The Law of Attraction

‘Yes, it’s my first day today.’

‘Which song did you get?’ he queries in his soft Geordie accent.

‘Sorry?’

‘The welcome song from Richard? Don’t tell me… ‘All That Jazz’?’ he miraculously guesses.

‘Yes! What’s all that about?!’ I ask, relieved that I clearly didn’t just imagine it after all.

‘He does it to all his pupils on their first day. He varies the song, but ‘All That Jazz’ is his favourite. He likes to do the jazz hands,’ he laughs, doing a watered-down version of Skylar’s own effort.

‘It might seem like a stupid question…’ I begin.

‘Didn’t he tell you there’s no such thing as a…’

‘Stupid question…’ we both say in unison, laughing.

‘But what’s it about?’ I ask.

‘He likes to see how you cope with it, how you react. He’ll do weird little things like this all the time,’ Sid explains. ‘I should know, I was his first pupil, many years ago.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know that,’ I confess.

‘Don’t worry,’ he laughs, ‘you’ll get used to it.’

I have the same pupilmaster as Sid Ryder. Swoon-a-roon.

‘Oh, and just ignore that,’ he says, rolling his eyes in the direction of the door. ‘Curse of the very recent ex, I’m afraid,’ he explains, clearly a bit embarrassed by the whole thing.

‘Well, that’s none of my business,’ I say oh-so-casually. ‘I’d better derobe and shoot off. Richard’s waiting for me downstairs. I’ll see you around Chambers’.

‘Yes. You will,’ he says with a smile I want to melt into.

As he walks towards the Robing Room door, Sid gives me one last tip.

‘Amanda, expect the unexpected with Richard. He’ll drive you crazy but he’ll make you into one hell of a barrister’

Hmm…

Skylar is taking me to a restaurant called Rino’s for lunch. It’s a quaint little authentic Italian job around the back of the court.

A small, shabby-but-verging-on-trendy place, this venue has obviously been running for years. The mismatched wooden chairs surround tables with little candles on. Black-and-white photos of customers adorn the walls, all embracing the same dark-haired, cigar-chomping man (presumably Rino). Even though it’s early afternoon and sunny outside, the dark blinds shut the light out, creating an intimate and cosy vibe. But Skylar assures me this is the place where friendships are formed, connections and deals made.

There are already members from Chambers in there so the waiters pull up another table and we join them. Suddenly, I feel even more exposed. Not only do I have to sound intelligent, witty and all-round interesting; I also have to worry now about using the correct cutlery, not spilling anything, and correct pronunciation of ‘bruschetta’ when ordering.

For God’s sake.

More introductions follow as I sit smartly, grinning like a prized pig, forgetting everyone’s names. Skylar does his freaky mind-reading thing again when he spots me looking at the menu (prices).

‘Look, don’t worry about how much anything costs. It’s a tradition of the Bar that pupils don’t pay for anything – coffees, drinks, lunches…’ he tells me, not even attempting to hide his resentment.

Oh, the relief. Finally, a tradition I can get on board with.

Our table is a mixed bag of Chambers folk. They’re all animated in conversation, being a bit loud. Everything seems overexaggerated. Talking over each other. Bottles of wine are brought to the table and they pour away. The air is filled with the sound of chatter. Nobody seems to be remotely concerned with the fact that it’s a Monday afternoon and most of these people will have to go back to court in an hour and continue with their trials. I’d be sloshed if I was necking wine like they are now.

This doesn’t seem like Skylar’s scene at all and I wonder why he’s brought me here. It’s a strange, quasi-social setting. I am trying to impress Skylar but I don’t know whether I am allowed to talk about anything other than law. Not sure if I can start chatting about where the latest storyline in Game of Thrones is going, and I’ve never even watched Doctor Who. Obviously sensing my discomfort, he asks me general questions about where I’m from and so on. I tell him I am from Teesside, not far from Newcastle. Although I am fond of where I am from, I could never go back there to live.

‘So, what do your parents do?’ he asks, after ordering for both of us (phew).

‘Well, my mam runs a working men’s club and her partner is in a Rat Pack tribute.’

Skylar raises his eyebrows. ‘Quite the diverse family unit.’

‘Yes, you could say that.’

‘What does your real father do?’ Skylar asks, a little too directly for my liking.

My chest tightens at the very mention of him. I’m suddenly flustered. Panicked. I should have expected questions like this. I avoid eye contact and look towards the window, wishing I could see out of it.

‘Oh, he’s, erm, not really around any more actually…’

Please don’t ask anything else. Think of a way to change the subject.

I feel my face start to flush.

Thankfully, I’m saved from any more questions by someone hollering at me from the other end of the table.

‘Amanda! Bet you’ve ruffled some feathers in the Robing Room this morning! Billster, you asked her out yet?’ shouts some ‘charming’ barrister I think is named John, but equally could be Harry/Michael/Any Other Name.

The whole table erupts into laughter as ‘Billster’ holds his hands up in a ‘Not Me, Gov’ type way.

Lovely.

Skylar shoots them all a look of fury before adding, ‘Wasting your time. She’s got standards, this one. Don’t underestimate her.’

That shuts them up. Skylar might be a little odd but he obviously has influence. The Chambers throng get back to their yakking and I continue my small talk with Skylar.

Once we move on to coffees, shit gets serious. Skylar folds his arms, resting them on the table. He leans towards me, lowering the tone of his voice so that nobody else can hear.

‘Amanda, look around you. All this. These people…’

I do as he says.

‘These people are your judge and jury. They will judge you – fairly and unfairly – over the next twelve months. You need to get over seventy-five per cent of Chambers to vote for you over the other pupil if you’re to win the tenancy. These are the people you need to impress.’

And there it is. Stripped bare.

‘So it’s basically a year-long interview?’

‘Oh, it’s worse than that,’ Skylar laughs. ‘You’re being assessed on your academic ability in an interview. Pupillage is a popularity contest. You need to get on with everybody to win this. Think of it as an election campaign.’

‘But surely, if you work hard, that’s all that matters?’ I put to him, naively.

‘Not at the Bar, Barbie.’

Oh.

‘You want to win this? Get on with everyone – men and women. Make friends but don’t be too friendly. Know your enemies. Be smart. Don’t be bitchy. Be willing to help anyone and work hard. And, for God’s sake, do NOT get involved in any drama, scandal, or have sexual relations with anyone at the Bar.’

And there we have it. So much to take in.

I finish my coffee, my mind whirling with what Skylar has just told me. Reality has truly bitten. Skylar spies me salivating at a huge wedge of carrot cake, which he buys for me on account of it being my first day, but says I’m not to expect every day because ‘contrary to popular belief, barristers are not made of money’.

Shortly after, we head back to Chambers because Skylar needs me to look at some paperwork before I go home. I already feel like a pro at this barrister-ing lark.

Kind Man Lawson from the pupillage interview comes in to ask how I am doing.

‘It’s been great, Peter. Really enjoyable and informative,’ I say enthusiastically.

‘Wonderful, so glad we haven’t put you off. I just wondered if you would like to meet the other pupil in the lounge? He’s just got back from court.’

‘Yes! I’ve been looking forward to meeting him,’ I say, honestly. Intrigued, more like. But taking Skylar’s advice on board, I really should make an effort with him. Perhaps we can start going for drinks and having weekly gossip about Chambers. Nothing wrong with healthy competition.

‘Well, Martin is great. He’s already had everyone laughing this afternoon. Seems like a lovely chap.’

Skylar reluctantly agrees that I can go meet Martin and then have an early finish (yesss!) but be back at 7.30 a.m. sharp in the morning.

As I walk to the lounge, I hear roars of laughter. Martin sounds like quite the entertainer. I walk in to find a throng of barristers all directing their attention on to the other pupil, who is sitting with his back to me.

‘Oh Greggsy, what a story, mate! You didn’t put that on your CV! Classic!’ one barrister says while applauding.

Hang on… Greggsy? Martin?

No. Please NO.

Peter gathers the room’s attention before saying, ‘Amanda, I’d like you to meet our other pupil, Martin Gregg.’

Upon this grand announcement, Martin Gregg stands up and turns around. Rather suspiciously, he doesn’t look surprised to see me at all. There he is, wearing a bright-red tie, top button unfastened, looking dishevelled.

Already settled in, I see.

His black hair is gelled in a way that suggests his mam has done it for his first day at school.

‘Mandy! What an amazing coincidence!’ he says in a way which suggests this is not a coincidence, by any stretch of the imagination.

‘You two know each other?’ some random barrister I can’t remember the name of asks.

‘Oh yes. Very well, actually,’ Martin offers with a much-dramatised wink.

I, on the other hand, am so horrified and speechless, I can’t even react to it.

This can’t be happening.

I do know one thing, though: this is going to be a very long twelve months.

CHAPTER 4

Four Months Ago, Law School, Last Night of Term

‘You’re a fucking bitch, Amanda Bentley!’

Martin Gregg is glaring at me with so much fury in his eyes, it’s quite unsettling.

This is the unpleasant climax of a situation which has been simmering for the past nine months, since we both started law school.

There we all were, newbies on our first day of term, excited and ready to become the baby-est of barristers. New files, pens and a whole load of optimism filled the space-age teaching room.

Twenty minutes into the first seminar, Martin Gregg swaggered in without so much as an apology. By the end of the morning he’d boasted to everyone in our group that his father was a judge, he’d attended ‘the best’ boarding school in the UK and could walk into any pupillage in the north-east because of his ‘family connections’. Not exactly the best way to make friends.

He was quite short for a man, but what he lacked in height he made up for in attitude. He was one of those people who’d say they ‘played rugby’ and that’s why they were big, but really, they just carried too much weight. As a result, he couldn’t pull off the (designer) clothes he wore and looked ridiculous (the T-shirts were always too tight, collars were always up, ‘natch). Oh, and his hair; basically a great big sculpted chunk of black Lego hair, almost as if he removed it each night and clipped it back on every morning. A big mass of dense awfulness. Yuk. But it seemed money could buy anything in Martin Gregg’s world… everything except me.

‘You’re so different to all the other girls I’ve known…’ he’d say.

Thank God for that.

‘You’re so… spiky, Amanda,’ he’d say in a way that suggested he got turned on by the very nature of my ‘spikiness’ (whatever that was).

At the beginning, I just took him for an arrogant fool, boring everyone with his bragging anecdotes of polo days and spending weekends with Lord Someone-or-Other.

Then, after a few months, he started slithering up to me asking if I wanted to ‘go for a drink’. I very firmly, but politely, told him ‘no’ on several occasions. Each time, he’d smirk at me, like I obviously just didn’t get how wonderful he was but would in time. It seemed to be the case that on every occasion I rejected him, the more he wanted me. I became a challenge to him. Maybe I was just the ultimate bit of rough he wanted to take home and parade in front of his parents; a rite of passage for all posh boys, bringing home the pretty girl from the council estate just to enrage Father, bang her a few times just to say you’ve done it.

Whatever it was, he set his sights on me and was getting a piece of it one way or another. It was like a creepy infatuation.

In the meantime, all I could do was cringe, watching him scrape through law school, doing the bare minimum to survive. He was one of those smart-arses; the ones who would question the teacher’s ability and authority while the normal members of the group would sink back into their chairs and cringe. Nobody liked him so lord only knew where he got his arrogance from.

‘But have you considered this point, Mr Fletcher?’ he’d ask, cockily, leaning back in his chair.

Erm, yes, Martin. I’m pretty sure the lecturer – an experienced, practising barrister of seventeen years – knows more about this subject than you. In short, he was an advocate of the ‘if you can’t blind them with your knowledge, dazzle them with your bullshit’ school of thought.

It all came to a head on this night we’d come out to celebrate our last exam. We deserved it. It had been such a long year. Hours spent in seminars, long nights in the library, many tears shed over whether we’d pass our oral exams – would the nerves make us stutter in front of the examiners?

The whole class piled into the Union bar as soon as it finished.

We survived.

The bar was blaring out summer tunes, the sun shone in through the large windows, and that overwhelming feeling of exhaustion, which sets in immediately following exams, consumed us.

And then he came in.

He didn’t have any friends so he just kept attaching himself to small groups of people who were obviously desperate to get rid of him as he knocked back Jack Daniels and coke, buying shots for everyone in a desperate bid to be liked.

After a few hours, drunk, and even more vile than usual, he snared me at the bar as I was waiting to be served.

‘So, Amanda, you gonna miss me when I’m gone?’ he asked, leaning his elbow on the bar in a way he presumably thought was cool, sexy or both. There wasn’t a hint of irony in his voice.

‘Erm, nope,’ I replied, moving away from him, staring straight ahead at the bar.

‘Oh, come on, you know you will. We never really got to know each other, did we?’ he whispered into my ear, putting his hand on my arse over my denim shorts.

I turned to face him. ‘No, Martin, we didn’t,’ I growled, forcefully removing his hand. ‘But if you ever touch me like that again, I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand?’

He stood back, a few feet away, looking right at me. His entire repulsive face screwed up, his enormous black eyebrows chunked together like two dead slugs. He appeared shocked and pissed off, rather like the behaviour he’d just displayed was completely acceptable and I was overreacting.

‘Do you know what you are, Amanda?’ he spat at me. ‘You’re a tease…’

‘How exactly am I a tease?!’ I screeched in his face.

‘This little cat and mouse game you’ve been playing me all year…’

‘Woah! Martin Let’s be clear about this…’ I held my hands out in a ‘let’s just calm down’ way, aware I was raising my voice, but I was not having him accusing me of leading him on. ‘There’s been NO game. I’ve openly despised you. Are you that arrogant, you think all women want you? That you’re irresistible in some way?!’ I mean, I laughed in his face because it’s so ridiculous. He’s a joke.

‘Do you even understand who I am?!’ he said, like he thought he was actually a film star. ‘Look at you and look at me. You should be thrilled I even gave you the time of day! I usually wouldn’t even talk to someone like you. Only reason I did is because I fancied a bit of that ass, but that’s all you’ve got going for you. You’ll end up back on a council estate where you belong…’

I was actually embarrassed for him.

Unbeknown to both of us, people had gathered around, watching the spectacle unfold. There was only one person disgracing themselves, and it wasn’t me.

I started laughing because he really did think he was it. His whole life, he’d been told he could have anything he wanted, and now he couldn’t. He looked furious.

‘What?’ he yelled, nastily. ‘You find it funny you’re going nowhere? You think someone like you can actually make it at the Bar?! You’re wasting your time, babe…’

‘Martin,’ I said in the most patronising voice I could find. ‘I’ve consistently had the highest marks in our class all year. I’ve received two scholarships. I’ve earned – not bought – a pupillage interview at the best set of Chambers in the north-east. You’ll be lucky to pass this course. So do tell me how you think you’re superior to me…’

And that’s when he called me a ‘fucking bitch’.

‘It must be awful, not being able to buy your way out of something, Martin…’ I went on. I should probably have shut up but I’d had a drink and the guy needed to hear some home truths. ‘Good grades, the girl you fancy. Life’s a bitch, innit?’

Martin looked around the bar and was met with a wall of faces staring at him, saying more eloquently than a thousand words ever could: ‘you deserve this’.

‘You’ll regret this, Amanda. Nobody makes a fool out of a Gregg and gets away with it,’ he said, pushing past me and out the door.

I was just glad to see the back of him.

Everyone came up to ask if I was okay, and I felt fine. Just relieved I’d never have to see that nasty, toxic cretin again.

CHAPTER 5

Hideous. Just hideous.

I manage to get through the horrendous ‘introduction’ without divulging our ‘history’ (in other words, his being a nasty, awful sex pest). He, on the other hand, looks far too pleased with himself, going on to say, ‘I’m really looking forward to working with you in a professional context.’

He means it.

I make an excuse about having to leave so I can be back ‘bright and early’ in the morning and leave. Emergency drinks with Heidi are required.

‘Why don’t you just tell them all he’s a right smart-arse who nobody liked at law school?’ she asked, rather naively, swigging at her Chilean red in one of the super-chic bars overlooking the river on a warm, September evening.

‘I’ll look like a venomous bitch! You should have seen them, Heidi, they were all over him. He’s obviously fooled them already,’ I reply, sighing at the end of the sentence for effect. ‘I just can’t believe he has done this. This was supposed to be such an important day for me. Now it’s ruined.’

‘Always the drama queen, Mandy!’ Heidi proclaims (yeah, like she can talk). ‘Why don’t you just ignore him? His true colours will show through eventually. What are you worried about?’

I can’t really answer. If truth be told, I’m not sure why I am so bothered. Is it because he is stealing my thunder? Because I know how false he is?

‘Unless you’re worried that he’ll impress Chambers more and win the tenancy,’ Heidi throws out there.

‘Don’t be stupid. Of course I’m not,’ I reply, absolutely incredulous Heidi would even suggest such a thing. I don’t think that for a second.

That’s exactly what I’m worried about.

As if pupillage isn’t hard enough without this. He’s obviously bewitched them with magic in some way to get into Chambers. Or bribed them, or something.

Well, however he’s done it, I’ll just have to deal with it.

‘Keep calm and carry on. Martin is a bullshitter. They’ll see through him in a few weeks. There are far worse things that could have happened on a first day. Sounds to me like everything else was fine,’ Heidi (quite rightly) points out.

‘Yes, I know. But, Christ alive… Martin Gregg!’ I squeal, with utter disgust and amazement in my voice, screwing my face up as I do so. Heidi simultaneously picks up my glass of wine and thrusts it into my hand.

‘To pupillage, and beyond!’ she proclaims, holding her glass aloft.

‘Quite. May the best woman win!’ I smile, as we clink glasses and take a slug.

After the first glass of wine oils the pipes, we get a second in and move on to more pleasurable topics, like Sexy Sid. Once I reveal there’s a fit bloke involved, I have Heidi’s undivided attention. She sits in complete silence, her big brown eyes fixated on me, only interrupting to ask the really important questions, like ‘Did he look at you a few seconds longer than was necessary?’, ‘Was he wearing a wedding ring?’ and ‘Did he look like he’d be filthy in bed?’ – don’t know, nope, and YES.

The great thing about Heidi is that she knows me so well and always cheers me up when it comes to boy woes. I remember one time at university when I was unceremoniously dumped by a guy I was really into. She secretly pinched my iPod and created a playlist entitled ‘The Twat’, filling it with empowering songs by Beyonce, Pink and Whitney Houston. I was absolutely over the loser after listening to it on loop for a week. This woman is wasted in the law. She really ought to be some kind of life coach.

However, as I describe Sid to Heidi, I am very aware that I must sound like a schoolgirl. At the same time, I am more than aware that nothing could ever happen between us, for so many reasons – not least Skylar, who would literally kill me to actual death if I even so much as placed my lips on that gorgeous mouth of his. Having romantic relations with any work colleague is a bad idea at the best of times, let alone when the subject of one’s desire is effectively determining your future in what is basically a one-year interview process – no, sorry, election campaign-come-X-factor-talent-show.

Its been a really long day and our second glass of wine is our last. We chat on the way home about Heidi’s job. She has been there for a week now and has already put the fear of God into the other trainee solicitors. She is every inch the ruthless commercial solicitor and she loves it. She would rather sell her soul than deal with criminals every day; she likes her clients clean, sanitised and not stinking of urine, which is fair enough.

***

I wake up the next day feeling hopelessly optimistic and trot off to work in a positive mood. In fact, I don’t trot; I sashay. I am confident in my own abilities and I am a strong woman. If Martin Gregg wants a fight, then I’ll give him one. So what if my first day didn’t quite go as I had expected? Today is a new day and I am ready and focused on the task ahead.

There’s nobody else in Chambers when I arrive at 7.25 a.m. so I get into the library and start looking at the briefs Skylar has given me. Before I know it, it’s 8.45 a.m. and I realise I haven’t made everyone their coffee.

Shit!

I sprint to the kitchen, only to find Martin coming out, carrying a large tray with a load of mugs on it, steam arising from each one.

‘Oh babe, sorry, were you supposed to be doing this? I wouldn’t have done it but people were asking when they were getting their drinks so I took it upon myself…’

Oh dear God. I hate him.

‘No worries,’ I say with a very false grin. ‘But Martin, don’t call me “babe”.’

‘Yeah,’ he smirks, before passing me to deliver his hot beverages. I mean, what the hell is he supposed to be? Bloody perfect tea boy? I secretly berate myself for not getting in there sooner and make a mental note to do it tomorrow because I simply can’t be making errors like this on Day Two.

‘Oh, Amanda, just one more thing…’ he quips as I’m walking off.

I stop and turn around, prepared for anything this utter weasel has to say to me.