hooked. I remember how majestic the barristers looked in their robes and wigs, how respected they were; people listened to them. They combined intellect, knowledge and a passion for justice with flair and showmanship in the courtroom. By the end of the hearing, my mind was made up. I had to do this. No other career would do.
Naturally, every aspect of my background served as a hurdle to entering the profession. A girl from the north-east of England with a funny accent, brought up on a council estate – and I was not privately educated, the first in my family to go to university. The careers advice chats were always the same:
‘So, Amanda, any thoughts about what you want to do when you finish school?’
‘Yes, I’m going to be a barrister,’ I’d say, defiantly.
Every single time, it was met with a patronising ‘Oh dear, how do I break this to you gently’ face and an even more patronising ‘It’s good to have other options’ line.
But hard work and stubbornness go a long way, so here I am.
The panel fire out questions in quick succession. I barely have time to think but at least I remember to look at everyone, swivelling my neck in excellent Exorcist fashion to ensure I do.
‘What’s your idea of a great way to spend a Friday night?’ Sexy Sid suddenly asks.
What?
I think about it for a few seconds. I have no idea what the purpose of this question is, but I’m not about to lie.
‘Going out dancing and drinking cocktails with my friends,’ I wince.
Not sure if that’s the right answer, but I’m certainly not going to say ‘sitting at home reading about the new sex offences regulations’.
Absolutely no idea how this goes down. De Souza smirks, probably trying to telepathically sense where a girl like me would go out drinking on a Friday night.
‘Well, you’ll fit in very well here then,’ Sid replies, doing the charming smile thing. Then I just melt into my chair, never to be seen again.
After forty-five minutes of being relentlessly interrogated, Kind-Looking Man informs me that the interview is over, unless I have any questions, which I do.
‘How many pupillages will you be offering this September?’ I enquire.
‘Well, we say only one, but if we had more than one outstanding candidate, we would consider two.’
Yikes.
And that is it. My time’s up and I’ve done all I can.
‘We’ll let you know either way on Monday and send a letter out first thing tomorrow morning. Thank you so much for coming in,’ says Kind Man. And, before I know it, I’m ushered out.
I walk very quickly back down the corridor, picking up pace as I reach the end. Sunlight streams on to my face as I wrench the heavy door open. I take my sunglasses out of my handbag and coolly put them on to hide the big fat tears beginning to form in huge blobs in my eyes.
I’m exhausted. For weeks I’ve been preparing for this interview and now it’s over. A huge wave rushes over me; whether it’s relief, worry, or both, I honestly don’t know.
I walk away from Chambers at a snail’s pace and almost get run over twice. As I wait for the bus, I go through the interview, but the whole thing turns into a load of scenes and voices swirling around my head in a big confused mess.
I really hope I haven’t blown it.
The last thing I feel like doing tonight is going out and getting hammered. All I’ve thought about is yesterday’s interview; how it went, how I could have answered each question better – going round in circles. I’d be quite happy lying on this sofa until Monday, eating crap food, drinking wine and watching Netflix, while crying about how I’ve fucked up my one big chance in life. But I promised Heidi we’d go out tonight and she isn’t letting it go.
At 5.45 p.m. she stands over me, menacingly, hands on hips, scorn pouring from her eyes.
‘Mandy, I’m giving you ninety minutes to sort yourself out. Stop moping and go get glam. You don’t have a say in this.’
I screw my face up, recoiling even further into my foetus position.
‘But…’
‘No buts! Come on!’ she says, pulling me off the sofa with such force that I actually bounce on to the floor, making us both laugh. ‘Okay! I’m going!’
Two hours later, we’re in our favourite bar, Cryptic. In high contrast to yesterday’s conservative interview look, I’m now sporting a black body-con dress so tight I can’t wear knickers with it, big hair and even higher heels. I suspect Mr Rude would have a heart attack if he saw me tonight.
To a casual observer, I probably look very lucky; I am slim with curves in the right places, long blonde hair, big blue eyes, ‘cute button nose’ (or so I’ve been told) and ‘bee-stung’ lips (magazine terminology). Because of this, and because I’m classed as intelligent, people seem to assume that my life is all shades of wonderful. The truth is, my appearance is probably the only thing I’m actually confident about. People don’t have a clue about the stuff going on inside, behind the constant smiles, under the bleach… and why would they? At the end of the day, why would they care about your personal issues when you can do a great liquid eyeliner flick?
Heidi is quite the siren tonight, going for a slut-red mini-dress which should look tarty and yet she manages to make it look classy, but that is Heidi all over.
It’s a lovely warm summer evening, which means we can sit outside. But because I’m with Heidi, we can’t ‘just sit’ outside. Best viewing tactics must be fully executed. Close enough to the entrance/exit to see new talent come in, but not right next to the door because that’s ‘too close’, meaning guys ‘won’t see’ us/her. She has a weird system I’ll never understand. It’s something to do with parading yourself like a peacock, but guys fall at her feet, so who am I to judge?
Heidi is my best friend in the whole world. She is model-esque with the longest legs you’ve ever seen. She has a sexy, yoga-toned figure (rather her than me) and a razor-sharp, brunette bob. Because of this, she is never short of male attention. She stirs up contradictions in both sexes. Women are fascinated with her because she’s so bloody perfect, but hate her for it. Men are intimidated by her, but simultaneously worship the ground she walks on. She doesn’t really ‘do’ emotions.
Another thing Heidi doesn’t really do is boyfriends. She does playtoys, fuck-buddies, flings, attached men, unavailable men, rich men, interesting guys who have no money, intelligent men, hot but stupid men… but they all have the same thing in common: they’re all under Heidi’s spell. She could have anyone she wants, but she gets bored of them very quickly. Well, she says it’s because she gets bored, but it must run deeper than that
My own love life is disastrous. You know how there’s a spectrum of guys? Bad boys on one end (chase you for months then act like complete dicks when you eventually fall for them, never text you, act like complete players and chuck you away when they get sick of you?); and on the other end of the spectrum you have too-nice-for-words guys (complete gents, pay you loads of compliments, would make great husbands and would ALWAYS text you back). Well, I always go for one or the other – never anywhere in between. This causes problems because it never ends well. I gravitate towards the bad boys because, y’know, don’t we all? I’ve had some proper horror shows, but my best way of dealing with them is to just not think about them, because if you just ignore the CringeFlings then they cease to exist. That’s basically the rules of physics. But, having said that, I don’t like the really nice guys either because they lavish me with compliments and loveliness and it makes me feel… uncomfortable.
Between the pair of us, Heidi and I are a relationship