Lover in Law Read Free

peer, the most attractive piece of furniture in the workspace we share. She’s not there when I get in, so sadly I can’t share the hilarity of how I look. A drowned, dishevelled ratty mess to the core. Wet hair stuck flat around my head, clothes soaked through, clinging. I hold up my inside-out umbrella for inspection. 
     
    I wag it dramatically in the air. “Exhibit number one,” I proclaim with mock pomp to an empty room, “is now inadmissible evid —” 
     
    I freeze – interrupted, mid-address to nothing but the ether, umbrella high above my head, as I hear a simultaneous throat clear and rat-a-tat tat at my open door. I turn to see Jon, one of our clerks. A twenty-something cockney wide-boy, with long greased back hair. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of Jon. He dishes out the work in my chambers like a pimp, with a huge influence over the cases I get, the money I earn, the cut he takes.
     
    “You decent?” he asks and without waiting for an answer, beckons to someone behind him.
     
    That someone is a cross between Will Smith wearing a three-piece baggy suit and the Lion King. One of the most striking black men I have ever seen. With a mane like his (thick spiked-up dark brown fuzzy hair with orange streaks), I presume he’s a client.
     
    “Ali, I’d like you to meet Anthony de Klerk,” says Jon. “The new kid on our block. He’s going to be upstairs.”
     
    Which means this man, who looks more B-list Pop Star or Football Player than a Barrister, is my new colleague.
     
    I step forward, fearing my rain-wet hand will be interpreted as clammy, but resisting the temptation to rub it on my damp skirt all the same.  
     
    “Hi, I’m Ali,” I say.
     
    Because we’re meant to all know each other, tradition has it that Barristers never shake hands when they meet, but most of our generation ignore this. I’ve got a good, solid handshake, as all professionals ought, but Anthony’s is better. His speaks confidence, reassuring calm. He clasps my hand between his two for just the right length of time. He looks me directly in the eye for just the right length of time, as he says “nice to meet you,” then politely leaves.
     
    “Your new brief Ali,” says Jon, as he dumps a bundle of white paper tied in pink ribbon on my desk.
     
    “What is it?”
     
    “An RTA, coming to a court near you.”
     
    “Great Jon. Thanks.”
     
    Jon bows his head then leaves.
     
    Normally I’d be like YAWN! An RTA (road traffic accident) is about as dull as it comes once you’ve been in this business for a while. But in the aftermath of my tete-a-tete with Max, I can do with an easy one.
     
    ***
     
    I didn’t choose to be a Barrister from some desire to be Erin Brockovich. A crusader for peoples’ rights! I was out to show the crusty, dusty judiciary that you didn’t have to be a privileged white bloke from Oxbridge to have what it takes, although I’m not certain I’ve yet proved my point. I saw it as a sexy profession with a spot of fancy dress thrown in. But truth be told, it’s bloody hard and far from glamorous. It’s a high-energy, high-octane, high-pressure job for everyone, but as a woman I’ve had to work ten times as hard to prove myself. I was terrible at the beginning, nervous and hesitant. I run a much smoother operation now. I’m slicker, I act more confident (even if I’m not) and I’ve got the ‘look’. I play the game.
     
     I’m a Criminal Defence Lawyer, with a stock answer for anyone who asks how I could represent a murderer. “If someone is pleading innocent then that is what he is,” I respond. “I am not there to judge. I am simply their mouthpiece and must defend them as best I can.” If they were idiot enough to tell me the truth but ask me to get them off anyway, I would be what is termed ‘professionally compromised’, and would have to step down from the case. Anyway, nothing that drastic has ever happened, even though half my clients make Charlie