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.
‘…I did warn you. Such a shame, you’ve worked so hard to get here and to fall at the final hurdle…’
‘That’s why you’re here? Just to ensure I can’t get tenancy? My God, how pathetic of you…’ I say to him.
‘Well, it makes no difference to me where I get tenancy. I’m not bothered. So, I figured if I can fuck you off in the process then it’s just an added bonus,’ he offers.
My God, the arrogance of the guy.
‘Martin, unless you’ve suddenly acquired a brain in the last four months, I’m not worried in the slightest. And I know you didn’t get into these Chambers through the normal route. Who owed your father a favour, I wonder?’ I ponder, sarcastically.
Martin grips the tray so hard, presumably through anger, that it starts shaking ever so slightly and his knuckles go pale, even though he tries to hide it in his face.
‘Everything okay?’ Skylar appears at the door in his hat and coat.
‘Yes, Richard, I’m ready to go,’ I say. I collect my bag and we head over to Crown Court.
As it turns out, one of the cases Skylar is prosecuting this morning is against Sid Ryder. I thought this would cause some kind of conflict of interest but apparently not; it happens all the time.
We go for a coffee in the advocates’ café and Skylar’s opponents come over to chat to him about the cases. I sit, trying to look clever and highly intelligent, saying nothing… wig still looks utterly ridiculous.
Sid strides over and parks himself next to Skylar, so I’m sitting opposite, trying not to look at him.
Don’t stare at his face. Or eyes.
Or mouth.
Oh, he just has an air about him. Like the kind of man who demands respect but simultaneously earns it. He is confident but not cocky. He is obviously popular but he isn’t arrogant about it. And as I watch him chatting to Skylar about sentencing guidelines, I want him to rip my knickers off. I realise, far too late into this high-school scene, that I am now staring at Ryder, which isn’t a good tactic, and so I drag my eyes somewhere else before he catches me drooling at him. He’s sporting stubble on his face today. Does he even know the effect this has on women? He must do.
‘How are you getting on?’ he asks me with a little smile that might as well say ‘I know you were staring at me’.
‘Oh, great, thanks!’ I reply, before putting my head down and writing complete gibberish in my blue notepad to make me look busy. Some wise soul told me that pupils should be seen and not heard, and I am fine with that. The less you speak, the less chance you have of pissing someone off. Martin, of course, appears to be immune from this convention. We have both been in Chambers for a matter of hours, but already I feel that he is getting on with people more than I am.
I caught him this morning, as I left Chambers, gurning away as his pupilmaster, the ever-hateful Dolus, was telling him about his completely dull yachting holiday last year. The crazy, wide-eyed, ‘I-desperately-want-to-please-you’ face appeared to be working. I have promised myself not to resort to such tactics. And that’s