Chapter 6 Leila
Leila
Durham Crown Court is over two hundred years old.
It’s well-known that His Honor Judge Smythe had wanted to be the Recorder of Durham for many years before finally landing the job.
It’s the most senior judicial position at that court center.
I recall seeing him many times up on the bench where he would dispense justice to those who had shown little regard for it.
I’m not a fan of the old courtrooms; they’re cramped, and you never know where to sit.
Lots of dark wood, drafts, and there’s rarely enough room to lay out all your papers.
They’re also unpleasantly hot in summer.
Walking into one of them, wearing the wig and robes, you feel you’re in a Dickensian novel, and someone’s about to be handed the death sentence for stealing a loaf of bread.
Barristers, solicitors, and court staff pile in. There’s barely any space, so people sit and stand shoulder-to-shoulder. The public gallery at the back of the courtroom is packed with people who need to be seen to be in attendance.
Julian and I manage to squeeze through as subtly as we can. Julian moves toward the front of the court, but I hang back, preferring to stand unobtrusively at the side.
Everyone from the legal community in Durham is here.
Chester is down at the front, and I watch as a glamorous blonde woman in a black suit and pale-blue shirt taps him on the shoulder.
He turns around, smiles, and kisses her on the cheek.
It’s a bit too close to her mouth, for a few seconds too long.
As he pulls away from her, his eyes flick toward Julian, who stands beside them. A smirk appears on Chester’s face.
He can’t help himself.
A loud knock echoes throughout the courtroom, indicating the judiciary are about to enter.
The hum quietens and everybody stands, facing the bench that rises above us at the front.
Entering from the right, several Crown Court judges, all dressed in their black and violet robes with red sashes called tippets, sit in red leather chairs in front of the ornate cream-paneled wall.
Behind them hangs the Royal Coat of Arms present in every courtroom in England and Wales.
On it the motto Dieu et mon droit, “God and my right.” It is this we bow to when entering or leaving a courtroom to show respect for the King’s justice.
Each of the judges speaks about Anton and his long legal career; twenty-eight years as a barrister, seven of those years as Queen’s Counsel before spending the last five years of his life as a Crown Court judge.
He was “a juggernaut of legal intelligence” and always “three steps ahead of any counsel who appeared in front of him.” One goes on to say Anton was “a guiding light in our judicial circle, a searcher of truth,” that he had an “impeccable moral compass.”
It’s difficult to listen to. A swirl of nausea rises in my gut. I take a deep breath. Wrapping my robes around myself, I look down at the floor.
I shouldn’t be here. It was a mistake to come, maybe even inappropriate in the circumstances, given my current role to defend his alleged killer.
I consider sneaking out, but the court is so full, I’d draw too much attention, and how would that look? The barrister defending the man accused of murdering Judge Smythe couldn’t even be bothered to stay for his whole memorial service. How disrespectful.
They go on to talk about the cases he did over the years, how he was a “formidable head of chambers” and “outstanding silk.”
“But above all,” HHJ Harvey says, “he was a family man. He lived for his loving wife, Sarah, and their son, Quinn. When he wasn’t on the bench or with his family, he loved being on the golf course.
On a personal level, Anton was a colleague who always gave immaculate advice, even if it was seasoned with a rather blunt delivery. ”
Muffled laughs bounce around the courtroom. He was known for calling a spade a spade.
“But he was a wonderful judge. A wonderful friend. Justice will be served.”
“Hear! Hear!” everyone bellows, and while that last line isn’t directly targeted at me, it might as well have been.
Thankfully, it’s a short service. People start leaving the room as soon as it’s finished, but not fast enough for my liking. I need some fresh air.
“If you were expecting people to be nice to you today, you were always going to be disappointed,” a male voice says in my ear.
I turn around to see Keiran Fox. He was Anton’s pupil years ago. I’ve always got on with him—he’s a decent guy, about ten years older than me. I used to do cases against him before he left the Bar a few years ago to teach student barristers full-time in Newcastle.
“Honestly, I didn’t know if I should come or not. I figured I’d be called insensitive either way.”
“Leila,” he says, shaking his head, “we all know how this works. It’s not as if you get a choice in who you represent. Don’t feel bad about it. That said, I hope you lose.”
I smile. Of course he does. I get it.
People outside this profession rarely understand the bond between pupil and pupilmaster.
For the first six months of pupillage you can spend up to ten hours a day with them: watching them in court, traveling long distances with them by car, having lunch with them, researching for them, attending social functions with them.
Nobody knows you better professionally than your pupilmaster.
It’s why their validation is so priceless.
“We spoke only the day before,” Keiran says.
“We went out for lunch. He was talking about his ambitions to become a High Court judge. He’d have been great at that—can you imagine?
I mean, don’t get me wrong—he was one of the last old-school judges, had no time for people who weren’t dedicated. But he was a great man.”
Judges like Anton used to be the norm, but they’re a rare breed now.
Judges who take the view that since their superiors made life hell for them when they were starting out, they should do the same for baby barristers.
Most pupils hate it, but not me—that approach felt familiar. It made me a better lawyer.
Made everything feel earned.
“I’m so sorry. I really am,” I murmur. What else can you say when someone has lost a person close to them? “How’s the job in Newcastle going?”
“It’s very rewarding and, sorry to say this, has great working hours, salary, pension, paid annual leave, and job security. Don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. Jealous?”
“No, because I still get the thrill of tax-bill anxiety every year. You’re missing out on that.”
He laughs. “I know people think I’ve sold out, but it works for me. Anton hated it—he was always trying to talk me into coming back to the Bar.”
“I’m sure he was happy for you,” I tell him, reaching out and placing my hand on his arm.
I know this isn’t true, but it’s what he needs to hear. The fact is, Anton was unsupportive of Keiran’s professional choice to leave the Bar, and he didn’t hide it, even going so far as to call his ex-pupil a “bloody waste of time.”
“I hope so. He was a great mentor, despite the rough edges.”
I smile at him.
“Leila…” A soft northern female accent interrupts us. “How are you?”
The blonde woman who was hugging Chester now stands beside us. She is Sienna Fox, married to Keiran Fox.
And Julian’s ex-wife.
She’s about ten years older than me, around the same age as Julian, but doesn’t look it.
She obviously has either a personal trainer or a very hefty gym membership because she looks incredible.
Even in her trouser suit, you can tell she’s toned and lifts weights in hideously expensive leggings.
She’s also plainly mastered the Dyson hair wrap, going by the honey-colored locks that bounce around her shoulders.
I feel decidedly unglamorous standing next to her in my wig and robes.
“I’m well, thank you, Sienna. You?”
Our conversations are always civil and polite. Why wouldn’t they be? Our paths have never crossed, and her marriage to Julian was over before I entered the picture—it’s just awkward. She had an entire existence with the person I’m now married to, and I know nothing about it.
Nothing.
Whenever I see Sienna in public, I catch myself staring at her and thinking: Is he the same person now as he was around you? At what point did you start to hate each other and why? Does he ever think of you when we have sex?
“Busy,” Sienna says. She’s a partner in one of the oldest leading criminal solicitor firms in Durham. They’re very well respected, and so is she. “You are, too, by the looks of things.”
“Yes,” I say, through a forced smile. “Speaking of which, I’m on in Court 2 at 10:30, so I’d better get going.”
“Are you ready, darling?” Julian says to me in his charming voice, the one he reserves for when he wants other people to notice him. He slides his arm around my waist in what some would describe as a territorial move. “Sienna. Keiran.”
Neither of them says anything. Sienna takes the subtlest intake of breath and turns away from both of us. Keiran just stares at Julian. The scene makes me uncomfortable.
“Keiran, I’m very sorry for your loss,” he says in an unusual display of sympathy for a man I know he despises. An excruciating silence simmers between the four of us. This is precisely what Julian is known for in court—making his witnesses uneasy and then delivering a blow out of nowhere.
“As a pupilmaster myself, I understand the bond that develops.”
“We call it ‘pupil supervisor’ now. Though I guess some people’s relationships with their pupils are much closer than others,” Keiran says to Julian, his eyes turning toward me.
He shouldn’t have said that. The suggestion that our relationship is rooted in any kind of impropriety is something Julian is fiercely sensitive about. He pauses for a few seconds, allowing the insult to evaporate in the air and thus lose any power it might have had.
“I understand the bond that develops,” he goes on, as if Keiran hadn’t said anything at all.
“And I have to say, one of the most important things as a pupil supervisor is feeling immensely proud of your pupil’s achievements, just as I do with Leila.
I can’t imagine a more tragic situation than the feeling that your pupil never reached their full potential.
I mean, I wouldn’t necessarily use the word disappointment, but… ”
It’s harsh, even for him.
“Fuck you, Julian!” Keiran says, in a way that’s so aggressive Sienna places her hand on his arm to calm him down.
“Don’t!” she whispers to her husband. People around us start looking over, while Julian displays a shocked face, knowing full well he’s the reason for the outburst.
“It’s not the time or the place for this,” I say quietly. Sienna pulls Keiran away as I steer Julian outside and into one of the adjoining conference rooms.
“What the hell was that?” I ask him, closing the door.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s pathetic, Julian!”
“He made the comment first.”
“Seriously?” I ask, astonished. “Your defense is ‘he started it’? You’re a forty-seven-year-old barrister, for god’s sake!”
He sits down on one of the chairs, throwing his wig onto the table.
“Why do you still get like this around her?”
“Like what?”
“Angry. She still has such an effect on you.”
“You know what she did,” he says, looking at me. “What they did.”
After being married for three years, Sienna moved out and told Julian it was over. A few months later, she got together with Keiran and people put two and two together. Julian concluded they’d had an affair and he made sure everyone knew. She never denied it.
“Whatever happened is in the past,” I tell him, perching on the edge of the table in front of him.
“I know it is, but she can’t resist rubbing it in my face. Did you see her practically throwing herself at Chester in there, and in front of her husband, too? She doesn’t change.”
“If anything, it was Chester being overly flirty in that way he is sometimes. Also, I hardly think greeting someone is ‘throwing yourself’ at them. She’s known Chester for years! You’re being paranoid.”
Now, Chester would do it to piss him off, but that’s not the point.
“Don’t be naive, Leila,” he says in a serious tone. “I’ve told you what she’s like.”
“I just don’t know why you care.”
“I don’t. I suppose I worry it could happen again with you.”
“That’s absolutely not going to happen,” I tell him. “You can be a right stubborn pain sometimes, but you know I’d never cheat on you. Not after what you’ve been through.”
He smiles at me, and I lean forward to kiss him. It lingers long enough to reset the mood.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers as his eyes meet mine, the tips of our noses touching.
“You don’t.” I smile softly. “But at least you know it.”
This trial is going to test our marriage in so many ways. The case will be career-defining, life-changing. Things are changing already.
I have to be ready for it. We have to be ready for it.