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| Cleanup Time - The Nikki Wade Retrial; Bad Girls Judge John Deed crossover fic | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 22 2007, 07:08 AM (13,912 Views) | |
| richard | Sep 18 2007, 04:41 PM Post #61 |
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That's great feedback, Cassandra as I was a bit worried about the writing of the second trial.
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| richard | Sep 19 2007, 06:38 AM Post #62 |
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This is a pure Nikki and Helen scene with portents of the future. Scene Fifteen The two women were glad to get home on Friday evening after a week at work. This time of the year was when the Christmas decorations had been taken down and the winter weather cut into their bones. Nikki had been used to previous years when the club was quiet after the customers had spent all their money on Christmas celebrations. No such luck was granted to her in her present job. So far from family life being enhanced for all the ‘men, women and two point four children’ as she observed them, the women she worked with were that much grumpier than before, moaning on about their husbands. Nikki shrugged her shoulders in despair. Anyone would think that they were imprisoned by extra quality time with their husbands at such a family oriented time of the year, or so the films on TV would have everyone believe. “Jesus, am I glad to get home to normality,” Nikki exclaimed as she threw her coat onto the coat hook into the large front hall. “You mean life at work isn’t normal?” Helen teased. Nikki laughed tersely in reply at the joke. Helen concluded that her attempt at a joke had hit a sensitive nerve. She made no further comment until they were sat down on the large sofa and Nikki had kicked off her shoes. “I don’t know if it’s just the novelty of being back at work wearing off but it beats me how I end up at work with all the most narrow minded people in the world, my boss worst of all. They have to be seen to be believed.” “Would you have been spared all that with running that club of yours? Are you saying that lesbians monopolize all the virtues?” Nikki was struck by Helen’s soft perceptive question. She couldn’t give a snap answer, as she would be the first to admit that she’d lived anything but an orthodox life. She wasn’t clear at all on what an ‘average life’ was like anyway. “I’m not certain, Helen. I need to think that one over…… In my youth, I really believed in the sisterhood. I’ve always had ideals. Without them, you’re lonely no matter how crowded the room is. I thought that women with women were more tender, more sensitive, more caring about each other and a lot of times they were. Couples broke up, sure, and it left a lot of bitterness behind. You didn’t have any problems about whose side you were on as everyone accepted that you had a right to whatever loyalties you had. Of course there were basically straight women who were on the fringes who wanted a ‘typical lesbian’ to experiment with and then go straight back to the land of heterosexuality. They might have got some illicit thrill out of it all. It wasn’t exactly the same for any woman on the receiving end.” “You’re talking about yourself,” put in Helen, placing her hand tenderly on Nikki’s sleeve. She’s picked up on the suppressed anger in the flat, dispassionate tones. The other woman smiled and nodded as her lover’s presence gently soothed her dark memories. “I once told Barbara that I’d had affairs with straight women before who didn't know what truth meant as they were so used to manipulating men. Yeah, there were the bad times as well as good times in my past……….you know, when I was in Larkhall, we had all the reason in the world to bitch about what was going on…. What I didn’t know that there are straight women who’ll manipulate and backstab everyone in sight given half a chance and for such stupid petty reasons……they really don’t care what harm they do.” “ Whereas we have a choice in how we live our lives. So come on, was I on the hate list along with Jim Fenner?” chimed in Helen with a little smile on her face. She’d known well enough to let Nikki’s mind drift where it chose. “Not you, darling you were perfect apart from occasional lapses in wanting to rule the world,” Nikki replied sliding her arm round Helen’s shoulder and giving her a long kiss. Being held by her made all the difference. During her drifting monologue, she’d stared sightlessly off to space, feeling all that sense of abandoned loneliness when there was less need to feel that way than she felt. “We’d normally bitch about Fenner and Bodybag for every good reason under the sun but we were different amongst ourselves. I remember what Yvonne was like. She was the wife of a gangland criminal but there was no bullshit about her. She was as honest as they came. I’d have the odd argument with her, we’d shout at each other and next minute, we’d be best friends. A friend there was a real friend and an enemy like Dockley was an enemy. At least she was honest with me in her own twisted way……… When I first started work, I got the feeling that everything was prim and proper even though their heterosexuality was so resounding. Everything is so emotionally constipated in contrast with prison. I could live with that like, hey, this is a different world than I’ve been used to so I’d better get used to it. I laid it on the line when I started just who I was and even put a small picture of you on my desk so there could be no misunderstandings……better to start off with a clean slate as I once told you……” “….and now, you’re not so sure.” “I really don’t know who to trust, that’s what it comes down to. You know what I’m like. When I’m around people I’m paranoid about, I feel like lashing out. I know very well how stupid that is as I’d get the sack just when I want to build up some regular job credentials, even such a shit job as this.” Helen was speechless. She’d assumed that Nikki was moderately content. Certainly she wasn’t doing half the job that her work experience and degree called for but she never thought that Nikki was as miserable as this. It brought back painful memories of when she first became wing governor at Larkhall. She knew, she empathized. “Have you any friends at work or anyone halfway resembling a friend? You need one.” Nikki laughed shortly at the total irony of the situation. “It’s really funny but the one person I can really talk to when it’s quiet is a guy called Tony. He’s quiet, withdrawn and right on the edges of the office gossip machine. Strangely enough, he’s straight.” “Careful, Nikki, or there’ll be tongues wagging about you.” That delicious sly humour and Helen’s gleaming smile made Nikki laugh out loud and disperse the black cloud that was hanging over her. She couldn’t help but admire the way Helen had made all her enemies at work look absurd and really believe it. She needed that sense of release. “I really ought to write to Yvonne and Barbara and Shaz. I promised to do so,” uttered Nikki with a choked falter in her tones. “I need to.” “So long as there is something positive you can tell them. Perhaps later this weekend when you feel better.” The tears ran down Nikki’s cheeks and her chin set squarer and firmer than her lips were. Helen silently drew Nikki’s head down to her breasts. Nikki clung to Helen and drank in the faint healing perfume that exuded from her. The sheer silence and the gentle feel of Helen’s slim fingers on her skin started to break through her despair, if only for one night. Thank God for Friday nights, she thought, as did a disturbingly high proportion of the working population. “I thought you were going to ask me why I hadn’t told you about this before,” Nikki suddenly asked in a small voice against Helen’s soft skin. “It isn’t necessary. I know you’d want to buckle down to your first job outside Larkhall and you’d need to work it out in your mind first before you can tell me. It’s the way it goes.” “Thank you, Helen….for understanding,” Nikki said with heartfelt emotion, her voice breaking slightly. “Right, Helen. I’m going to scour the papers straight away, sign up to any private employment agencies, anything and get the hell out of this place. My mind is made up,” vowed Nikki a little while later. It meant that her present job was as temporary as she wanted to make it. She knew instinctively that she had put the worst of her torments and indecisions behind her. It was the same with all her decisions. “Sounds right to me,” chimed in Helen.” If there’s any way I can help, let me know or if you don’t want my help, feel free to do it on your own, with my emotional support.” Nikki smiled in pure bliss in reply. There were times when she had faced hardships in life but this wasn’t one of them. She was happiest in life with a partner for all her sense of independence. “While I’m about it, I’ve recently noticed that my passport has run out,” she added carelessly,” I guess I need to get that renewed.” “You’ve got something in mind, Nikki. I can tell.” “If we get to scrape the money together, what do you say about a holiday to San Francisco? I’ve always had dreams of heading out there, so that we can walk down the street holding hands and nobody cares.” There was a distant faraway look in Nikki’s eyes and Helen knew that this was no idle whim. “Weren’t you going to tell me what it was like to be growing up,” Helen enquired tentatively while an intense feeling of peace percolated down on them both. Nikki put her hand to her head in despair. She had promised Helen that. A promise was a promise. It would give her the sense of helping Helen out in return. She had started delving back into her past and the time felt right. “Right. You sit down and I’ll make a cup of tea for us both. It will give me the best chance to collect my thoughts and get talking.” “You want help in being able to do that?” Nikki stuck her tongue out in reply and headed for the kitchen. Helen sat back with a feeling of well being at the soothing sounds of domesticity. Previously, this had been her empire where she ruled but was happy to share it with the neat and methodical Nikki. “So, what was it like growing up in a family with nearly two point four kids. Well, you’ve seen my parents but only on our home territory. Let’s just say that I really found growing up where I lived really boring. I was always an inquisitive child, always asked questions and especially why things should be as they are. I ran my mother out of questions very quickly and, when he was around, my father got to see me as some kind of mutinous seaman he couldn’t really order about. I was a child then, couldn’t have views of my own according to them. My older brother was just bland, accepted what he was told to accept. It didn’t take long before I grew up to outsmart him in arguments. You wouldn’t be surprised to know that I was a bit of a tomboy, always climbing trees. That was OK but what happens when you expected to grow up and out of it? There seemed no ready made answer whichever way I looked, certainly not where I grew up. I figured out that I had to look for my own answers, whatever they might be. I suppose I’ve taken that philosophy through my entire life. Looking back at everything, I think that was why my parents sent me off to boarding school, to train me to become a lady, a stab at getting me who they wanted to be.” “Some hope. So what was it like, being at boarding school? ” “. It was just another hierarchical society to get through, with lower forms, upper forms, prefects and teachers. I didn’t mind being away from home, such as it was. What I still can’t understand is just what those who owned the school expected in penning up adolescent girls together for months on end and get married off, lie there and think of England and bring up kids to go through exactly the sort of institutionalization I was put through ” “So you learnt to become a rebel there.” “Boarding schools can turn out the most tenacious kind of rebels and also those who are utterly conformist, empty air heads. As I became a teenager, half the girls were daydreaming of men and the other half kept quiet and just didn’t talk about them. “So did boys ever make any kind of impression on you?” “I didn’t mind them. I had no problems with them. They didn’t real to me or anything else that didn’t grab my interest.” “I remember ages ago you telling me that men weren’t your flavour.” “It’s just that anyone I was close to was another girl. Being in an all girls’ school gave me that very convenient camouflage. I was always fiercely protective of a girl who was being picked on by some of the bullies, either with my mouth or my fists. I didn’t care who I made enemies of.” “So what is it like when you first fall in love, or something like it? “Just the same as when you had your first boyfriend. Naturally, I’m not in a position to compare notes but it seemed perfectly natural but I was always one to go my own way on things. Let’s face it, I wasn’t the only one to indulge in ‘lesbian activities’ as the headmistress charmingly called it. I suspect now I think about it that half the teachers were dykes but they’d never admit it so they inflicted all their false hand me down values on us all to cover up their own guilt. When I was ‘outed’ thanks to the neighbourhood sneak, I was made the scapegoat. I was hauled before the headmistress and lectured at for hours. I felt as if I were on trial for my lifestyle and forbidden to defend myself.” A feeling of rage burned through Nikki as her scathing anger recalled being on the wrong side of the old fashioned desk, the seat of power only for doing what she felt was right. Those past feelings felt so real, of love and betrayal and blazing feelings of injustice. Helen’s thoughtful expression slowly came back into focus. “I’m sorry, darling, I haven’t been much use to you, just rambling away about my past. I know that it doesn’t have much, if anything, to what you’d been through. You must have had such a different path to travel, especially this last year and a bit.” “Shush, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter where we come from. It matters much more where we get to. I wanted to hear about your life. Every little detail matters to me.” This time, Helen came right back to her present. This was her reality and not the ghosts of the past. She smiled freely and her arms went to receive her beloved. She would write letters to her old friends, get some application forms off in the post and renew her passport. A couple of weeks in San Francisco would be the ideal treat for them both. . |
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| richard | Sep 21 2007, 07:11 AM Post #63 |
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This next scene is a kind of proxy for something like what might have happened if Gossard had lived, features John Deed's restless curiosity and finally points to what will come. Scene Sixteen Claire watched with contempt the way Alan Partridge gave the impression that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. He had that look of pink-faced innocence and his public school accent wasn’t loud and arrogant in a way which might have rubbed a jury up the wrong way, especially one that was composed of average decent Londoners. His manner was polite and regretful. She had to hand it to him that he didn’t obviously badmouth her client. Either he was the superb con artist, who had deceived her client, or he had been cleverly coached or else he was really innocent. Even Tony Blair in his prime couldn’t have done a better performance in giving an impression of sincerity. As the testimony continued, Claire started to doubt if an average jury wouldn’t belief that Zoë hadn’t consented to a sexual relationship, especially in the low-key way that he spoke. As the testimony continued, she hoped with all her heart that Jo Mills would pick apart the case. Finally, Jo Mills rose to her feet to begin the cross-examination. She was fully aware of the lowering presence of Sir Ian Rochester and his sidekick, Lawrence James sitting at the back of the court like dark, threatening statues. She was in the same keyed-up frame of mind that an actor feels, just before going on stage. Claire caught her eye and willed as much encouragement as she could at her based on sheer faith. Taking a deep breath and moving away from the rail, Jo adopted the poised stance that made her feel most comfortable and started her attack. “Mr. Partridge, I have listened with close interest to your obvious clarity of speaking in giving evidence. Would you describe yourself as someone who is above average intelligence?” “I would like to think I am. Of course, those who know me best will be best able to tell.” Jo smiled cynically at the man’s assumed modesty. In reality, she had appealed to his vanity and he had taken the bait. “I take it this is a definite yes.” “Yes.” “So intelligent that I refer you to item 4B in the bundle of evidence. It shows GCSE grades, 4 Grade A’s, 3 grade Bs and 2 grade Cs in July 1997 and 3 A levels, 2 grade Bs and 1 grade C in July 1999. Is it a reasonable conclusion that your understanding in general, both reading and verbal is similarly above average?” “I’m good at passing examinations, that’s all.” “Come come, Mr. Partridge, you are being over modest. Can you really maintain that your proven abilities as demonstrated on the written page won’t translate to verbal understanding?” “I’ve spent my education in all boys institutions. It doesn’t mean that I’m some expert on women.” “That isn’t something that deterred from you going to the pub in question to pick up a woman on some random chance. That demonstrates a level of self confidence, does it not?” “I was feeling in a fairly good mood that night. That might have made the difference.” “So when evidence given by Miss Carson that she tried to decline accepting a lift from you, someone you hadn’t met until that night, is it really likely that you wouldn’t understand the meaning of the words, that she was expressing a genuine reluctance.” “Well, some girls say no when really they mean yes. It’s common knowledge,” he muttered sulkily to Denis Frobisher’s obvious embarrassment. “Some girls say no when they really mean yes,” Jo Mills echoed loudly, sweeping her arm in a dramatic gesture and smiling at the jury, whose composition included a fair number of middle aged men and women.” I leave it to the jury to place a proper interpretation on these words.” Claire gleefully watched the masterly way that Jo allowed a long enough pause for her words to sink in before returning to the attack. “So how do you account for the way you turned down the lane in question away from the route back to Miss Carson’s parent’s house?” “It was an understood thing that she wanted a bit of fun and games first.” “Just how was it understood by Miss Carson?” “Not in so many words. I could tell by her manner.” “Assisted by your excellent intelligence despite no words being uttered by Miss Carson to this effect.” “I can only tell you what I saw and heard. You weren’t there that night,” Alan Partridge added sneakily. “Oh, from what evidence has been given in court, that absence is one that any woman would be glad to have been blessed with.” “Objection. My learned friend’s questioning is verging on the personal and abusive,” Donald Frobisher’s acid tones cut through the tension that was gripping the courtroom. “I withdraw that last remark,” Jo Mills added very quickly, realizing that while the sarcasm with which that last crack had been delivered, it strayed too far into Donald Frobisher’s territory. John Deed nodded with satisfaction at Jo’s prudence. “I am turning to the evidence of the torn clothing which Miss Carson wore that night as Exhibit A. Can you explain how the clothes have got to be in that state?” “Zoë could have done itself to try and blacken her name.” “Like the forensic report of the internal injuries inflicted on her? Item C if you care to look at it. ” Jo Mills shot back. An electric silence hung on the air as the veil in front of the truth was being precisely pulled aside. “Mr. Partridge, how many girlfriends have you had this year?” “Two.” “And when you are courting them, how would you describe your behaviour?” “Let’s put it this way, I have had no complaints.” “Is this because you have done nothing to be complained about or else that, for some reason, the potential complainants have been reluctant to come forward?” “Of course not. If I had done anything to be complained about, I would have heard about it soon enough.” “From who, Mr. Partridge? Do they come from families in some social proximity to yours? Is that why such consequences would be visited on you ‘soon enough’ as you put it?” Alan Partridge sat there red-faced, tension in every muscle of his body. He was trapped by this implacable woman, who was steadily demolishing his case. A strong-minded, intelligent woman like her brought out a latent fury in him close to the surface. “I insist on an answer, Mr. Partridge. The jury is waiting to hear from you.” ”Mr. Partridge, you have been asked a direct question which is material to the case. To refuse to answer would place you in contempt of court,” intervened John quietly but forcefully. “You might say that my family knows theirs,” came the sulky response. “No further questions, my lord,” Jo Mills concluded, with that rush of elated emotion through her system from having fought her way to the truth and laid it out for all to see. “Have you any questions, Mr. Frobisher?” John Deed asked the other barrister who was looking red-faced and impotent. “Mr. Partridge, as someone whose character has never before been called into question, can you repeat what you said earlier on, that sexual intercourse between you and Miss Carson was consensual.” “Definitely so.” “Can you explain for the benefit of the jury just why this is the case?” “If I might explain, it ought to be understood that sex amongst the younger generation is more varied, more innovative than in previous generations and what might be questioned in an earlier generation is taken for granted these days.” John Deed smiled cynically at the impertinence of the man though he had to hand it to him to be able to come up so resourcefully with a plausible argument so smoothly after being hard pressed. His own sexual experiences over the decades, frequently with younger women, led him to conclude the remark a total falsehood. Had this young man not been called to account in court, he might have easily been a politician in the making. Neil Haughton was the finest example of how such self-delusion and the gift of the gab worked hand in hand. The association of the two trains of thought and his irresistible urge to intervene once overcame his sense of discretion. “You talk, Mr. Partridge, as if sexual mores are universal for each generation. There is the false presumption that everyone behaves in the same way as those in the public eye, especially untenable for that most private of acts. It is more likely that some people are more traditionally minded than others. What led you to believe that, in effect, Miss Carson consented to sexual intercourse despite indications that might have indicated otherwise, someone you had never met before in your life?” Jo Mills was torn between two violently contradictory emotions, one being exasperation that John had once again interfered, putting her nose out of joint and the other being delirious joy that he had delivered so expertly the final knock out punch. “I can’t say anything specific. You get these feelings about people,” he said lamely. John Deed smiled enigmatically to himself while the jury made restive noises to themselves. Donald Frobisher covered his eyes with total embarrassment at how his client had sunk himself with one sentence while Jo Mills had to stop herself smirking openly. Sir Ian glowered at John Deed who affected to be oblivious of him while Lawrence James like the good civil servant, took notes. “Do you have any further questions to ask the defendant, my lord?” Donald Frobisher asked wearily. “Not if you don’t,” John replied in quiet faintly amused tones.” Court is adjourned.” Claire was thrilled and couldn’t wait to join Jo Mills as everyone poured out of the court, and out of the back doors.. As Clair threaded her way over to Jo in the foyer, the other woman had a big, triumphant smile on her face. “Congratulations, Jo. You did a wonderful job in the cross examination.” “I feel we’re on the home straight, now but not entirely out of the woods. Do you want to come back to my office for a coffee? I need to unwind a bit. Your company would help.” Jo’s manner was definitely close mouthed and Claire maintained a respectful silence as Jo drove them back to her office. Jo’s mind was starting to be on the next reel of the movie as good barristers ought to be. She closed the door behind them in a fairly definite fashion. “I didn’t want to say too much in the foyer. There are too many people who can overhear you there.” “You mean those too officials who were in the visitor’s gallery? Did you notice them?” “Didn’t I just. I could feel them glaring daggers into the side of my head.” She dumped her briefcase into a corner of the office and placed her wig and gown on the side. “Ah well, I’ve only got my closing speech tomorrow and the whole thing is in the lap of the gods.” “You mean John Deed?” Jo laughed aloud at such a comment, which said more than Claire actually knew of the situation. She poured out a comforting cup of tea for each of them to busy her hands. “Well, I bet you anything that the two of them, Sir Ian Rochester, the LCD Permanent Secretary and his sidekick Lawrence James, the circuit administrator, will be heading for John’s chambers to pressurize him into handing down some insignificant sentence. You know that Alan Partridge’s family has connections.” “But they couldn’t do that, Jo,” Claire exclaimed,” That’s outright corruption.” Jo smiled a faint weary smile. She felt a century older than this young, fresh-faced conscientious helpful woman. No doubt she looked and felt the same when she had first been exposed to the murkier goings on of high profile cases. By contrast, she felt contaminated by what she knew even if it helped her to avoid the obvious pitfalls. She squared the circle in justifying it as necessary self-protective knowledge. “They will, Claire but you must remember that John is extremely stubborn, often infuriatingly so and the more he is pushed to act in a particular way, the more he wants to do the exact opposite.” “You’re fond of him, Jo.” It was less a question than a statement of fact as Claire watched a light of affection and pleasure illuminate her features, even when a note of exasperation entered her voice. “I admire and respect him. He was my pupil master who saw me through law school. He and his ideals represent everything I have ever aspired to be. It, he is a living example, someone who is rare to find these days.” “So, is this your first experience of a high profile case, Claire,” Jo asked presently. She did it to make polite conversation as they sipped their cups of tea in relaxation. Jo’s eyelids were starting to droop over her blue eyes in sheer exhaustion. “Not the first one, Jo. I worked on the Nikki Wade appeal.” Jo’s eyes opened wide with astonishment. In her world, that was a positive cause celebre. She fired off a series of well-informed questions and Claire’s memory banks retrieved the information more faultlessly than on other more mundane cases. “So the conviction was reduced to three year’s manslaughter,” Jo enquired, a meditative expression on her face. “Everyone was hugely relieved at the verdict. There was quite enough sheer slog in petitioning the Home Office for leave to appeal. What I remember most of all was the verdict. First of all, The Appeal Court judge froze our nerves with his talk of ‘Nikki Wade taking the life of D C Gossard in a most vicious manner’ as if he were readying himself to reach for the black cap, metaphorically speaking, and then he backed off by stating that Nikki Wade had acted under provocation by Gossard. Jo’s blue eyes looked keenly at Claire as a train of thought was started. She knew herself to trust such instincts and to follow them whichever unexpected way they led. What she didn’t know was what had triggered off the thought or had some distant memory prompted her? “That’s not the line of defence I would have run or am I missing something?” Claire raised her eyebrows. On the one hand, Jo was being a bit critical of Marian Chambers who had worked miracles that day but her training to be open minded bade her listen to this highly talented barrister who had impressed her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve come across Marian Chambers before. She did a fine job in destroying the credibility of a policeman, no easy task but by running provocation, she was only seeking a mitigating factor. I’m surprised that she didn’t run ‘acting in defence of another.’ This was a total bombshell to Claire. Her mind started to engage with Jo’s rapid confident exposition of her case as if she had personally been at the court hearing. She could see the possibilities open up before her. She wondered why they hadn’t occurred to her before. |
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| ali baba | Sep 21 2007, 08:01 AM Post #64 |
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Nicely written Richard. You lead us cleverly through the maze of the court. Are you going to have Jo persue Marian Chambers in some way? |
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| Emms | Sep 21 2007, 11:58 AM Post #65 |
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Oooo.... Good chapter! |
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I registered at G Wing and all I got was this lousy tshirt. “After my time at Larkhall, I deserve to take it easy for a long, long while. I’ve been there, done it, and worn the bloody T-shirt..."~ Helen in: Unfinished Business by Richard | |
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| LahbibLover | Sep 21 2007, 03:43 PM Post #66 |
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I said SIT IN THAT CHAIR
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That was a very clever chapter and very interesting Richard. brenda |
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| richard | Sep 21 2007, 07:29 PM Post #67 |
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That's wonderful support, you guys. I was a bit concerned to make the trial scene read exacyly right and believable.
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| Cassandra | Sep 23 2007, 12:33 AM Post #68 |
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Thanks richard. Another two great chapters. |
![]() You can't control destiny ... but YOU can control this storyline ... by writing a para! HOTCHPOTCH - A Helen & Nikki Story with a difference (click to enter)
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| zena | Sep 23 2007, 03:42 AM Post #69 |
I said SIT IN THAT CHAIR
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Yes Richard anothe two great chapters.
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| richard | Sep 23 2007, 10:27 AM Post #70 |
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Thanks, Zena and Cassandra for your very welcome support. This next scene is a definitely archetypal attempted 'judge nobbling' scene and which also borrows from the works of William Shakespeare. Scene Seventeen John strolled back to his chambers in his usual leisurely fashion. It was his habit to regard it as his haven, to seek calm and contemplation with only the soothing presence of Coope, quietly working in the background. However, he suspected his luck would be out. He had been highly aware of Sir Ian and Lawrence James, sitting in the visitor’s gallery like dark threatening statues. He knew that he’d behaved with all the willful recklessness of a delinquent school kid throwing a stone through a greenhouse window. He was equally aware that he would be visited by the forces of authority, roused to fury by the reverberating crash. His trouble was that something in his psychological make up that relished the confrontation, especially against petty authority. Sure enough, he had barely sat down to a cup of tea when a misleadingly restrained tap on the door greeted his ears and both of them entered the room. “A cup of tea?” he offered. There was a time and place for polite preliminaries though he doubted that they would seriously blunten the attack. He poured three cups of tea and offered them round. However, even the restrained clinking of the silver spoons against the china sounded like the drumbeats of approaching war. “I’m sure you know why we’re here to visit you, John. It’s about this wretched Alan Partridge rape case.” “Wretched certainly for the victim, most certainly. It is highly likely that there will be those amongst the jury who are bound to feel sympathy for her. They may well take a correspondingly hard line against rapists, no matter what their social origin.” “Come come, John, that’s pitching it a bit strong.” “Not where I’m coming from, Ian,” muttered John in a mutinous tone of voice that undercut Sir Ian’s false heartiness. Sir Ian pulled himself together with a great effort and suppressed the rising tide of anger within him. Asking him to consider the fate of one of England’s most prominent wealth creators seemed the height of futility. Having tried this and every other gambit before and failed, he resorted to the Classics. Perhaps an approach out in left field might work. “I wonder if you would consider a merciful approach to Alan Partridge, John,” Sir Ian continued in soothing tones which temporarily threw John off balance. He had been prepared for threats and bluster.” Shakespeare put it most eloquently in ‘The Merchant of Venice.’ ‘The quality of mercy is not strain'd, It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest; It blesseth him that gives and him that takes…….’” “ ‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown,’ ” continued John in rolling mellow tones without a pause. Even if he might be considered to be showing off, he did what he knew best with temptation, which was to surrender to it. It seemed a good idea at the time as it always did to him. ” ’His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings; But mercy is above this sceptred sway; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this, That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much To mitigate the justice of thy plea; Which if thou follow, this strict court of Venice Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant there.’ “ “I rather fancy that from the way the trial is stacking up, Ian, this strict court of mine is very likely to give sentence against Alan Partridge. Of course, there’s no accounting for juries.” “You are being deliberately awkward and perverse, John. You may have the right to misquote Shakespeare if you insist. What you cannot ignore is the danger that you will cause a political storm of the first magnitude is if you impose a vindictive custodial sentence on the man. All the right-wing press will be baying for your blood and no one from the LCD will lift a finger to defend you.” John laughed in the man’s face with that measure of contempt, which both inflamed his anger and diminished him psychologically. “Assuming it comes to that, Ian,” John said lazily with the faintest yawn in his voice,” they will no doubt expend their extremely limited invective on me and then pass on to some other target. The attention span of the press is notoriously fickle, Ian as you know very well.” “I can see that there is no possible advantage in carrying on this unseemly row. All I can tell you is to advise you to be very, very careful.” Sir Ian glared at John with as much force of personality as he could summon up, stood up haughtily and made for the door, Lawrence James remaining blank-faced. John merely shrugged his shoulders and sipped the rest of his cup of tea while Coope emerged discreetly from the background. She had learned to take stand up rows in the chambers in her stride. At least, life working as PA to John Deed was never boring. “Ian,” rumbled Joe with a quick flash of a smile at the other man as the door silently opened.” It’s an unexpected pleasure for the call. Do you want a drink?” “Not before lunch, Joe,” said the relentlessly abstemious Sir Ian. His rapid strides from John’s chambers to Joe Channing had calmed him down sufficiently for Mandarin habits of decorum to take full control once again. “Then you don’t mind if I do,” Joe Channing blithely replied as he reached for his whisky decanter and a glass. “Now, to what do I owe you your company?” Sir Ian hesitated a second and began to speak slowly in a careful, conspiratorial fashion, as if he were wary of being overheard. “I’ve got a bit of a problem with Deed….” “….don’t we all, Ian…..” Joe Channing guffawed, eliciting a brief smile in return. “….it’s just that there’s a tricky case going through court involving young Alan Partridge who’s got himself into something of a scrape. Deed’s sitting on a rather unpleasant case where he’s supposed to have attacked some girl he picked up in a pub. The whole situation is delicate as his father is a self made man, the kind that finds favour with the government these days. He’s not just a wealth creator but one who’s what you would call a ‘self made man.’ Both he and his son are in the public eye and the father is one who the government feels sets our country an especially good example of hard work and dedication. I’ve sat in on the most recent day’s hearing and it looks as if Deed is in one of his more than averagely perverse, vindictive moods. The whole case is one where if a little leniency is observed, it will more than pay for himself in the long run.” “When you say, attacked, do you mean just physically?” “I think it may be a little more than that.” Joe’s face was completely immobile. He put two and two together and concluded that this case was the very heart-rending one that he had sat in on. The young girl struck him as genuine enough. She might have been his beloved granddaughter Charlie who was up at university and not even under the over permissive shelter of her father’s roof. He started to feel very uncomfortable and hoped that Sir Ian would make his brief point and quietly disappear. “So how lenient do you call lenient?” Joe enquired as casually as he could to fabricate the right pitch of the necessary mannerism to suit the occasion. “I had in mind a suspended sentence,” Sir Ian spoke with elaborate care,” It would be enough to give him a severe warning and teach him to behave himself in future. In the very unlikely event that should he ever reoffend, he would, of course place himself beyond the pale and he would take the consequences for any new offence but the old one as well.” “You have no doubt that the lad was guilty of the offence in question?” “I was only making contingency plans should the worst come to the worst,” Sir Ian maintained coolly.” It is, of course, up to the court to decide guilt or innocence.” “You are asking rather a lot of me. You know very well that, if convicted, a custodial sentence is normally both right and proper. The only question might well be, how long a sentence. We would be laying ourselves open to public criticism of being unduly soft in crime.” “Joe, we can’t allow a night out with some nameless tart to spoil the reputation of the son of once of this country’s wealth creator. So much has been built up of Keith Partridge, how he struggled for success in the American styled ‘rags to riches’ style. There is too much bound up in him to let his reputation be sullied by association. You have to see that, in the greater good, he is not expendable. A slap on the wrist, true contrition for his lapses and the lad will no doubt follow in his father’s footsteps. All his friends speak well of him.” Joe thought hard and deep as Sir Ian reacted with an unexpected flash of irritation. He was red in the face and his tone of his voice sounded hard and unfeeling. He remembered looking down on the girl concerned and feeling sorry for her. It could have been his beloved granddaughter Charlie giving evidence in the witness box. The words ‘nameless tart’ rang a horribly discordant tone in his ear. It made him feel all the more disturbed, the longer he thought about the matter. He felt as if he was being unduly pressured by Sir Ian. He wanted space to think but wasn’t being allowed this grace. He could not see quite for the life of him why Sir Ian thought he had influence with John but he wasn’t going to tell him that. Instinct made him conceal his hand at all costs. Joe took another sip of his malt whisky and another memory swam its way to his surface consciousness. ‘I’d pass the word round that there is plenty of room for a natural understanding between the Home Office and the learned judges of this country. All of us are there to help the hard working men and women, yes and children too, to sleep peacefully in their beds tonight,’ he heard someone say to him once. Was it only a couple of months ago when Neil Haughton smiled like a Cheshire Cat and poured oil on troubled waters, promising not to restrict the power of the judges. Of course he wasn’t – not yet. His intellect was too sharp not to see how he had smiled so fatuously at Haughton, he and Monty smug in his assumption of superior savoir-faire to John. Somewhere from that accursed circle, an attempt was being made right now to nobble him, very discreetly, very deviously. After he like the others had all rolled over and died, it would be the easiest thing in the world for Haughton’s cronies to finally go for the jugular. As he reflected on the recent trend of events, on the growing appetite for control in the Home Office guidelines, he remembered happier days when a judge like him was perfectly able to make up his own mind without some nitwit from the Home Office lecturing him on how to do his job. The trend was insidious and only became revealed as one when he looked close enough and tuned in to what this man was saying to him. Every one of the judges hung back from acting as conscience dictated, all except John. He started to suspect that the man was more far sighted than he gave him credit for and that he’d misjudged the man. “So where do I enter the picture, Ian?” “You might reason with Deed as his ex father in law.” “Have you had a word with him yourself?” “I have, but regrettably he wouldn’t listen. I may have been a little precipitate in my manner.” “So you see that smooth reason might succeed, my words of silver tongued guile for instance?” “Something like that.” Hmmn ” Joe murmured reflectively.” You are asking a lot of me. I have not been on good terms with Deed for years but, in the exceptional case, which you are pointing out to me, I will try for the greater good. Of course, I might not succeed.” Joe felt a growing desire to speak to the man to clarify his thoughts but not on Sir Ian’s agenda, in fact quite the opposite. He was becoming increasingly determined that Sir Ian’s plan should not succeed if he had anything to do with it. “I have faith in your natural abilities, Joe.” There you are, Joe thought bitterly to himself. At one time he might have acted in the same way that a cat might behave when being tickled under its ear. The ploy was obvious. “Leave it to me, Ian. I shall leave Deed time to cool down before I approach him. ” “I am happy to leave it to your sense of discretion and timing. In the meantime I must be going elsewhere. I get so little spare time these days.” Joe smiled vaguely in Sir Ian’s general direction. Keep smiling, he thought to himself, right up until the door was closed. Joe sat in his chair, a kaleidoscope of thoughts whirling round in his head. He drank deeply of the glass of whisky. From deep within him, long damned up feeling of rage welled up inside him, like a lava flow breaking the bounds of what had held them back. He was a curious observer to the violence of his feelings and he was curiously elated to feel this way. “Weasels, damned weasels,” he raged at the world. His anger made him feel a whole lot better and made him realize that he’d missed out on a whole chunk of his life. It lay within his hands to reclaim it. |
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| richard | Sep 25 2007, 07:18 AM Post #71 |
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Scene Eighteen Joe Channing didn’t let the grass grow under his feet. He checked the court lists and the Partridge case was due to recommence on Tuesday afternoon. He made his way to John’s chambers in the morning and tapped discreetly on the door. John was greatly surprised to see Joe Channing come into view and that the expression on his face appeared benevolent. There was something oddly hesitant in his manner, which was strange, as he had never before hesitated in unloading his wrath on John for any number of reasons. “Ah, Joe, take a seat,” John invited cordially. Joe blinked in puzzlement and hesitated. This room conveyed the feelings of more placid moments between them when John was still married to George. Young upstart though the other man had been, their shared passion for the law bound them together as much as it made for intense arguments. He definitely smiled and took a seat. “Is this a social call or on business, Joe?” “Well, actually, it is a bit of both. Supposedly, I’m on an errand to remonstrate with you to go easy on Alan Partridge if he is found guilty. You know, the sort of argument that ‘the quality of mercy is not strain’d, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven.’……” John pricked up his ears at this déjà vu moment and thought for a second that he was facing Sir Ian’s errand boy but there was something peculiar in the intonation in his voice. “…..and this is what I’m supposed to tell you.” “But perhaps you don’t feel this way?” “Definitely not. I hate being bounced into action by anyone but I’ve suddenly learned to definitely detest being made to do the government’s dirty work. I intend to be my own man and do what is right and proper. That doesn’t of course mean that I’ll always agree with you.” “When did we ever agree on anything, Joe?” John asked, his words belied by that note of nostalgic affection in his voice. “Just what do you think of Neil Haughton, John, both as a man and as a Home Secretary?” Joe counter questioned, fixing John’s gaze with his own sharp expression. John sensed that this was at the root of all his thoughts. “As a man, I despise him as someone who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing, someone who won’t sink to any moral depth to further his own selfish ends. As a Home Secretary, he’s a threat to all of us, as he wants to reduce us to mere ciphers of the Home Office’s diktats. His ego threatens to lead the attack on civil liberties further than his predecessors.” “Hmm,” Joe murmured, clearly impressed by John’s rapid and concise analysis. “Everything you say is undoubtedly true but wouldn’t it be also true to say that you are jealous of the man because George is with him?” “There may be something in what you say, Joe,” John replied slowly, as if the words were being dragged out of him against his will. This meeting had become a place of straight talk between the two of them and he felt honour bound to maintain his side of the unspoken bargain. ” George and I are incompatible but I love her as the mother of Charlie. I just think George has shown bad taste in taking up with him, even as a trophy partner.” “Ah, Charlie.” Joe boomed, deftly steering the topic away from a delicate area.” That is the one thing we have in common…and also our profession.” The pause that elapsed between then spoke loudly of the falling away of the shackles of old antagonisms and the creation of new bonds. This was as good as a handshake on an unspoken agreement. “So you’re joining the ranks of the rebels, Joe. It is a noble calling but it is certain that you’ll have a rough ride of it,” John observed. “I may be a bit long in the tooth but I’m more than ready for the battle. I’ve rested long enough from it.” “This must be the first time in years that we’ve agreed on anything.” “We’ve always argued, John, but in the early days in a healthy combative fashion. Surely you remember?” John remembered very vividly. In the first flush of his courtship of George, he had as a young buck clashed, antlers to antlers, with Joe’s right wing traditional yet formidable intellect. Despite all the sound and fury, which caused George to raise her eyebrows in despair, he secretly enjoyed these moments. This was the first time that Joe had confirmed that he had felt the same. He knew now why Joe had been so furious and antagonistic when his marriage to George had broken up. “For official ears, I will have tried and failed to intercede with you over the Partridge case. You will act, of course, as an independent judge as if any representations from me on behalf of those corrupt politicians would ever have carried any weight with you.” John laughed heartily, his blue eyes ablaze with joy. As someone who had been an outsider for many years, he had learned to be proud, independent and to keep his own counsel. He knew now that partners in his struggle would be very welcome, a struggle which was bound to intensify. His brethren were locked in their petty preoccupations and didn’t see the bigger picture unless they came to open their eyes. He wondered what George would make of this new alliance, of her father learning to behave himself badly. When John’s entry to his throne on the very last trial session, the tension started to mount. Jo Mills took the stand, conscious that the press was now in the galleries, the jury was waiting and that most of all Zoë Carson and her mother were watching her. She needed to summarize everything that she had argued over the past few days and make her case stick. Most of all, she was aware that Donald Frobisher would have, in effect, the right of reply and she needed to second guess what she might say. She took a sip of water as her throat was dry. Holding onto the rail, she played her final card. “You may hear arguments from the defence the discredited argument that Miss Carson, to put it crudely, was ‘asking for it.’ Well, to quote Mandy Rice Davies in the Profumo affair, ‘he would say that, wouldn’t he?’ It doesn’t take any great degree in learning that the matter is one of consent and that Miss Carson was doing no more than any averagely responsible young person does in going out on a Saturday night. The only distinguishing features were that she ended up, quite inadvertently, at the wrong place, at the wrong time, and, above all, met the wrong man. Any break in the chain of circumstances would have meant an entirely trauma free night out. I would urge you to consider Miss Carson’s account of the extreme plausibility of the witness, someone out of a Jane Austin novel, and, by contrast, Mr. Partridge’s words ‘some some girls say no when really they mean yes.” Lastly, I would refer the jury to consider the forensic evidence of the injuries sustained by Miss Carson and the torn clothing. That evidence alone argues that sexual assault took place and nothing else.” Donald Frobisher’s approach attempted to be coolly dismissive of the emotion in Jo Mills’s voice. Inwardly, he winced at the most damning evidence, which she most skillfully deployed. He had no certainty that the jury would believe him but, like a good actor, he played his part up until the final lines. “Let me remind the jury to listen to the case calmly, dispassionately and not get carried away with any well meant identification with the plight of women who are brutally raped. The onus of proof is in the prosecution and the whole case amounts to one person’s word against the other and who is to say that Mr. Partridge in the dock is any less reliable than Miss Carson? I urge you to consider that Mr. Partridge is unusual for an ordinary man of his age in being under the media spotlight because of the high media profile of his father. Surely, in the age we live in, if he had done anything untoward in the past, the paparazzi would have nosed out a similar event some years ago? The whole case comes down to one person’s word against another, the word of the other party being a woman who by her own admission, had a neediness for fun and excitement in her life. You have heard evidence from Mr. Partridge that Miss Carson clearly consented to sexual intercourse with Mr. Partridge. I submit that she regretted it the day after and trumped up these charges against my client. Put this way, you, the jury, must find him innocent.” By contrast, John Deed’s directions were simple and to the point. He studiously avoided looking in the direction of Sir Ian and Lawrence James who did their best to glower at John without making it too obvious. Likewise, he avoided looking too closely at the press. His performance wasn’t designed for public display, only that he should conjure up the right words. Finally, he smiled down on the jury to deliver his final words of advice. “In considering the fate of the man before you, do not consider that you have to deliver a quick verdict. Take your time in deliberating these matters until you are ready to come to a decision.” Claire was impressed by his thoughtfulness, as she had known other judges to quite happily attempt to bully or cajole the jury into delivering the verdict they expected of them. After John made his way back to his chambers to sit it out, the atmosphere of the court changed at once. The sound and fury of court proceedings had subsided as it were a mechanical clock that had run down. There was nothing to direct and no one to do the directing as everything awaited the jury who had passively listened to everything that had been said and done. They were temporarily becalmed in the Doldrums. It was the jury’s turn now and who knew how long they would take to deliberate over the case? However, twenty minutes later, a court usher made his way back quite out of the blue and a sense of anticipation rippled round the court. The moment of truth had arrived with a sense of electric tension as the court usher put the charge to the jury foreman who unhesitatingly uttered the clipped word ‘guilty.’ At that moment, Alan Partridge in the dock looked bewildered as if what he was hearing couldn’t be real. Surely something could be fixed for him to get out of this unfortunate situation. Zoë Carson and her mother hugged each other in total elation while Sir Ian and Lawrence James glared daggers at John. This wasn’t supposed to happen as at the very least Joe Channing’s mission was supposed to have succeeded. John Deed composed his voice and feelings to give his final address without a sign of nervousness in his manner. This was his supreme moment. “Mr. Partridge, the verdict you have been convicted of is of statutory rape. While I accept that you are previously of good character, what does concern me is the lack of remorse, which you have displayed, and your complete denial of reality. It seems to me that you have grown up in a bubble of celebrity and privilege, which has encouraged you to think that life is for the taking, without consequences. The offence that you have been found guilty of is one that allows for some variation in the appropriate punishment that I can hand down. I have taken into account the sentencing guidelines and I have decided that you should serve a term of seven years’ imprisonment. This sentence is intended to set down a marker that there should be freedom of men and women to come and go within the limits set by the laws of the land and that in matters of sexual relations, no equals no and yes equals yes. It is within my power to achieve legal closure on the wrong that has been done to Miss Carson. What is beyond my powers is to achieve closure for her in any wider sense including emotional on that ill-fated night. I trust that she has those around her that will help her achieve this. Take Mr. Partridge down to the cells. Court is dismissed.” There was a flurry of motion as the prisoner was escorted away and the court started to empty. As Jo floated out as if wings were on her feet, Claire followed to congratulate Jo while Donald Frobisher slunk out, the only comfort being the sizeable barrister’s fee he would collect. Sir Ian and Lawrence James slipped out quickly to report matters to the Lord Chancellor. Both the press and the jungle drums went immediately to work to report to the general public and the corridors of power, especially to an irate Neil Haughton. It was a novelty for Helen and Nikki to extend their social life and knock on the front door of Claire and Peter’s flat as the vague suggestion made before Christmas became translated to reality when space in four busy lives coincided. Helen knocked crisply on the front door and let them in. Once inside, both of them were temporarily frozen with nervousness. They had entered a play in which they were not sure of their parts. “It’s lovely to see you. You’re both looking so well and so good together,” Claire’s soothing voice greeted them. Instantly, the atmosphere warmed and Nikki stopped seeing Claire just as the professional who had worked first for her appeal and then the buyout of her share of the club. She was just another companionable woman who she would be getting to know on a more personal level. “This is my husband Peter, definitely my other half who is stuck with me when I get home after a hard day’s work.” “Any guy who’s Claire’s partner must have a lot going for him, from what I have seen of her. It was a big step for me to trust my destiny in someone else’s hands after a lifetime of being independent,” Nikki tactfully responded, stepping forward with a firm dependable handshake. It instantly reassured the man who was secretly wondering how the evening would proceed with Claire’s lesbian friends and where he would fit in to the picture. He knew that he could let the evening flow with intelligent, stimulating company. The graceful implied compliment to Helen also pleased her in gently edging the four of them together. Helen and Nikki took the weight off their feet and sat on the settee on Claire’s gentle invitation. She poured them a drink each and the chitchat started with effortless ease. “So come on, you two. What sort of interesting tales have you for us from your experience in the dangerous world of law?” Helen questioned them. “My life is fairly mundane, Helen. If you look in the Times, you’ll see one of Claire’s high profile cases which she can now talk about instead of muttering distractedly to herself at odd intervals as she has done these last weeks.” The newspaper was on the chair arm, which Nikki unfolded on her lap and Helen’s. “My God, British justice has taken a big turn for the better. The statement by the judge could easily come out of a feminist tract and that’s a compliment. There will be a lot of women who will feel more comfortable with the workings of justice quite apart from our experience.” Helen stared at the article in wonder with parted lips. John’s final words had a strong resonance with her for that evil chance that had placed her late at night in the PO’s room when an enraged- not demented - Jim Fenner had sexually assaulted her. Her memory recalled a conversation she’d had with Claire about her upcoming case and put two and two together. “Wasn’t that the case you mentioned last time I saw you?” “The same.” “Well, it was a wonder that the defence didn’t twist everything around and that strings weren’t pulled to let him off the hook. Powerful family friends means privileged treatment from my experience at Larkhall, Charlotte Myddleton for a start.” “We were lucky with the barrister we had, Jo Mills, who truly believed in the case. She really pulled all the stops out and didn’t give an inch.” “Unusual for a guy,” observed Nikki incautiously and unthinkingly. “Jo as in Josephine, Nikki,” Claire smilingly replied “How come you, as a feminist, assume that the barrister would be male. That’s letting the side down if you like,” teased Helen gleefully. “Well, anyone’s entitled to a simple mistake. I didn’t think there were other female barristers than Marian,” came Nikki’s wry slightly comic answer. “The legal profession is gradually changing. I’m not the token woman in my firm as I used to be. The same applies for barristers. Progress is being made.” “Just imagine the legal profession being more enlightened than the prison service. I was definitely the token female wing governor at Larkhall,” observed Helen darkly. “You were, of course, the one and only Helen Stewart, darling,” put in Nikki, discreetly brushing her hand with her fingertips. “The other reason for the result was the choice of judge, John Deed. He is like no other judge that I’ve ever come across.” “Oh good, so men do serve a useful purpose,” Peter added brightly and cheerfully. “You might be surprised to hear me say this one, Peter, but as I’ve been a lesbian all my life, my experience of men has been strictly limited. I’ve found that there’s good and bad, same as with anyone else. I take people as I find them. That being said, I’ve never come across in all my life such an anti male attitude amongst some supposedly married heterosexual women at the dump where I work. I don’t want to put the dampeners on the party but you wouldn’t believe the way they slag off their husbands left right and center. I declared just who I was when I started work and it’s protected me in a weird way. They can’t get a handle on me so I can remain sort of detached from them. That being said, I don’t know just how long I can take their narrow mindedness. In fact, I’ve sent off a sheaf of job applications. The irony of it all is that the person I get on best is a guy called Tony. He’s just a genuine nice guy.” “That’s terrible, Nikki. There’s a big world out there and there’s a lot out there you don’t understand. People ought to be at least try to accept what they can’t get their heads around,” Peter replied in a genuinely concerned fashion. It struck Helen just what soul mates he and Claire were as the words could so easily have come from her. “There you are, Helen. A couple of sentences of pure insight in contrast to the constant verbal diarrhoea at work,” Nikki replied with intense feeling. She put her hands to her head and really felt uncomfortable at darkening the world around her. A thought floated into her mind of the way out of this dark hole she was in danger of falling into. “Tell me about this judge, Claire and lift my opinion in human nature.” “Well,” said Claire.” I’m not sure where to begin. So much has happened in this trial and it’s not so much the major events but the little things.” “Begin at the beginning and carry on through to the end,” came Helen’s irrefutable advice. Nikki smiled at her fondly. It was so like Helen to be so logical about everything. “Oh well, since you put it this way,” began Claire and all her pent up thoughts, concentrated into the space contained by the courtroom, spilled out into words. Nikki and Helen were instantly caught up in this new world, as was Peter. Normally, the laconic Claire wasn’t over talkative about her normal day-to-day job but what she said was a real eye opener. The soft low lights that bathed the four of them in this nice homely flat illuminated hope in the world for them all. |
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| Emms | Sep 25 2007, 08:54 PM Post #72 |
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Your vocabulary is so rich and detailed, which makes reading immensely pleasurable. great updates. ETA: I just realized that I neglected to mention it a few chapters back, but I really enjoyed the conversation between Nikki and Helen about Nikki's job and her childhood. Well done. xoxo Emms |
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I registered at G Wing and all I got was this lousy tshirt. “After my time at Larkhall, I deserve to take it easy for a long, long while. I’ve been there, done it, and worn the bloody T-shirt..."~ Helen in: Unfinished Business by Richard | |
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| richard | Sep 26 2007, 05:56 PM Post #73 |
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That's geat of you, Emms, to pay that compliment, especially my take of trying to recxonstruct Nikki's past. I thought I'd take the opportunity to let readers know that events will start moving on apace from the next episode onwards and everything to date has led up to this in one shape or another. |
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| richard | Sep 27 2007, 06:57 AM Post #74 |
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This is where the pace of events really start to hot up. Scene Nineteen In retrospect, it seemed that Helen and Nikki’s lives were overtaken by a series of events or omens the meaning of which they were unaware of at the time but only became clear in retrospect. The first one came about totally inauspiciously on a normal Saturday. On a cold and blustery day in February, Helen was driving their Red Peugeot through the busy London traffic as they had often done before. Rain spots spattered on the windscreen, which the wipers were hard put to sweep away. As Helen was squinting through the steamed up windscreen, Nikki slid her hand to the heating switch, which gently blew out warm air. “Hey, I can see where I’m going now,” Helen exclaimed with surprise. “Now you’re telling me. What about having someone in front of you with a red flag?” joked Nikki to which Helen grinned in reply. “Bloody lorries,” Helen swore as a juggernaut swept round the roundabout right in front of her car.” Just because they’re the biggest thing on the road doesn’t mean they have to hog it.” Nikki sat back patiently in the passenger seat as Helen shot into the waiting space with great determination. Helen was now in the space that she wanted and some of the tension eased out of her body. Driving in London was certainly only for those strong of will and wasn’t exactly a pleasure. However, there was no other way for them to be able to nab the second hand mahogany bookcase that Nikki’s growing collection demanded. It was perched nicely in the rear passenger seat and would clear the growing stack of books on the living room floor. Suddenly, the dirty grey clouds parted and brilliant winter sunshine and blue sky brightened the view. They weren’t too far away from their flat and they were both dreaming of a nice hot mug of coffee. It was just when they approached a set of traffic lights when Helen noticed the light turn to amber. Cursing, she jabbed her foot on the brake pedal and the car stopped just in time, a foot past the white line. Suddenly, there was a dull thud from the back of the car and the car jolted forward. Helen swore loudly. It could only mean one thing and wouldn’t it be their luck to be involved in an accident on a fairly busy junction. Helen and Nikki shot out of their car and, sure enough, a green MG Sports car was right up against the rear of the car. In no time at all, a tailback started to build up and cars started tooting. “There’s been a bloody accident,” yelled Helen with the full force of her lungs to all the world in general.” You’ll all have to steer round this mess till we sort it out.” A man sat in the car behind the green MG, red in the face and hooting his horn. Helen strode rapidly over to him and shouted through the narrow space he had incautiously left open. Her hair was dishevelled and the expression on her face would have stripped the insides of copper boilers. “Don’t you just sit there kicking up a noise, you idiot, do something useful.” Red- faced, the man promptly shut up and hastily tried to edge his car into the congested right hand land. The cars behind him soon got the message and order of a sort was restored. Nikki smiled slightly to herself, thinking to herself that an ex prison officer was useful in a public confrontation. Automatically, Helen made her way over to the other driver and somehow, it was only till she got close that both the driver and the car was familiar. Who else was the woman with long fair hair and driving a green MG sports car? “I might have known it was you, Karen. You won’t get me saying, how nice to meet you even if you had been stupid enough to run into the back of my car.” “Just a minute, Helen,” protested Karen,” you were right on the lights and slammed on the brakes. I hadn’t got a chance to stop in time, not in this wet weather.” “You know well enough that it’s the duty of every car driver to keep her distance from the car in front or are you trying to say I suddenly reversed back into you? You’re on a hiding to nothing and you know it.” “We’ll see what my insurance company says about this, not to mention the police and any independent witnesses.” “Just get real, Karen,” Nikki cut in forcefully.” You know you’re on a loser no matter how many witnesses you drag off the streets. It’s an open and shut case.” “What are you doing in Helen’s car, Nikki?” Karen demanded with that automatic wing governor edge to her voice, an instinct that played her false. “What the hell is it to do with you?” lashed back Nikki. The counter-question was like a slap in the face to Karen. She wasn’t Miss Betts in this world right now. What indeed, she asked herself. An inner voice told her that what Helen and Nikki were doing together meant nothing to her and vice versa, as they were both in different worlds. It was two and a half months since Karen had seen either woman. “I’ll check out the car while you get the details. At least you don’t have to ask her for her name,” Nikki offered helpfully. She looked quickly at the car and fortunately, while there were some broken lights and dents, the damage was superficial. She glanced at Karen’s car and judged that her radiator hadn’t been damaged by the collision, not that she was greatly concerned for her welfare right now. “Your address and the name and address of your insurance company, if you please, Karen,” Helen demanded in cold formal tones with a force of personality which Karen recognized was Helen’s natural style. In turn, Karen provided the details, appearing less sure and confident than either of the other women expected. Her initial fire and fury was spent leaving her in a more subdued mood. Both of them suddenly realized that the other woman had no claim on them or any power over them. When Nikki looked closer at Karen, she noticed that she wasn’t wearing the familiar smart suits that were the feature she most remembered. She was puzzled to see that, underneath her unbuttoned winter coat, she was wearing the familiar black and white prison officer’s uniform. “You’ve been demoted, Karen. How come?” enquired Nikki. “The new Governing Governor, Neil Grayling doesn’t think that I’m a ‘team player.’” “And what about Jim Fenner?” A definite air of embarrassment was visible on Karen’s face as she hesitated and stumbled over the reply. While events had moved on while Helen and Nikki were away from Larkhall, Karen sensed what a shock the sudden telescoping of events would seem to them. “As a matter of fact, he’s the new wing governor on G wing.” The look of disgust was palpable on the faces of both women. They could hardly believe their ears. Their imaginations shrank from drawing a mental picture. “You once had the chance to run G Wing with me but you blew it,” Helen said shortly. “I know that now. At least, I’m not with him any more.” “Look here, Karen, both Nikki and I have moved on. I feel sorry most for the prisoners under his very doubtful care but that’s as far as it goes. You’re just another woman in a long line that he’s dumped on. In the fullness of time, I may feel sorry for you but don’t count on it as I took a lot of crap and you were responsible for part of it, at least through sheer stupidity.” “You’re basically OK, not like Fenner,” added Nikki, not unkindly but firmly. ”If you’ve got anything about you, you’ll carry on where we left off and look after the women. You owe it to them big time.” At that moment, a passing police car drew up from the opposite direction and a youngish policeman made a swift witness report from all parties who gave the details in a crisp and efficient fashion. He noted that there wasn’t anything that he was required to be involved with in any criminal fashion. Nikki looked on and it dawned on her that a visit by the police wasn’t the precursor to being banged up in a police cell and questioned for hours. He was here to help the public and was amiable and business like enough. He politely suggested that, once insurance details were exchanged, they could move their cars out of the way if possible and ease the traffic congestion, as this was now his only concern. He reminded them all of Dominic in his manner. “I’ll write down my name, home address and my insurance company and get this mess sorted out. Your insurance company will carry the can for this one. I expect you to do what should be done, Karen,” Helen concluded looking directly into her eyes. Both women were aware that Helen had once been her boss. Behind the controlled anger, both women had a faint respect for the way Karen never attempted any feeble excuses or outright lies. In fact, she carried herself with enough shreds of dignity to see the incident through. “Come on, Helen, we’d better be going. We’d better clear the traffic and, anyway, we’ve got a bookcase to fill.” Helen looked sorrowfully at the broken lights and dents in the car. They spoiled the nice clean look of the car and knew that it spelt endless hassle with insurance companies, diagrams, details of what happened when. Most of all, it gave her an uneasy feeling of being entangled with Larkhall, even if it was through the filter of anonymous insurance companies. Karen looked anxiously at her own car, hoping that the radiator wasn’t leaking. She ruefully concluded that her insurance premiums were going to take a hammering. More than that, she envied the two other women. They had got their future and freedom together and new jobs and here she was, she was stuck forever at Larkhall. Her only resolution was that she should nurse her stricken car home and honour her promises. Both women were quiet as they made their way homewards without further incident. After Nikki slid the bookcase off the back seat proudly, Helen silently locked up the car. “At least something positive has happened today. It will help your tidy minded self not to have my books cluttering up the place. I can’t help the habit of reading I kept up in Larkhall. You helped me with that, remember darling.” Nikki felt obliged to be mildly cheerful as Helen was clearly depressed at having the accident. It was something they could both do without. She hauled it up the steps while Helen unlocked the front door and let them in. It was only when Nikki was inside and set the bookcase down that she spotted at the three letters on the doormat. She eagerly snatched them up. Today might be the day when her future would be turned around. She feverishly ripped the first one open and read the contents intently. To Helen’s shock, she saw the joy in Nikki’s eyes and the smile on her face disappear only to be replaced by an expression of hurt rejection. She dropped the letter and envelope on the floor and ripped open the second letter. After doing the same with the second letter, she opened the third letter more slowly. Finally, her face went white with anger and her fists crumpled up the remaining letter. She breathed in and out heavily and paced round the hall. The other woman feared for what she knew. It must be really bad news. “Three job refusals. Brilliant. I’ve had it up to here, Helen. Look at me, I’m thirty-five. I’ve worked and slaved all my life to finally help get that club off the ground and after years of hard slog when I finally saw the payoff, I could I could relax and live more comfortably. But oh no, I’m fated not to live life as easily as that. Some misogynist bastard of a policeman comes along, starts sniffing round the club with his twisted ideas of sex. He didn’t have to be there, he didn’t have to try to rape Trisha, he could have cleared off when I broke a bottle over his head- that’s a pretty good hint, isn’t it that he’s not wanted - only in one mad moment I stuck a broken bottle in his neck. Then his lying police mates covered up for him, dumped on me and got me banged up for life and guess what, I’m stuck with another misogynist bastard to lock me up at nights. When, thanks to your hard work, Helen, I finally get released by the skin of my teeth after three years, I really try to make a new start, a new job, such as it is. I send off for job applications. I’ve been there, done that, worn the T shirt and get mealy mouthed letters of rejection for jobs that I know I could do with my eyes closed………….” Nikki rushed forward and buried her head in Helen’s shoulder. Everything about the jumbled torrent of words and her need for comfort shouted out that what had happened to Nikki wasn’t fair. It tore through Helen’s emotions and tears trickled down her eyes as she held Nikki in her arms and comforted her. She could feel the overflowing of all the accumulated hurt through her body. She waited for a long while before her anguish subsided before resolving to will her to fight back. After the accident earlier on, she was in a naturally uncompromising mood and disinclined to accept what fate handed out without a fight. “Hold on a moment, Nikki, we can’t let this set us back. We can’t take this lying down, Nikki. We’re going to do something about it.” “Such as what, Helen. Let’s face it, I’m stuffed.” “Just remember when Claire told us about that rape trial she’s been working on last time we saw her. Something tells me there’s an answer there.” “Well, you’ve got more faith than I.” “If we don’t start looking for an answer, we’ll never find it. We’ve got nothing to lose.” “Except my pride.” Helen gave her a curious look and Nikki cottoned on fast. Somehow, they were rerunning the scene when Helen came to visit her in prison and first broached the idea of appealing against her sentence. If Helen hadn’t pushed the matter, she would still be locked up, without hope for the future. She was a free woman holding down a job. It wasn’t much but it enabled her to put her share into the household coffers. When she thought about it, what she had gave her enough dignity and at least she and Helen had no barriers between them. This was just another fight they would have to take on. “I’m sorry Helen, these letters knocked all the fight out of me for a moment. I shouldn’t have let it get to me like this.” “You’re expecting out of life what any free person has a right to. You’ve every right to be angry. The thing is, it has to be channelled in the right direction. Don’t forget, sweetheart, this is an insult to both of us and we’ll fight this together as equals. I’m not doing it as wing governor and expecting you to lie back and do sod all,” exclaimed Helen passionately. “That suits me just fine,” came Nikki’s reply, a challenging smile playing on her lips. Helen’s passion cut through the blind anger in her head and shaped it into controlled anger. She knew very well what a powerful driving force that was and she blessed Helen for reading her feelings so sensitively. She stopped feeling diminished by the rejections, leaned forward and kissed Helen deeply. They clung together, feeling the healing sensations run through them. “Well, first thing I’ve got to do is to move the bookcase and set that up. I’ll enjoy doing that.” “And I’d better get onto the insurance company. I’ll want you to help me out with witness statements when I get the forms through,” called out Helen from afar as Nikki was getting to work. A sense of positivism cheered them up and brightened up the flat in no time. It was what they needed. |
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| Cassandra | Sep 29 2007, 01:17 AM Post #75 |
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Thanks for the brilliant updates, richard. I've just managed to catch up with this story again. An unsuccessful 'weasely' manipulation attempt behind the scenes of the law court. Great courtroom drama where justice rather than the mercy of Portia prevails. Well deserved too as I can't help being reminded of the unpleasant, self-obsessed Steve Coogan character. And poor Nikki who won justice but not mercy. NOOO!!! Did you HAVE to make Fenner the new wing governor on G wing? Och, that's just too much to bear thinking about!!! Sickening! But reflects real life I guess .... sometimes there is NO justice or mercy!
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![]() You can't control destiny ... but YOU can control this storyline ... by writing a para! HOTCHPOTCH - A Helen & Nikki Story with a difference (click to enter)
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Och, that's just too much to bear thinking about!!! Sickening! But reflects real life I guess .... sometimes there is NO justice or mercy! 
8:47 AM Jul 11