Chapter 18 Leila
Leila
I can’t catch a break at the moment. All I want to do is work on the trial, now I know for sure Jack is pleading not guilty, but people keep insisting on giving me unrelated tasks.
Often when you’re defending, you suspect your client is guilty, but it is not your function to make that judgment. It is our job, as barristers, to present the evidence before a jury; they determine guilt or innocence.
But with this case, I just know Jack is innocent, and I can’t let him down again. I need to dedicate everything I have to this case, and I have to win. I don’t have time for distractions.
However, Roger, the head of the pupillage committee, has decided that as part of our initiative to draw in “the best of the best,” we must make an appearance at the annual autumn law fair held at Durham University. And when I say “we,” he means me.
“We need to appeal to the youngsters, and you’re good at all that, aren’t you, Britney?” he said to me in his wildly aristocratic voice, fanning his hand around in a bid to demonstrate how beneath him this entire concept was. I had been immersed in drafting a document in the library at the time.
“Well, not really…”
“Yes, you are. What about that blog thing you do? The feminist one?”
“What about it?” I said, suspiciously, peering up at him.
“I think you should go and be our representative. Take some chambers swag. Set up a stall. Be charismatic!”
Easy as that.
It’s the last thing I want to be doing on a Friday morning, but as directed, I take a box full of pens, sticky notes, stress balls(!), and tote bags, all emblazoned with our chambers name, and head down to the university.
For good measure, our chambers manager also picked up loads of sweets to dish out, so I’m sorted.
At least, I thought I was.
Upon arrival, I realize I’ve been given the wrong time, and it starts an hour earlier than I was told.
Other chambers and solicitor firms are pretty much set up when I walk into the grand hall, and I’m told it’s a case of find anywhere that’s left.
I loathe looking unprepared and of course the only space left is directly opposite Sienna Fox.
It’s not ideal to look flustered in front of your husband’s ex-wife.
She has obviously arrived early because not only is her stand immaculately tidy with pens already lined up like little stationery soldiers, but she is chilling with a cup of coffee and gently pacing in front of her stand with nothing else to do but admire it.
“Need a hand with anything, Leila?” she shouts over to me, as I throw everything down before glancing at the clock. It’s 9:52 a.m. The fair opens in eight minutes.
“No, thank you,” I yell back, hoping I don’t sound unhinged.
As I rush about, getting everything ready, I can’t help but feel an internal anger over the fact I’ve been asked to do this at all.
Julian would never be asked to do it, nor would any of the men in chambers.
They’re always asked to undertake the “important” jobs, sitting on the finance or accommodation committee; the places where big decisions are made.
The women in chambers are always on things like the marketing committee—not that there’s anything wrong with marketing, but it’s seen as less important.
Just like this fair. I look around the room and it’s full of women. The men are all at court doing Very Important Cases. They aren’t lining up pens and handing out swizzle sticks.
As the clock hits 10 a.m., students start pouring in through the doors.
Wide-eyed law students, eager to learn and impress, just as I was at their age.
I smile and attempt to look welcoming. None of them understands what this job really entails.
It’s impossible to know until you start.
Some will make it, most won’t. But one thing is for certain: the reality of this profession is not the same as the expectation.
It fills up quickly. A few of the students recognize me from Chats at the Bar and take selfies. I gush about chambers and the sweets go down well. Mercifully, the time goes quickly.
Just after 11:30 a.m., I’m starting to wish I’d brought a chair to sit on, when a takeaway cup appears in front of my face.
“Thought you could use one of these,” Sienna says, holding it out to me.
Her hair is tied up in a bouncy ponytail.
She wears a tight, black pencil skirt and pink shirt with obscenely high black heels.
Sienna is the kind of woman you see when you’re a teenager and want to be when you’re “old” (i.e. , in your thirties).
“Oh, you didn’t need to do that…”
“It’s OK! These things can be tedious. Important to stay refueled. Latte all right?”
“Erm, yes, thank you,” I say, taking a sip. I don’t face her. I continue to look around the large room, which is packed full of students. The sound of chattering is amplified to the point where it’s too loud to speak at a normal volume.
“You know, you don’t have to be so wary of me,” she says, in an attempt to get me to turn around. “I mean, I understand why you might be, but it’s unnecessary.”
“It’s just a bit weird, if I’m being honest,” I say, finally looking at her.
“Because of Julian?”
“Yes, obviously.”
“That was a very long time ago, Leila…”
“I just don’t understand why you’re being like this.”
“Like what?”
“Just…all friendly.”
“I see. Is this because I’m the only solicitor to say openly that most barristers are up their own arses?” she remarks playfully.
I don’t say anything. If she wants something from me, she’ll have to spell it out.
“OK,” she says, as if I’ve caught her out. “I just thought you might need a friend. I mean, we’re not so dissimilar, you and me. We’re both women from working-class backgrounds and, hell, it’s hard being in this profession with that behind you.”
I frown at her. I’ve seen Sienna around court for years and not once has she tried to be chummy with me, so why now? Why all of a sudden?
“Where is this coming from, Sienna?” I ask her.
She thinks for a few moments, turning away before answering.
“Being married to Julian and then going up against him in court, in this murder…that’s challenging. I’m here if you need anything.”
I study her as she talks. She chooses her words carefully, like any lawyer would. If Julian knew she was saying this, he’d be furious.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.”
She smiles; she knows I’m not going to take her up on the offer.
“Of course! Well, you know where I am. Good to see you.”
She places her hand on my arm briefly before she leaves, and I watch as she walks back to her stall. There’s so much about this woman I don’t know. Everything I do know about her I’ve been told by Julian. The way she acts toward me does not align with that.
One of them isn’t giving me the full story.
The temperature in the room begins to rise with the number of people in it. It’s one of the old buildings with enormous gold-framed portraits of men on the walls. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. All I can think about is how much work I have to do.
“Miss Reynolds?”
The voice catches me off guard.
“Mrs. Sorrington?”
She looks different from when I saw her at court at Jack’s plea hearing. More alert, less zombified. She’s wearing a poppy-red fitted dress that contrasts with her platinum, poker-straight hair.
“I thought it was you. Call me Daniella, please!” she says.
“What are you doing here? Are you looking around the law fair?”
“No! We sponsor various student events at the university. I have a stall over there.” She points toward the corner of the room where there’s a gaudy banner with the words “Electric Dreams” printed in hot pink.
“The girls love the free beauty treatments. I have a salon not far from here, we give out freebies at this sort of thing. Nice for them when they’re working so hard. ”
“That’s lovely.”
“Listen,” she says in her soft Geordie accent. “I just wanted to nip over and say I’m sorry I wasn’t quite myself at Jack’s hearing. I’ve been having a really difficult time lately.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that, but there’s no need to apologize.”
“It’s been a tough couple of months, you see,” she says in a lowered tone, barely a whisper.
“We lost our son and, well, it’s put a lot of strain on the family.
Eddie has been so distant since it happened, he’s like a different person.
It’s been horrific, to tell you the truth.
What with that, and now all this happening with Jack, it’s a lot to deal with, you know? ”
“Absolutely. I mean, I can’t imagine, but please, don’t feel you need to make an excuse.”
“I know people look at us, at me, and think we have a perfect life—the house, the holidays, the money. But nobody really knows what goes on inside those four walls, do they?”
“No, they don’t.”
She’s right. So many people are envious of others when, in reality, their lives are less than perfect.
“Take care of our Jack, won’t you, Miss Reynolds? He’s so very dear to me. I mean, he’s special to both of us,” she corrects herself, “Eddie and me. He always has been. He’d never, ever harm anyone like that. You have to believe me.”
“I’ll do all I can. I promise.”
As she walks away, she sees Sienna at the stall opposite and turns toward me again.
“Didn’t she used to be married to your husband?” she whispers discreetly.
I nod subtly.
“I’d watch her, if I were you. She hasn’t taken her eyes off you the whole time I’ve been here.”
A quick glance over to Sienna shows her talking to a couple of students. She clocks me looking over at her and smiles. Daniella saunters back to her stall in the corner, which, by the way, is surrounded by young women. Refreshers and Haribo can’t compete with a fresh set of nails, it would seem.
I watch Sienna at her stand for a few minutes.
She’s very good with people, both male and female, and reads them well.
She knows when to turn it down and when to crank it up, depending on who she’s with.
She subtly matches the energy of whoever she’s talking to.
As a result, people fall under her spell. Clever. She reminds me of my husband.
Yet there’s something off about her which I can’t quite place.
She’s either a bad actress or a very good liar.