Court Out - By Elle Wynne Page 0,3

the useless mirror and hurry back to court.

As I make my way through the courtroom, weaving between the rows of seats and files to the dock, I note with alarm that Mr. Walsh is conspicuous by his absence. The court clerk is sat in the well of the court indicating to her usher that the jury should be brought up, ready to resume.

I take my seat and wait. I can hear the clock ticking behind me. Robert clears his throat expectantly. To distract myself, I pick up my copy of Archbold, a huge annual tome that contains all the law your average criminal barrister could ever need. As I flick through it, looking for nothing in particular, my eyes dart anxiously to the door. Time seems to move in fast forward. I’m aware that everyone is looking at me, waiting for me to do something. After a couple of minutes I can take it no more.

“Has the Defendant been tannoyed?” I ask the court clerk.

She looks at me and I swear I see a hint of something resembling amusement in her eyes.

“Yes Miss, twice.” She knows that any attempt on my part to persuade the Judge to assemble a search party will provide an entertaining floorshow for her this afternoon.

I take a split second to think and weigh my options. If he doesn't return then the Judge will issue a warrant for his arrest and the trial will continue as if he were here. The Jury will know he’s decided to absent himself, therefore meaning that my speech will fall on deaf ears. Not good.

“I’ll just see if he’s by the front door,” I say, running to the exit, inadvertently kicking over a box of papers in the process.

“Well hurry up, I’m going to get the Judge in two minutes,” the clerk warns.

For the second time this afternoon I run down the stairs, this time almost losing one of my sling-backs in the process like some dark-robed Cinderella. I stumble down the last few steps and run outside the main doors.

I look left and right, frantically shielding my eyes from the rain. I spot him about twenty metres to my right, down a side street that runs alongside the front of the court. He is facing the redbrick wall and his greasy untidy hair is being whipped round his face by the wind as he hunches over something in his hands.

Without hesitation I run over, lunge towards him and successfully grab him by his coat sleeve. This causes him to jump about a foot in fright, dropping a bag in the process. I barely register the sound of breaking glass as I navigate him back towards and into the court building.

The look of fury on my face has the helpful side effect of dissuading the court security guards from instigating their usual routine of searching every nook and cranny of my Mary Poppins-esque bag, a task that normally takes the best part of half an hour.

As I manhandle Mr. Walsh back up the main flight of stairs I hiss sideways to him, “What do you think you are playing at? Where have you been and why do you smell like something that has died?”

He hiccups and mumbles, “Needed sumfing to cheer me up.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I question, turning to face him halfway up the steps. His face is ruddy and his eyes are glazed. As he hiccups again, a wave of fumes, akin to a sea of whiskey hits me full in the face.

“What have you done you idiot? If the Judge cottons on that you’re paralytic you’ll be sent down to the cells whilst you sober up and I’ll be stuck trying to explain this to the jury!”

“I’m shorry,” he slurs, “It’s, s’my birthday... no-one... prison!”

As I catch the odd word I start to panic. Whilst some Judges would happily adjourn the case for a short while after receiving a coded message from a barrister, this one won’t. I rummage in my bag and from the bottom fish out a half eaten packet of extra strong mints.

“Right, eat these and keep your mouth closed. Not a word to anyone. I’ll tell them we’re ready to go.”

As he stumbles through the door to courtroom four in front of us, needing two attempts to get through, it dawns on me that this could go horribly wrong. When I get back into court, the parties are fully assembled, with, oh no, the Judge already ensconced in his