Chapter Text
I pull my hair free from the constraints of its bun and comb through the knots with my fingers, the tension in my temples already starting to ease, my hair still slightly sweaty from the wig that now lies slumped on top of my robes on the bench in the robing room. I’m usually not so careless with my wardrobe but it’s been a long day.
My client, a short burly man with thinning hair didn’t make the win easy – it’s never easy when they only tell you half-truths – there were a few moments during the prosecutions questioning where I really thought we had lost the jury, luckily for my client I had a few tricks up my sleeve.
There is something acutely satisfying though about swooping in at the last minute and changing the tide. In the way that the smug look on the prosecution counsel’s face changes in an instant the moment they realise where my line of questioning is headed, the panicked look in their eyes as they try to wordlessly communicate with their client to stop talking, the total obliviousness of the witness who offers more and more information, too cocky for their own good. It’s my favourite part of the job.
My client had tried to offer me a high-five as we exit the court, but I don’t flaunt it, never flaunt it, never brag, at least not until it’s over a couple of glasses of wine with the other barristers after work on a Friday which is exactly the plan for this evening. I haven’t lost a case in months. It feels great.
I untie the button on my jacket, kick off my expensive, shiny black dress shoes and change into my New Balance trainers, pack my robes and wig carefully into my leather bag. I look at my watch, it’s already past six. I need to get to my office to pick up some files I plan to review over the weekend. My chambers is only a short walk from the courthouse but I turn on my iPhone and call Pam, my clerk, and ask her to move all the content of my cubby hole to my desk so that I don’t have to delay longer than is necessary. I like Pam, she’s quiet but professional, most people in my chambers think she’s intimidated by the legal world, but they underestimate her, she’s observant, sees things most of the counsel in the chambers wouldn’t if they held it under a microscope. And she’s reliable. Reliability is important to me, it’s a rare quality to find in another person.
Pam has some documents for me to sign when I arrive, I scrawl a messy signature next to the brightly coloured post-its, grab the files from my desk, don’t bother asking Pam how she plans to spend her weekend – we don’t waste time on idle chit-chat – and my taxi’s waiting for me just as I step out the door of chambers. Pam and I have this routine down to a fine art.
The cab driver asks where I’m headed in a thick cockney accent that after three years I’m only finally coming to understand. I rattle off my address, give the driver a generous tip, throw my leather satchel with all my barrister effects by the table in the entry all of my apartment, quickly freshen up and am ready to head back out the door within an hour.
I don’t particularly care for socialising with colleagues but not doing so would turn me into a social pariah and networking is part and parcel of the gig. They say nepotism is dead but it’s a myth, if you’re not part of a legacy then networking is a vital skill in this profession.
Our regular meeting spot is at a dated old pub in Chinatown where the seats are long-overdue a reupholster and the lights are always too bright for a Friday night atmosphere. The bar staff are nice, or at least tolerable, and the drinks are cheap and strong which I guess is why it always wins the vote.
Everyone’s already there when I arrive, intentionally late as per usual. I tell them I got delayed at the office pouring over some case work that came in late. I didn’t of course but it intimidates the ones who have tendency of coming second – that’s what we call “losing” – and impresses the top tier barristers. “A workaholic” most would call me, but I work smart, not hard. I’ve spent years putting in the work and honing my craft, studying the human psychology and body language, I can tell by the twitch of someone’s lip or the inflection of their tone when they’re lying,
I order a glass of rosé blush from the familiar brunette behind the bar – they don’t stock champagne, though that hardly comes as a surprise. An upbeat indie song blares loudly from the speakers. Hugo, my colleague from chambers, Oxford graduate and son of a well-known QC is already charming one of the pupils, Amber I think her name is. Barely a month into the first six, she’s eager and polite but painfully naïve, only wants to defend the innocent accused. I’ll be surprised if she makes it to the second six. Rhian who occupies the office next to mine doesn’t look impressed, in her defence she rarely does but I have my suspicions she has a thing for Hugo.
I take the empty seat next to her, raise my glass to cheers with hers. We debrief on one of her earlier cases, she’d won, a domestic case, the prosecutor was new, underprepared, the witness, also underprepared. I congratulate her, she’d needed that win, she’d come in second in her previous two cases and her confidence had taken a hit.
“Heard about the Hayward case, I bet the look on Peel’s face was priceless.” She says in reference to a case I handled – and won – earlier in the week. The prosecutor, Aaron Peel, arrogant as they come, had thought he had it in the bag until his witness slipped up on her dates; watching the shit-eating grin fall from his face was maybe one of the highlights of my career thus far. The satisfied smirk I offer around the rim of my glass confirm her suspicions to be true.
By 10pm the pub is packed, the shortage of seats and tables mean most of the patrons are forced to cram in like sardines, the air thick, windows wet with condensation. I stand to get another drink, cringe as I push my way through the throngs of people, cheap cologne mixed with various perfumes fill my senses along the way. I find an opening near the snug at the end of the bar, the snug itself is occupied by a loud group, a few of which have begun singing a horrendous version of a Disney song I can’t quite put my finger on. They look more like the type of people you’d expect to find in a place like this, unpoised, wearing a lot of earthy tones. One of the men, with shaggy hair and a moustache that looks as though a gerbil is trying to guide a heard of its children across his face is laughing uncontrollably, it’s loud and hurts my teeth to listen to. The barmaid arrives in front of me, my rosé order already in hand. I ask for a tequila shot – the others are way ahead of me on the inebriation front and if I’m to make it until at least midnight I’ll need some help – someone stumbles into the side of me and I grit my teeth, just once wishing we could go to a nice hotel for some cocktails, where the music’s intent isn’t to burst your eardrums and remaining seated is mandatory. I look to my right, to the offender, she’s laughing at something someone else has said but I hear her chuckle out “I’m sorry” as she leans in close so that I can hear her over the music. She came from the area of the snug, but I surely would have noticed her before now, she’s definitely more enrapturing that the moustache. I give her a benevolent smile and assure her it’s alright, offer her a shot of tequila – she wasn’t expecting that. She agrees. Her laughter dies down but her eyes don’t leave mine.
“And one for my friend here. “ I request of the barmaid when she places my own shot down.
The woman leans in again. “THANK YOU” she shouts over the music. American.
“You’re welcome.” I say loud enough for only her to hear, close enough to the shell of her ear that I’m certain she can feel the warmth of my breath on her skin if the way she shivers is any indication. She runs a hand through her thick, curly black hair, looks at me nervously and instantly picks up her shot the second the barmaid places it down. I lean in again. “Aren’t we going to cheers?”
She blows out her cheeks releasing a breath, seeming a lot more sober than she had a moment ago. She’s nervous, I can tell. She straightens up, shoulders back, fingers some stray curls behind her right ear, she looks at me again, this time with confidence. An act.
“What are we toasting to?”
“Fate.” I wink at her and throw the yellowish liquid back in one easy swoop. I don’t flinch.
The woman gives me a look, a mixture of surprised and… she’s impressed.
“What’s your name?” I call over the music, I keep a bigger distance this time. I know what I’m doing.
She blocks one of her ears and shouts back “Eve.”
I reach out a hand which she accepts, her fingers are cold but soft, slightly sticky from the tequila that spilled from the too-full glass.
“Villanelle.” I call back though she hasn’t asked.
Eve finally seems to notice the pitcher of beer that was placed in front of her moments ago. She looks between it and me like she doesn’t know what to do. The corners of my mouth lift into a smirk, too easy.
I lean in close again, hear her breath hitch and momentarily pause.
“Your friends are looking for you,” I note, meeting the stare of the moustached man at Eve’s table who suddenly doesn’t seem to find his conversation so hilarious. I step back and smile again ““It is very nice to meet you, Eve.””
“Uh- you too.”
I turn and head back to my table, make Hugo and Amber move into a standing position to suck face, their seat has a perfect few of my new acquaintance. I’m not going to ogle, it’s not my style and not why I’m sitting here now. I want her to see me.
Rhian says something to me, I’m only half listening. I hear enough to know that she said something she considers funny so I pretend to laugh, I’m good at that, and glance in Eve’s direction as I take a sip from my glass. She’s looking my way. Good.
I don’t miss the gulp she takes from her beer, nods along to something gerbil face says. I smile at her, let her know I know she’s staring. She snaps out of it, returns her focus back to something another man at the table says.
“Who’s that?” Rhian asks, her thick Welsh accent coming out stronger the more drinks she has.
“Her name’s Eve.”
“You know her?”
I shake my head. “Not yet.”
I take another sip of wine and chance another glance in Eve’s direction, it could almost have been a mistake, a show of my cards much too soon, but I do it anyway. She’s still looking my way.
*
Amber leaves around 11:30 after a few too many glasses of prosecco. Hugo tries to convince Rhian and I to go to a club. I look over to where Eve sits, only she, the moustache, an older man with a balding head and a young woman remain. Normally I would decline Hugo’s offer, I have those case files I need to review and I promised Konstantin I’d meet him for breakfast.
“Can I bring a friend?”
Hugo looks utterly perplexed.
“I didn’t know you had any friends.”
It takes every ounce of my self control not to punch him in the neck but I take a deep breath, give him a tight lipped smile and tell him I’ll take that as a yes before making my way towards the snug.
The pub crowd has thinned significantly so it’s not quite as strenuous an ordeal to make it across the bar. I take it as my opportunity. I saunter, shoulders back, head held high. I’d already undone a few of the top buttons on my shirt in the bathroom earlier, and I know I look sophisticated in my killer heels.
I lock eyes with Eve on the way to the table, feel the moustache’s stare on me once again but it doesn’t waver me. I eat up men like him in court every single day. Eve is looking at me too, she downs what’s left of her drink and only breaks my stare to glance at the young woman across from her who seems to also be flittering her gaze between me and Eve in silent conversation.
Just like in court, in the moments before I clench the win I sense it. The moment is mine.
“Eve,” I address her and her only as I lean my elbows against the table, fully aware of the perfectly aligned cleavage I have on show. Every eye at the table is on me but my eyes are on Eve, and Eve alone. “My friends and I are going dancing. Do you want to join us?”
Eve opens and closes her mouth a few times, like a fish. She glances and her friends, gives a half shrug to no one in particular before addressing me again.
“I don’t dance.”
“Neither do I.”
She’s caught off guard.
“I could go dancing?” The young woman opposite Eve states, though inflects as though it’s a question. I look at Eve for a beat longer, then at the smiling woman. I don’t care if she comes, but maybe Eve would be inclined to join if she wasn’t on her own, so I stand up straight, give her my practiced friendly smile, and extend a hand much like I had done with Eve earlier.
“Villanelle.”
The woman looks oddly relieved by my introduction and enthusiastically shakes my hand.
“Elena!” She doesn’t let go of my hand but looks to Eve. “What do you say?”
Eve for her part, looks totally perplexed. I wonder for a moment if she’s ok. She looks to the two men in their company. The bald one smirks impishly and shrugs, the moustache doesn’t look happy.
“I think I’m going to head home.” He says, his voice clearly irritated and laced with the unanswered question of whether or not Eve will do the same.
“Oh c’mon Eve, we never go dancing!” Elena encourages. I decide I like her.
“Niko?” Eve addresses the man-child with the fuzzy upper lip.
He forces a smile.
“Go dancing with your friends darling” Darling. Gross. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Eve looks unsure but nods, then turns to the balding man, “Bill?”
He shakes his head. “I’m on night feeds. We’ll share a cab.”
The moustache kisses Eve on the cheek and my stomach coils at the way she smiles into it. I’m glad when he’s gone.
The walk to the club isn’t far, Hugo has connections so we skip the queue. He pays our entrance charge and we descend the stairs into a dark room with low a ceiling and blue neon lights.
I order a round of shots and position myself close to Eve as we take them.
Elena, Eve’s friend, immediately orders more. I’m already past the limit of what I’d usually consume in shots, but I want to impress her. We all cheers again and Eve doesn’t seem to mind when I place a loose arm around her waist and ask her if she’s having fun.
“Oddly, yes.” She laughs into my ear. I love the sound of her laugh, it sends a shiver right through me and I smile involuntarily. If Hugo or Rhian notice, I’ll blame the alcohol.
“Do you want to dance?” I ask and she nods. She grabs Elena’s hand which hadn’t been part of my plan but I allow them both to lead me to the dancefloor, Hugo and Rhian following somewhere behind.
I don’t recognise the song that plays but I don’t keep up with new music often. It doesn’t even matter. I’m mesmerised by the way Eve gets lost to the beat, jumping around and bobbing her head like a toddler who’s eaten too much sugar. Elena laughs and bobs her head along too but doesn’t jump, just sways in time with the music.
I look over Elena’s shoulder and see Hugo and Rhian trying awkwardly to find a beat. Neither have any rhythm. Not that I can talk.
“WHY AREN’T YOU DANCING?” Eve calls over the music.
“Dancing’s not really my thing.” I admit, leaning in close.
Eve grabs my hands and shakes them up and down, encouraging me to jump along with her. It feels ridiculous. The ceiling is low and I’m much taller than she is, plus I’m in heels, what if I get a concussion? But she doesn’t relent, and against every instinct, I concede. It’s fun, to let loose like this, no one around us seems to care that we’re jumping around like energizer bunnies on too much caffeine. Eve, laughing, releases one of my hands and reaches for Elena only to have her hand swatted swiftly away. Elena’s busy tonguing some stranger on the dance floor.
The look of shock on Eve’s face is comical and I just shrug in response.
“WANT ANOTHER DRINK?” I call out to her and she nods.
I order two gin and tonics, hoping the tonic water will help my head to stop spinning.
“All that dancing is making me thirsty.”
“Me too.” She laughs. I really do love that sound. “This is fun.” She admits, accepting the drink from my hand.
“I’m glad you came.” I say, placing my cup on the bar, never losing eye contact.
The moment feels charged. I’ve been here before, I know what this is. I don’t make a move though, I’ve seen the likes of Eve before, easily startled. She needs to cross that line.
She knows it too. She takes another sip from her drink, breaks our gaze, runs a hand through her hair and uses the same hand to fan herself.
“It’s hot in here.” She says, though I can only read her lips.
I nod.
Two guys stumble from the dancefloor and bump into Eve hard enough to push her forward. I catch her. My instinct is to grab the two by the scruff of their neck and toss them over the bar but my arms are occupied holding Eve. She grips my biceps like they’re her only support.
I steady her but keep my arms where they’re positioned on her waist.
“Are you ok?”
She nods.
We stare at each other for a beat longer and before I know it her lips are on mine, tongues and teeth clashing in a flurry of rush and desire. It’s been building to this all night, I could feel it even from across the pub. We quickly find a rhythm. A lot less teeth, a lot more tongue. Hands everywhere. Mine in her hair, massaging her scalp, pulling her closer. Hers on my waist, on my back, edging lower.
I moan into her mouth. I feel her smile against it and I smile back. We both want this. I move my head to a new position when my neck begins to hurt.
She stops. Pulls abruptly away. Looks at me, horrified. It settles and I’m unsure of what her next move will be. I stand, frozen, afraid to startle her. There’s a conflict raging in her eyes and I can tell she doesn’t know whether to kiss me again or run away.
The kiss must have sobered her because she decides to go with the latter.
“I have to go.”
She backs away quickly. I reach out and grab at her hand, just managing to stop her.
“Can I see you again?” If it wasn’t for the countless glasses of rosé and the three tequila shots I’d probably cringe at the desperation I know is in my voice, gouge my eyes out rather than admit to the pleading look they’re now giving this basic stranger, but here we are.
She stalls for a moment, a hand reaching halfway up as though she’s about to touch my face, gets so close I can feel the heat of it. She catches herself. Pulls her other hand from mine and shakes her head, more to herself than to me.
She repeats. “I have to go.”
And all I can do is watch her disappear through the shadows of the crowd.