Authors: Elle Wynne
“Too right,” she replies, “Only three months to go until D-day!”
Serena is getting married in October this year in what promises to be the most extravagant event of the decade. Her long suffering fiancé, Ewan is working every hour God sends to try and pay for whatever new must-have items take her fancy.
I dread to think what the total cost is now; the budget started life with a very respectable maximum figure of about £20,000 but that was before the handmade Swarovski beaded tea lights, before the Vera Wang gown that she had to try on that ruined every subsequent selection, before the thirty minute orchestrated firework display to Michael Buble that will take place outside at midnight. In short, her pursuit of the title ‘Mrs. Bevington’ is costing a pretty penny.
I have tried to point out that at midnight most people will either be drunkenly dancing to Abba or will have passed out under the buffet table. Serena isn’t having a buffet as we know it though, she’s adopted the American version known as ‘cocktail hour,’ an excuse to have a whole deli counter worth of food available to your guests containing luxuries such as caviar, lobster, smoked salmon, golden emu eggs (Ok, you get the point) all served with an unlimited host of rainbow flavoured alcoholic drinks potent enough to knock out a small elephant. Or a large barrister.
I have been given the role of being one of Serena’s bridesmaids during the impending nuptials. So far this has simply involved drinking a lot of champagne whilst walking around potential venues and telling her that no, despite the huge bow on the back of her wallet-busting rehearsal dinner dress, her bum does not look big in it.
We had quite an argument about her initial concept for the bridesmaid dress. I know it is the responsibility of the bride to make sure that she is the most beautiful, poised female present, but I do think she almost took that duty a little too far; her first suggestion for me and the other two girls was a vision in royal blue taffeta with puff sleeves and a drop waist.
I swear, before I agreed to this I wrongly assumed that such crimes of fashion were left where they belonged, in the eighties. I think her initial vision for us also included spiral perms and pink blusher. Happily, she saw sense when we pointed out that her wedding photographs would be ruined by three women looking as if they were attending a bad-taste fancy dress party, not an elegant wedding. The dresses that were eventually picked are stunning.
Sebastian has had to put up with me venting copiously about the dress saga and he still thinks I’ll be in the retro monstrosity, so I’m quite looking forward to the look on his face as I glide down the aisle looking elegant and poised.
“What’s next on your to do list?”
“Well, I’ve found a man in London who’ll rent me some sky blue butterflies to release outside the church. They’ll go perfectly with my colour scheme!”
“Butterflies?” I falter, “But surely you’ll need quite a few of those to make an impact? Plus, what if it’s raining?”
“Oh, that’s not a problem, he has two hundred Adonis Blue that we can have. If it rains, I just won’t bother releasing them.”
“But surely you’ll still have to pay for them?”
“Of course, but think how amazing they’ll look if I can pull it off. They’re totally worth the cost and their owner is included in the price to sort them out after.”
“I should hope so, I thought for a nasty minute you were going to say you’re having customised butterfly nets made so that the guests can retrieve them for you.”
A wild look flashes across her eyes.
“Lauren, that’s a marvel-”
“No! No! No! That’s not a good idea at all Serena, it’s a terrible one. Anyway, I thought you’re under strict orders to cut back on the budget, not increase it?”
She gives a heavy sigh and rolls her eyes.
“Ewan needs to chill out. You only get married once and given that I earn more than him anyway he has no cause to tell me what I can or can’t spend my money on.”
“Don’t you mean ‘our’ money?” I ask cautiously.
This is a touchy subject with Serena as whilst she is more than happy to put all of their earnings into a single joint account, she has never let Ewan forget that all is not equal.
If it wasn’t for the fact that she spends far more than she puts in I might consider sympathising with her, but as Ewan has to pay his share of the bills plus Serena’s monthly House of Fraser card bill and cover any cash shortfalls, my alliance remains firmly, but silently, with him.
Serena’s vent continues.
“He is such a miser. He never shuts up about how much money I’m spending on the wedding. Doesn’t he realise that it’s his big day too? I wish he’d get a proper job instead of schlepping off to work at that awful call centre everyday wearing that cheap looking uniform. It’s so embarrassing when I have to introduce him to colleagues and explain that he cold-calls people for a living. God, imagine making minimum wage being hung up on two hundred times a day!”
“Hey!” I squawk, “I used to work in a call centre too remember, when I was at uni. Don’t knock it. You may think your powers of advocacy as a barrister are second to none, but anyone who can get someone to buy something blind over the phone is a master of persuasion if you ask me!”
She pauses and considers her options whilst taking a long drink from her glass.
“Yeah, whatever, but it wouldn’t hurt him to be more ambitious, you know, make more of himself. He has a degree for Christ sakes! I’d love to be taken on surprise luxury holidays, or treated to a champagne dinner once in a while. It’s not fair.”
“Have you lost the plot? It’s called a honeymoon!” I retort incredulously.
I’m getting quite annoyed at this point as for reasons best known to her, Serena is determined to interpret her whole relationship as ‘glass half empty’ at the moment. Given what she is holding, the irony is not lost on me.
“Yeah, well if I find out that we’re going on a cheapie budget job then the honeymoon may be over quicker than the wedding.”
I bite my tongue this time and pour us some more wine. How have we managed to get through that much of the bottle already? As I steel myself to resume the subject of further Ewan bashing, it appears I am no longer the focus of Serena’s attention. Neither for that matter is Ewan.
Serena is looking over my shoulder to a group of people that have just managed to squeeze into the bar and are making their way to the seats by the window. There are six of them, three men and two women. Initially, I don’t recognise any of them, but then a tall, very thin black woman in a tight navy suit and cheap looking red shoes comes into view. As she runs her hand through her straight, bobbed hair, Serena vocalises my realisation.
“Oh my God, that’s Lucinda isn’t it? What the hell is she doing here?”
“Damned if I know, I didn’t realise they had broomstick parking outside”
“And isn’t that Holly too?” she asks, nodding towards a squat brunette in an unflattering beige linen suit and cream kitten heels.
I nod, temporarily lost for words.
When we were at Bar School, Lucinda Green was one of the twelve members of our small group sessions. Confident to the point of cocky she monopolised most of the discussions with her egocentrical interpretations of the rules of advocacy, and forced the rest of us to listen to her rambling opening speeches, right-wing charging ideas and frankly corrupt negotiation techniques.
Due to the nature of our close-knit group, we all spent a lot of time socialising, discussing our plans for the future, career paths thus far and revision techniques. Lucinda made it clear to everyone that because of her ‘connections’ (Her uncle was a barrister in a set of Chambers in Manchester) she considered herself above such concerns.
She found a willing sidekick in the form of Holly Rones, a short, plain girl who copied her every move, mimicked her mannerisms and also managed to alienate the entire class.
I always felt sorry for Holly, as had she been willing to complete the course on her own terms instead of Lucinda’s then I expect she would have been well liked. Lucinda on the other hand was a total lost cause.
The last time I had seen either girl was at Call Night, an antiquated tradition where successful students are officially ‘Called to the Bar’ by joining an Inn of Court. Lucinda had gotten incredibly drunk on the free champagne and had become very loud and obnoxious to anyone who had the misfortune of trying to make conversation with her.
This culminated with her telling the then Lord Chief Justice “not to be silly” when he asked her whether she was worried about the future of the Bar. It goes without saying that this went down like the proverbial lead balloon.
Following that inspired piece of networking, Lucinda had been quietly asked to leave. As you might have expected, at that point, she was in no mood for going quietly and after knocking a tray of canapés to the floor in anger, flounced out, dragging Holly with her. Rumour had it that her uncle’s head of Chambers got wind of her performance and renounced his offer that she could join them as a pupil. This was a truly devastating blow.
To become a pupil barrister it takes a lot of hard work, but even more luck. When I first applied over eight years ago there were at least three thousand applicants for six hundred places in Chambers across England and Wales. The number of criminal pupillages was a small percentage of that figure. Given the current state of the Criminal Bar (Don’t ask…) things have got much harder.
I still thank my lucky stars that I managed to fluke the process and get a place, followed two years later by Serena who had to play the Russian roulette of the applications process for a little longer.
I watch the group carefully.
“You’re right, how odd. Do you think it’s a coincidence they’ve just walked into a room full of lawyers or-”
My question becomes redundant, as having spotted our table, the two women approach our table purposefully; Lucinda leading the way with Holly as always, in her wake.
“Serena! Lauren!” she cries, “How amazing to see you both. You’re looking so, so well. It’s nice to see it is true that those working in the provinces can be more, well, comfortable with their appearances.”
Bitch.
She continues, “Gosh, I’m amazed to see you both together again after so long. Are you on a mini-pupillage with Lauren, Serena?”
This comment is directed at Serena with a sickly sweet smile and a voice that rings with insincerity. A mini-pupillage is the barrister equivalent of doing some unpaid, on the job work experience for a week or so within a set of Chambers.
Serena smiles and considering her words carefully, replies.
“Don’t be silly, Lucinda, you know that I’m a member of Chambers with Lauren now too. Just because you never got pupillage doesn’t mean that the rest of us can’t.”
If I didn’t know Lucinda, I’d have missed the look of sheer contempt that passes over her face.
“Pupillage?” She looks incredulous. “Oh I don’t need a pupillage anymore. Who wants to be self-employed anyway? Not me, not when I have Andrew.”
At this, she thrusts her left hand into Serena’s face, displaying a diamond engagement ring roughly the size and shape of a Ring Pop. It reminds me of the one Jordan had during her first marriage.
Holly pipes up for the first time.
“Isn’t it amazing? Lucinda designed it herself. It’s three carats of near flawless diamond. It makes her hand look so elegant.”
Serena is quick off the mark.
“Yes, lovely hand, shame about the fa-” sadly she’s cut off before she can finish.
“Ohh, how sweet, you have one too Serena!” interrupts Lucinda, noticing Serena’s fourth finger is also adorned with a stone. “Oh, no wait, mine isn’t from Elizabeth Duke. Shame,” she says with mock pity in her voice, “Maybe next time.”
Luckily, before Serena can register this comment, Lucinda continues. “I’m currently working for a firm of solicitors in the city as an in-house consultant. You know, a specialist. I’ve been allowed to instruct Andrew on this huge case we have coming up. I’d love to tell you about it, but it’s all very hush hush, massive media interest, very famous client. Not like the pondlife you two have the privilege to represent. Shame, it must be so unsatisfying for you, moving from one pub fight case to another.”
“By in-house specialist, do you mean tea girl?” I ask.
Holly shoots me daggers. Lucinda ignores me.
“The only downside is that the trial is being held here!” At this, she assumes a face that makes her look like she has caught whiff of something unpleasant. “Andrew and I have come up to look at somewhere to stay for the trial. I mean, who would commute when you can have a luxury hotel suite?”
I decide to humour her. “Who indeed?”
Serena finally finds her tongue “So when do we have the honour of your residence in the city?”
“Oh not for about a month, I’ll make sure I look out for you when the trial starts. If I see any desperate looking cases, I’ll point them in your direction. Or in your case Serena, any personal shoppers.”
With that she turns on her stiletto heel and strides towards the four men across the room that she entered with. Holly looks stunned at having been left alone with us and confusion flickers across her face as she decides whether or not she was supposed to follow Lucinda. Eventually she mumbles something which sounds like it could be “Goodbye” and practically runs over to her mistress. I mean friend.
“What a total nightmare,” I say. “I always hoped that her personality was an act she used at Bar School as some sort of self-defence mechanism to protect herself from criticism. Not so then.”
“Nope.” replies Serena. “That woman wouldn’t know the difference between self-defence and self-pleasure, which might explain her abysmal criminal law final marks!”
“Why, of all places did she have to re-surface here?” I postulate, “Have we done something terrible lately to upset the karmic balance of things? Have you been kicking puppies again Serena?”
She laughs, then her face becomes downcast.
“Hey!” I take her hand “What’s wrong? If you have been kicking puppies then obviously I can’t condone that but-”
“It’s just some of the things she said. How can it be fair that an uber-bitch like Lucinda gets everything handed to her on a plate whilst I have to struggle to make ends meet?”