Babyface. Elizabeth Woodcraft

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      Adam was an assistant solicitor in the firm of Painter, Pavish and Rutland. PPR, as he called them, was regarded with suspicion by the other solicitors in the inquiry. Although the partners were old school, recent recruitment had brought in lots of bright young things with too many degrees for their own good, earning enormous amounts of money. ‘Not me, though,’ Adam explained, ‘being the most junior solicitor in the firm.’ PPR had new, modern offices near the Convention Centre, and an intense work ethic.

      I devoured the potatoes and tortilla, and he picked at a piece of bread, and we watched the rain falling steadily outside. ‘I still don’t know how come I was instructed,’ I said.

      Adam’s face began to colour. ‘Well …’ he began. ‘I had nothing to do with it, because it was before my time. But I was quite surprised to see you. You weren’t … quite what I expected.’ He opened a crisp yellow file and began flicking through a deep pile of correspondence and attendance notes, held together by a metal pin. ‘You were instructed before my time. Yes, here.’ He held back a bunch of papers and read from a note dated the autumn of the year before. It had been sent to someone who had been a new trainee, who had since left the firm without finishing his training. ‘David, ring 19 Kings Bench Walk to instruct Francis Richmond to represent the victims, whom they have requested.’

      ‘17,’ I corrected. ‘My chambers are at 17 Kings Bench Walk.’

      ‘19,’ he repeated, staring at the scrawl on the note. ‘Francis with an “I”.’

      ‘That’s not me.’

      ‘Apparently not.’ There was a beat of silence. ‘But the clients haven’t said anything, which is obviously why it wasn’t picked up. And they’re obviously happy.’

      Francis Richmond had been a well-known and apparently well-liked Birmingham solicitor who had decided to become a barrister. He divided his time between London and Birmingham, where his wife remained. When she had fallen ill with a wasting illness, he was forced to stay in London where he could find better, more lucrative work. A prolonged period in Birmingham on this inquiry would have been a godsend for him. The money, the proximity to his wife, the quiet rhythm you get into in an inquiry.

      Instead the trainee had made a mistake looking up the number in the Bar directory. He had rung my chambers and got me. ‘I should have noticed there are several different numbers for your chambers,’ he said.

      I shook my head. Not only was I not the right person, but I was positively the wrong person. And they all knew it.

      I made a note to ask Gavin if he had known. I had a horrible feeling that he had. When your world is falling all around you, shoot the clerk. I added it to my mental list of things to do.

      ‘It may have been 19 KBW that I rang this morning about the press conference,’ he said.

      I was still going to shoot Gavin.

      

      When I got back to Julie’s, my shoulder sagging with the weight of my soaking wet bags, which I had dragged through the rain, from a parking place halfway down the street, Marnie was curled, dry and comfy, on the sofa in front of the TV. ‘I just saw you on the news!’ she crowed as she let me in. ‘Can I come down and watch you one day? Ooh, you’re wet.’ I dropped a dripping bag. ‘But who was that horrible man?’

      ‘Which one?’

      ‘The one who slapped his thigh and turned his back on you. He was so rude. I wanted to punch him.’

      ‘Perhaps you should come to the inquiry as my minder,’ I said carelessly.

      ‘Yeah!’

      ‘No.’

      ‘But I want to meet all your lawyer friends.’

      ‘That would not be possible,’ I said bitterly. ‘I have no lawyer friends.’ I dragged the two bags ostentatiously across the room. ‘I’ll just take these heavy wet bags upstairs then.’

      ‘OK,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Oh, Mum said to tell you she’s working late, so we should take something out of the freezer.’

      ‘Oh great,’ I murmured as I climbed the stairs. Julie’s freezer was like mine. Everything was three years old, nothing had labels, and it was all mince.

      

      As I threw the bags onto the floor of my room, I noticed the stitching in my work bag had perished in several places and a corner of my brief was poking through. It was wet. Everything was wet. What a lousy start to the inquiry. Water is not my medium. My star sign is not a water sign. And clearly my bag was not waterproof. Not now anyway. I was going to have to buy a new work bag. And, on top of everything, I was about to have melted mince for my supper. I needed warmth, I needed human kindness, so, foolishly, I fished my mobile out of my bag, sat on the edge of the bed and rang chambers for my messages. There were none.

      ‘Forget the freezer food,’ I said to Marnie, stomping back down the stairs. ‘We’re going to have a takeaway, and we’re going to have it delivered.’

      ‘Oh cool,’ Marnie crowed. ‘Can I order it?’

      

      An hour later I was back in my room.

      I pulled out my files. I made a list for myself of all the witnesses to be called. It gives you an idea of the shape of the case, how it might go. But really it’s just to make you feel you’re doing something.

      

       Time Table

      Opening submissions – half a day

      My clients – three days?

      Social workers – a day?

      Teachers – two days

      Mr Wyatt – principal – a day

      The medical experts –

       called by my clients

Psychologists × 2	) – 1 to be called to give oral
evidence – half a day
	) – 1 written evidence to be read
Paediatrician	) – half a day
GPs	) – written evidence
Counsellors ×1	) – written evidence
Therapists ×2	) – written evidence

       called by advocate to the inquiry

      Two psychologists re theory of sexual abuse – 1 day called by the principal

      Child-development expert – ? an hour

      Other experts –

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