All She Ever Wished For. Claudia Carroll

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СКАЧАТЬ a good look at him. He’s got thick, dark hair and one of those long, lean builds, an ectomorph type; basically the kind of body shape that never needs the services of a personal trainer. One of those people who can eat all the carbs they like, never set foot inside a gym and still stay skinny for life. Basically, the sort who’d put me out of business inside of a month.

      ‘Who isn’t?’ I smile back, as politely as I can, given that I still have another eight phone calls to catch up on, just so I can stay on schedule.

      ‘If you ask me,’ he says, ‘we’re all born with the music to every single Beatles song ingrained into our DNA. With the sole exception of “Here, There and Everywhere” which, as everyone knows, is a song about an obsessive love. Now surely you can do better for your – and apologies, but I couldn’t help overhearing – “big walk down the aisle”?’

      ‘It’s not about obsessive love,’ I say, still focused on my phone, ‘it’s a beautiful, romantic song.’

      ‘Not if you really listen to the lyrics properly, it isn’t,’ he persists, arms folded now, dark eyes scanning me up and down, like he’s been bored out of his head all morning and is now itching for a debate about the merits or otherwise of a Beatles’ song.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ I say distractedly as yet another text pings through on my phone, ‘but I’m afraid I really don’t know what you’re talking about.’

      ‘Well, it’s a well-known fact that Paul McCartney wrote that cheesy song for Jane Asher, his then fiancée. And in the lyrics, he clearly says that he wants her to be everywhere that he is, for every minute of every day, to the end of time, or words to that effect.’

      ‘So?’ I say, totally distracted by the sheer number of text messages I’ve yet to reply to.

      ‘Well, you might have got away with it in the sixties, but nowadays you’d be labelled an obsessive control freak for going on like that. If I went and wrote a song like that for a girlfriend, she’d probably take out a barring order against me. Anyway, when it came to love songs, the best one The Beatles ever recorded was “Something” by George Harrison. Far more weddingy, if you ask me. Not that it’s any of my business.’

      I look back at him, thinking, no, actually it isn’t any of your business and how would you know the first thing about my taste anyway?

      My phone rings yet again, so I make a curt ‘sorry, got to take this’ gesture and answer. It’s Mum, bossily telling me to pick up two tins of cider on my way home, so Dad can have them when he’s watching the match later on tonight. Then she makes me hold on while she consults her shopping list, just in case there’s something else she might have forgotten.

      ‘Go ahead,’ this guy smirks, mock exasperatedly, catching my eye. ‘Take your call. It seems there’s no end to the demands on your time when you’re busy bride-ing.’

      ‘Thank you, yes, if you’ll excuse me, I will.’

      ‘But trust me about “Here, There and Everywhere”. Rethink. You can do so much better.’

      So you think my taste in music is a complete load of cheesy crap? I think a bit narkily, stressed out of my mind with everything I’m now so scarily behind on. Then maybe you should stop listening in on other people’s phone calls.

      Just at that moment though, Bridget swishes in authoritatively, stands at the top of the room and addresses us all. So I make my hushed goodbyes to Mum and only pray that this means good news.

      ‘Good morning,’ Bridget says bossily, with absolutely no apology for keeping us hanging around for this length of time. Without even the courtesy of an explanation, in fact. ‘If I can ask you all to take a look up at the TV screens above you, please, we’re just about ready to begin.’

      The TV screens? I think, dumbfounded. What does she want us to do here exactly? Stand up and answer questions on the lemon meringue and poppy seed bake they demonstrated on Good Morning Ireland earlier?

      ‘In a moment, we’ll go over live to the courtroom,’ Bridget carries on, ‘and the jury selection will commence. If your number is called, please make your way through the door behind me, where you’ll be taken up to court, either to be selected or not by the Defence or Prosecution.’

      Well this is something, I think, suddenly hopeful again. Plan A hasn’t worked – Bridget refused point blank to hear a word out of me – so now I’m on to plan B. Basically what my barrister client in the gym advised me to do in the event of all else failing; which involves me actually being selected, then standing in front of a judge, throwing myself on his or her mercy and pleading that I’m getting married in a few weeks’ time. And if that doesn’t work then it’s on to the plan of last resort, which is that maybe the Defence or Prosecution will take one look at me and object to me serving on a jury. And with great good luck, I’ll comfortably get out of here in under an hour tops; which means I could still make some of my appointments. Which means it’s all still to play for.

      Next thing, Bridget clicks on a remote control and all the TV screens behind her suddenly go over to a real, live courtroom, with a judge’s bench, witness box, press gallery; the whole Judge Judy. And looming in front of the screen is a middle-aged woman, round-faced and smiley, her features visibly red and thread-veined, she’s that close to the camera.

      Even better, I think. Because unlike Bridget, this one actually looks approachable. Someone who I can negotiate with. A woman who’ll listen to reason. With any luck, that is.

      ‘Good morning and thank you all for presenting for jury service,’ says Smiley-face. ‘I’m Sandra Shields, the Court Registrar, and I’m speaking to you via a live link-up from court number seven. In a moment, I’ll pull a random selection of numbers out of the box here beside me and if your number is called, please make yourself known to the Jury Selection Officer on duty. You’ll then be led to the witness box here in court, to await selection.’

      ‘I have a question, please!’ I say shooting my hand upwards, only to be shushed back into silence by Bridget, not to mention the filthy glares I get from all around me.

      ‘However, if your number isn’t selected,’ Sandra the Court Registrar goes on, smiling straight into the camera, ‘this doesn’t mean that you’ve automatically been released from jury service. In that case, we ask you to remain in the jury holding area until the next court is ready to randomly select another batch of jurors. Some of you may not be selected at all, in which case, you’re required by law to remain in situ until 4 p.m. today, when you’ll be released by the Jury Selection Officer. You’ll then be required to present each and every day this week, until you’ve formally been released. If you are selected, please bear in mind that a case may run on for longer than a week, and you’ll therefore have a legal obligation to follow through and serve.’

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