All She Ever Wished For. Claudia Carroll
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take a seat in holding area number two. Next!’
I’m aware of the line behind me inching forward impatiently, so I’ve no choice whatsoever now but to roll out the big guns.
‘But you don’t understand!’ is my last-ditch attempt to get her to listen properly. ‘I’m getting married in a few weeks’ time and you’ve no idea how much I still have to do …’
‘Honestly, some people seem to think the whole world revolves around them,’ mutters a woman a few down from me in the queue, clearly audible from where I’m standing.
‘There’s always one who thinks they’re the exception to the rule, isn’t there?’ says an older man behind her, again, good and loud so the whole line can hear.
‘I wouldn’t mind, but I had to cancel a weeks’ holiday in Lanzarote just because of this,’ says the first woman. ‘And you don’t hear me moaning, do you?’
‘It’s our civil duty to turn up for jury service but to hear the way some people go on, you certainly wouldn’t think it.’
‘Miss? Can you step aside, please?’ Bridget says impatiently through the hatch. ‘There are people waiting behind you.’
‘No offence, but I think you’d better do as she says,’ comes a man’s voice from directly behind me, making me jump, he’s that close. I turn sharply around to see that same tall, dark-haired guy who was right behind me in the security queue earlier. ‘In the interests of jury harmony, that is,’ he adds dryly.
I turn to glare at this smart arse, but I don’t think he even notices. Instead he just hands his summons over to Bridget and says, ‘here to report for jury service.’ Then catching my eye with a twinkle, he adds, ‘And just to make your day nice and straightforward for you, Bridget, I’m actually eligible to serve.’
A smart arse and a lick arse, I think crossly, moving away.
The worst possible combination.
August 2005
So when did it all start to go wrong? Certainly articles like this one didn’t help, Kate thought, casting a cold eye over the computer screen in front of her, wondering who in hell these so-called ‘sources close to the couple’, actually were:
The Goss.ie
KATE’S INNER TURMOIL
She’s officially known as the woman who has it all but the question on everyone’s lips is, when is she going to start producing little junior Kings to fill that enormous mansion she calls home?
‘Damien and Kate have been married for over four years now,’ says a source close to the couple. ‘And although they’re both longing for a child, it seems that nothing is happening.’
The Goss can now exclusively reveal that Kate has been seeking secret fertility treatments at a top clinic on London’s Harley Street, at a staggering cost of £16K (roughly over €21K) per consultation.
‘She and Damien are absolutely desperate for a family,’ our source adds. ‘So desperate that Kate is prepared to put herself through all of this. You’ve no idea the amount of medication she’s been prescribed, just to bring this about, with luck. Most of their elite social circle have several kids by now, and all they want to do is be a part of that.
‘After all, what’s the point of living in that fifteen-bedroomed mansion if you can’t fill it with kids?’
What indeed, we wonder at The Goss.ie
All we can say is, watch this space.
*
Jesus, save me, Kate thought furiously, instantly slamming down her laptop so she didn’t have to look at the offending article for a second longer.
If I ever get my hands on that ‘source’, then whoever they are, there’ll be a bloody massacre.
The present
Sweet Mother of Divine. It’s now 10.30 a.m., I’ve been at the courts for almost two hours and so far absolutely nothing has happened. We’re all being kept in a ‘jury holding area’, which is a bit like one of those rooms you’re made to wait in before a Ryanair flight, with uncomfortable bright-blue plastic chairs all latched together and an overhead TV that’s showing breakfast TV on what feels like a continuous loop. To the point that if I have to watch one more ‘spectacular makeover’ or cookery demonstration, I really think I’ll pan-fry my own liver.
There’s still absolutely no sign of anything happening and so far I’ve had to cancel and reschedule three appointments I’d made for this afternoon, confidently thinking I’d be out of here in plenty of time and still manage to squeeze everything in. One was with the wedding florist, who did my pal Stella’s wedding last year and who Stella swore by; as much for the fact that she’s not a rip-off merchant as for the stunning flower arrangements she managed to weave on a very tight budget (tight little pink bud roses at Stella’s wedding, so I’m going for the exact same flower, except in cream).
Another was with the marquee company, who I was meant to meet with to chat about where to position the tent in our tiny back garden, and on top of that, I had an appointment with Hannah from across the road, a trainee make-up artist who’d very kindly agreed to do a trial run on me today. All three of them are rightly pissed off with me for postponing at the last minute, but right now, they’re nowhere near as fed up as I am.
Weirdest of all, though, is that I seem to be about the only person here who’s spent the morning so far busily on the phone, cancelling, apologising and rearranging my schedule. It’s waiting-room-quiet in here and I know everyone can hear me loud and clear on the phone, but no one else seems too remotely bothered by the excruciatingly long wait.
All around this packed room, people are settling into reading the paper, doing crosswords, drinking lukewarm, watery coffee from the one vending machine here that’s actually working, flicking through iPads or, in the case of one sweet-faced elderly lady just beside me, scanning the sports pages for the racing results, then marking off in biro the horses she’s picked for the 2.30 today at Aintree.
My phone rings, yet again. And the conversation goes thusly: ‘Hello? Oh, Graham, thanks so much for ringing me back. I was just calling to finalise the music choice for my walk down the aisle … yeah, I know we were meant to be meeting up this afternoon, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to postpone, if that’s OK with you … not my fault … I really am so sorry, but I’m actually in court as we speak … what? No! No I haven’t done anything wrong … honestly! Are you kidding? I’ve never been up on a drink driving charge in my life … yeah … oh, of course, I’ve put loads of thought into picking the right song … and I think I’d really like it to be “Here, There and Everywhere” by The Beatles. Would that work for you? Great, fantastic, thanks. OK, well, I’ll call you when I get out of here, which should be soon, with any luck … fab. And we can rearrange? Great. Well, till then. Yeah, you too. Bye Graham … and thank you for your patience.’
I click off the call and just as I’m scrolling down through all the messages I’ve yet to return, I can’t help noticing that the guy who was annoying me in the queue earlier is right opposite me, just two rows over, seemingly listening in to every word.
‘Beatles fan, huh?’ he says, looking right at me and whipping