I don’t think there’s any need to be so insolent…’ she sneers in a heavy Irish lilt.
‘Well, that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Clarinda,’ the male calmly shoots back.
At this point, the woman clocks me and turns back to the man.
‘We’ll talk about this later, Sid,’ she spits, before calmly walking out.
The male turns round and smiles in a way that suggests he is grateful for the interruption.
‘Laugh a minute around here!’ he smiles, raising his eyebrows. It’s Sid Ryder from my pupillage interview, looking supremely hot and all ‘sexy-older-man-y’ in his robes. ‘Amanda, isn’t it?’ he asks, narrowing his eyes.
‘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,
