eyes and at that moment Mel knew why Alisha was so good in court, why she had a reputation for destroying the prosecution case. She could see when someone was lying, knew exactly where to aim her darts.
‘You could plead guilty,’ she said.
Mel’s heart stopped. ‘I’m not guilty.’
‘I’m only pointing it out. You would, as you know, get a lighter sentence than if you were found guilty after a trial.’
‘Alisha, you don’t believe I’m guilty, do you?’
‘I shouldn’t need to remind you, Mel, that what I believe is irrelevant. I am here to follow your instructions and give you advice.’
‘And you’re advising me to plead guilty?’
‘Not at all. Your plea is your decision.’
‘I’m not changing my plea.’
‘Fine. Now is there anything else? Anything you haven’t told me that might be relevant, even faintly relevant to the case? Anything about Natasha?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Did you know she was pregnant?’
‘I had no idea.’
‘You’re aware of course it’s still an aggravating factor. Hitting a pregnant woman.’
‘I’ve already said I didn’t hit her. And, of course, I’m aware.’ Mel could feel the irritation rising. She gripped the side of her chair with one hand, forcing herself to stay seated, reminding herself that Alisha was just doing her job.
‘It’s important to be open with me, Mel. If there is anything more that can explain Natasha’s behaviour prior to the events in question it may help you, if only to sway the sympathies of the jury. You know the rules. You can tell me anything you want. Leave me to decide if it’s relevant. If you then instruct me not to mention it, it will go no further. But I can’t mislead the court.’
Mel thought fast. The Jacob story. The email to Paul. Both shed a bad light on Natasha but neither of them helped Mel. Both offered a motive for the assault and the last thing she wanted was the court hearing about her affair. Jacob had made her promise to say nothing. The thought of his name being raised in evidence caused a physical pain to rip through her insides. To her relief there was nothing about him in Natasha’s witness statement. There was no reason for him to be dragged into this unless Isabel had heard the taunt or seen the photo. Her mother’s statement was silent on both points, but anything might come out under cross-examination. Should Mel pre-empt trouble by telling Alisha now?
‘Mel?’ Alisha’s voice cut through her racing thoughts. ‘Is there anything else?’
‘No. Nothing.’
Her editing had been extreme. A jury would sense there was a lot more going on in this relationship. But as she had reminded herself, as she anticipated any judge would tell a jury, the verdict must depend on one discrete set of facts, the actions that occurred in Isabel Goddard’s spare room that afternoon last summer. Mel would keep it simple and hope her mother did the same.
‘Thanks so much, Alisha. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’
‘See you Monday week then. Can you be there at nine a.m.?’
Mel nodded and stood up. She wanted to go to the window to look out. Had she simply been visiting an ex-colleague she would have stepped across the room to admire the view. But everything had changed. She and Alisha were no longer on the same level.
‘Ilias will show you out,’ said Alisha as they stood together at the door of the conference room. Alisha held out her hand and Mel shook it. It felt strange to shake this woman’s hand. She was no longer a friend but a client.
Ilias walked with her to the clerks’ room and the outer lobby, pushing open the heavy door that led to the stone staircase.
‘There’s a lift if you want.’
‘Happy to walk. Thanks again,’ said Mel, turning to walk slowly down the familiar stone staircase. Twenty years ago, she had climbed these stairs to attend a tenancy interview in the set of chambers on the opposite side of the landing. She had been asked difficult points of law and procedure and failed to reach the second stage. How different it had been at Bridge Court. She’d already had a couple of friends there, one of whom had indicated what questions she was likely to be asked at interview. The questions had come up. Mel had been granted the tenancy along with a bad case of impostor syndrome.
She reached the bottom step. As she walked out into afternoon sun she was thinking about Digger. How he would enjoy ripping her to shreds. She turned left beside the car park towards the elegant terrace of Crown Office Row. There had been an interview here too. Once again, complicated law and procedure. Once again, a failure to reach the shortlist.
Voices battled in her head. One told her she was strong; she was prepared. She was fighting for her son as well as her career. A minor deception was nothing compared to the destruction of his security.
The other, quieter, voice reminded her of the barrister’s duty of honesty and integrity, the duty not to mislead the court. Whatever she had done, she should plead guilty, explain. Her mitigation was strong. Any sentence would be suspended. Wouldn’t it? The murmur faded to a whisper so tiny it was no longer distinguishable from the sound of the slight breeze wafting across the Temple. A third voice, deeper, louder, thrumming through her body with the persistence of a drumbeat, told her the impostor was about to be revealed.
Chapter Thirty-eight
Mel
Through habit, she had taken the more familiar but less popular route, passing the back windows of her chambers, walking where her feet took her. Now, as she stopped beside a low wall, she realised they had taken her to Kath’s bench.
The air was mild for winter and she put down her bag, pulled her coat across her legs and sat. Here in the empty garden, wrapped in the grey stone and faded brick of the fine buildings, she sensed, as always in this spot, the presence of her old friend. Kath would not have allowed herself to get into this mess. She would have confronted Natasha at the first hint of her pupil’s transgression, would never have allowed Natasha to infiltrate her private life as Mel had done. Until recently she had been able to hear Kath’s voice. But the distinctive tone had faded with the years as colour fades in the evening. She had photographs: Kath balanced on top of a rock in Cornwall, laughing, characteristically fearless, ready to dive into the
sea. And though the voice was indistinct, she could still hear the words, calling to Mel to be gentle with herself, to trust in her strength. Kath could feel it. Mel should feel it too.
Spots of rain splattered her coat and dotted the flag stones, but she had no wish to move on. Jacob would not be home yet. He had taken to coming back late, working till five or six in the library, or going around to Don’s. Mel had grown fond of Don. It was still difficult to get used to the new language, but she had stopped calling her his girlfriend. ‘Special friend’ was apparently acceptable. She listened and sympathised with the arguments for gender neutrality, while still wishing the traditional female roles were broad enough to encompass whatever variations Don might wish to adopt. It was not as if Don was convinced she was a man, in the way Vicky Brightman was convinced she was a woman. Moving beyond masculinity or femininity was an interesting theory. Mel just hoped Don wouldn’t allow a surgeon to slice into her young body.
It was not something any of them mentioned. When she had touched on it with Jacob, he had turned on her angrily and said it was not her business and he didn’t wish to discuss it in Don’s absence. Mel conceded. The important thing was that Jacob and Don should be happy. It appeared they were. They laughed a lot, chattering in incomprehensible teen-speak, romping like puppies over the sofa. They shut themselves into Jacob’s room and hung a KEEP OUT notice on the door. Mel was relieved it was not her son who had the gender doubts. At least, she believed he hadn’t. She reminded herself how little she knew of him. Love and guidance. The essentials of parenthood. She had been good on the love, less good on the guidance. Sometimes it felt as if she had simply watched him grow, hoping it would be in the right direction.
Since his outbreak in the summer, she had not spoken to him about Paul, except to tell him the affair was over. His eyes had clenched, as if by shutting out the light, he could shut out what she was saying. As soon as she had finished, he pivoted on his foot and walked away. It was clear he didn’t want to know. As for Natasha, he had said all he was prepared to say.