Roxie Cooper - The Law of Attraction - the perfect laugh-out-loud read for autumn 2018

WE HAVE MADE IT.

By 10.30 p.m., we are drunk so, naturally, we sit down to have a deep and meaningful chat (only allowed or desired after massive alcohol consumption). I discuss my worries over whether I’ll get pupillage, Heidi tells me her period is late (again), and we hold a mini referendum on whether we’d shag Richard Madeley (yes).

Some old blokes come over and try their luck. They’re literally old enough to be our dads and aren’t attractive in the slightest. This is when it’s handy to have Heidi around, as she deals with the situation swiftly and effortlessly.

‘Eugh. Why would you be that arrogant and unattractive?’ I slur, taking a sip of my mojito.

‘It never stopped Martin Gregg, did it?’ Heidi teases.

‘Nooooo! Don’t EVER mention him in my presence again! Good riddance to him!’ I squeal.

Just the very mention of this guy’s name makes my flesh crawl. A creep at law school who had a weird infatuation with me. Yuk. The less said about him, the better.

Before we know it, it’s 1.30 a.m. and we stagger home. I crawl up to my bedroom and collapse on the bed. No water is consumed and I know that regret will kidnap me during the night, hold me ransom in the morning, and make me pay for such a foolish decision. The rest is hazy, but I just know I am about to fall asleep fully clothed, with eyelash adhesive super-gluing my eyes together.

***

I am awake ludicrously early on Monday morning. A million cups of tea are consumed and I put the news on, waiting for the post to arrive. After yesterday’s epic hangover, I’m grateful to just feel human again.

By 9.15 a.m., it still hasn’t come and I consider phoning the Post Office to ask what the delay is. In reality, our post doesn’t usually arrive until after 10.30 a.m., but, quite frankly, that is not the point.

Finally, at 11.07 a.m., I hear the letterbox rattle.

This is it.

All that hard work, all those hours studying, all those tears. Please let it be me . I take the letter into my room and sit on my bed. I frantically rip it open, take a deep breath and unfold the paper.

The next few minutes are a blur because I am hyperventilating so much.

‘Following your recent interview with us, we are delighted to offer you a twelve-month pupillage commencing in September…’

I burst into Heidi’s room, only to find her in a somewhat compromising position with a man who looks utterly mortified.

As an aside, I have no idea when she sneaked him in.

I quickly shut the door, screaming, ‘I’ve got it!’ Next thing, Heidi runs out with her dressing gown on, makes lots of high-pitched, dolphin-type noises, hugs me tightly and tells ‘Jason’ he’d better get going.

‘I’m SO proud of you, sweetie!’ she squeals.

Within five minutes, a bottle of Prosecco has been opened and I’m reading the letter over and over.

‘Hang on. It says here they’re taking on two pupils but only one tenancy is available after twelve months…’

‘So?’ Heidi replies, totally unperturbed, handing me a glass of fizz. ‘You’re better than anyone you’ll be up against.’

‘You don’t know that. What if it’s someone amazing? They said they’d only take two pupils if they were both outstanding.’

Heidi looks at me, waiting for me to comprehend my own words.

‘Yes, okay. They obviously think I’m outstanding… but they also think this other person is too. Could be either of us.’

‘Bloody hell, Mandy!’ Heidi yelps. ‘You’ve just beaten two hundred people to get pupillage! It’s now down to you and someone else for tenancy. You’ve got a pretty good chance, I’d say! This is the final hurdle. You can do this.’

‘It’s okay for you to say. You don’t have to fight anyone for your place at your firm.’

‘No, I don’t. But if I did, I wouldn’t think about it. I’d concentrate on being so bloody good, it wouldn’t be an issue. So just go there and be brilliant.’

Heidi has this never-ending confidence. I wish I had that. And she’s right, obviously… annoyingly.

But there’s something else I’ve also been ignoring, hoping it would go away.

‘What if they find out, Heidi?’ I ask, with genuine dread in my voice.

‘Stop. They won’t,’ she says firmly, giving me the look she knows means business.

‘But…’

‘Stop it. We’re not going there. It’ll be fine,’ she reassures me, giving my hand a little squeeze.

I nod. She’s right. Absolutely no point in coming all this way and stumbling now. I need to get on with this.

‘So’, I continue, both of us pretending the last thirty seconds of conversation never happened, ‘it’s basically a curse if you complete pupillage but don’t get tenancy because it’s like you become known as the person who was given a chance but you “just weren’t good enough”. You’re “damaged goods”. Nobody takes you on after that. I have to get tenancy. This is not an option,’ I say, defiantly.

‘That’s my girl!’ Heidi coos, like a proud mother. ‘Now, let’s celebrate…’

CHAPTER 3

It’s been three months since I received the pupillage offer from Athena Chambers. The day after our big celebration, reality began to sink in and I had many sleepless nights over it. Achieving pupillage is one of those things you work so hard for, and then, when you get it, you torture yourself with self-doubt and the toxic mindset of ‘what if I’m actually not good enough?’ looping in your mind.

Heidi and I worked our little arses off in a huge call centre over the summer. We did as many shifts as was humanly possible and partied as soon as we were out the door. Of course, we always regretted it the next day when we’d take turns in dragging each other out of bed to go to work with a stinking hangover. On some days, we were clearly still drunk.

These were the final days of being reckless. Our last time to be wild; that strange place where you’re straddling student life and being a proper adult, but not really either. You’re still kind of allowed to use your student discount card in Top Shop and get away with all kinds of tax relief.

As from September, there would be no more rolling into work with a hangover (certainly not drunk!) and definitely no more drama. We were going to be lawyers. Time to be a grown-up.

My start date is a crisp September morning. The letter stated I was to arrive at 8 a.m. with my wig and robes.

My robes!

For the first time, I’m really going to wear them in public. I made a special trip to a super-posh shop on Chancery Lane in London to buy them, which was like stepping back into the 1800s. You basically walk in, they refer to you as ‘Madam’, and you stand awkwardly in front of a huge mirror, waiting for them to bring you a robe to try on. Men dressed in full, long-tail jackets with tape measures around their necks appear, as if from nowhere. It’s like something from Harry Potter – like ‘Yes, thank you for my gown, now where do I purchase my wand and owl?’ Once I’d handed over an extortionate amount of money (don’t even ask), I proudly left the shop and bought a little wheeled suitcase to put them in.

As I approach Chambers, I’m prickling with excitement. It seems only two minutes ago I was here in the blistering sun for my interview. In contrast, there is now a snappy freshness in the air, the kind of tangible feeling you only get as the summer slowly descends into autumn. It reminds me of university, when it signified the new Michaelmas term. Except, now, I wasn’t starting a new term, but a new career. A new, exciting life.

Entering Chambers first thing on a Monday morning is quite different to the last time I was here. It’s now buzzing, and there are suits and suitcases flying in and out the door.