‘Are you saying I deleted my own Attendance Note?’
It was Paula who replied.
‘You have just accused Natasha of doing it. Isn’t it far more likely you did it yourself?’
Jess had said much the same thing, but her comment had arisen out of concern for Mel’s wellbeing. Paula’s question felt like gloating and there was no way Mel could respond other than with words she would regret. ‘By accident of course,’ added Paula with a sickening smile. Mel had heard enough.
‘Are you suggesting I’m losing my mind?’ she snapped.
‘You were not yourself that afternoon,’ countered Paula. ‘We could all see it.’
Mel couldn’t even remember Paula being in the room at the time. It was too much.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Paula!’
Her hand was on her glass and she had a violent urge to chuck it at the irritating woman on the other side of the table, who seemed to be loving her moment of triumph. The room fell silent. The urge was controlled but Mel was conscious of eleven pairs of eyes awaiting her next move. She loosened her grip on the glass and took a deep breath.
It could have been worse. She could have thrown the glass. But it had been bad enough. What was most damaging was that her outburst had been witnessed by Marcus. As chief clerk he was responsible for bringing the work in. He was the last person she needed to see her vulnerable and emotional. She spoke again. This time her voice was low and steady.
‘That’s what Natasha said.’
‘There you are then. Did she log off?’ Paula asked.
‘Someone did. I was off for a week. Listen, even if she didn’t delete it, she should have explained why it wasn’t handed in. She had my number. She should have called me.’
‘Why would she delete your Attendance Note? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘That’s the unanswered question. She’s unpredictable, hard to read. We need people who are trustworthy, open,’ said Mel. Natasha was probably too busy chatting up the clerks and trying to steal other people’s work. She was a mischief maker. Mel knew she was right even if she didn’t have proof.
‘Well, if that’s all there is,’ said Jess.
Julian looked up. ‘May I point out that this meeting was due to finish at 6:30 p.m. I wonder whether the matter could be put to the vote.’
‘I agree, Julian,’ said Georgie. ‘I must say it’s looking difficult. If Mel has a problem with the woman I don’t see how we can take her. We have always said that new tenants need to fit in socially as well as professionally. Other chambers have had splits and differences. Bridge Court has always had a collegiate feel and unlike others, we are still here, despite difficult times for the Bar. If there’s tension between a pupil and her supervisor there’s likely to be further tension if that pupil becomes a tenant. There’d always be an issue.’
‘Fine,’ said Jess. ‘We’ll go for a decision. Unless anyone has anything more pressing to say?’
The silence was heavy and long, broken by Paula. Her eyes were on Jess, but Mel felt it as a personal attack on herself.
‘I must say I am very uncomfortable about making a decision on unsupported allegations,’ she said.
‘Thank you, Paula,’ said Jess. ‘I am sure none of us are comfortable but that is the situation in which we find ourselves. May I remind you all that this is not a trial. It’s a decision about who will be best for chambers. There’s bound to be an element of subjectivity. As Marcus has already suggested we can afford to take both, we’ll vote on each of them separately. All those in favour of Nigel.’
Thirteen hands were raised.
‘Against?’
No hands were raised.
‘Natasha? All those in favour?’
Paula and Jess and two others raised their hands.
‘Against?’
Mel raised her hand and, to her surprise, saw Julian and Georgie raise theirs.
‘Abstentions?’
There were six. Barristers were not natural abstainers. Mel realised she had created both a stir and a precedent.
‘That’s it, then,’ said Jess. ‘Nigel has it.’
‘I’ll ring him,’ said Georgie, adding, ‘who’s going to tell Natasha?’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Mel.
Chapter Fourteen
Natasha
Natasha pushed open the door to the flat. Leonard Cohen was crooning away as usual. As she tossed her bag and jacket onto the sofa, she could smell onions, garlic, meat, a casserole simmering in the slow cooker. Luke would be in the bedroom, typing up case-notes. She peeked round the door. There he was, staring into the screen, head bent forward, deep chestnut hair short enough to expose a tiny patch of pale neck, long enough for a hint of soft curl around the ears. She enjoyed watching him without being seen.
He had a face to lead a medieval army, but he had chosen a profession with a different kind of heroism. As a social worker he would be gentle and self-effacing. Natasha had experience of that tribe and most of those she met had been kind but controlling. Luke wasn’t like that. She was sure he would listen to his clients, show his compassion, though she couldn’t help feeling he was wasted in the job, trudging around housing estates, advising the poor on how to improve their lives when what they needed was money and jobs.
He was a genuinely good man. And however badly she behaved, he stuck by her. She might find it hard to love, but at least she was learning to be loved.
She wished she had his capacity to feel. Sometimes it rose in her, an inkling of concern, but then it would vanish, a tiny seedling shrivelling in the sun for lack of water. Feelings might start in her, but they never grew. She would never have real friends as other people did. She had read several books on the subject. One piece of practical advice was that if you behaved tenderly to another person you would start to feel tenderness towards them. She was trying it out with Luke, tiptoeing forward and kissing the back of his neck.
‘Hey, buddy,’ he said, swinging round, beaming. His American slang made her laugh. ‘I heard you come in.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ she asked.
‘I like to pretend. I like it that you come up behind me when you think I don’t know you’re there.’
‘That’s unfair.’
‘I learnt it from you. So, how was it?’
‘Good. It was OK.’
He clicked the mouse and started to shut down the computer.
‘Just OK?’
‘I need a shower first.’
She undressed, removed her pump and stepped into the hot jet, letting the day wash away. The tenancy interview had gone well but she was unsure about Mel. She was angry with herself for deleting the Attendance Note in her first week. It was almost two months ago now but Mel had never believed her explanation and the relationship had not recovered. At least she hadn’t sent that email to Paul. It was still sitting in her Drafts folder.
Natasha didn’t know why she behaved this way. She’d be on the crest of something good, a job, a friendship, an apology, when some force took over and she would sabotage whatever had been about to happen.
Stepping out, reaching for a soft white towel, she began to rub herself dry. She was thinking about her adolescent years. How, instead of asking for more pocket money, she had stolen from Janet’s bag. How she had become the rude one, the naughty one. When her brothers teased her about her skinny arms and legs, her wild hair, she attacked them with fists and teeth. They were cowards, never fought back, only snitched on her to Ed. She was locked in her room for hours. Once, but only once, Ed hit her, smacking her hard across the face. She had never forgotten, never forgiven. She threatened to ring Social Services, but her sister Eleanor had intervened.