Sebastian comes in to the room and slams the door behind him. He doesn't look happy. Scrap that, he looks furious.

"What's up?" I query.

He runs his hand through his hair and looks up at me. His expression is one of fury, his eyes are blazing with something close to hatred.

"Sebastian? You're scaring me"

In an instant, his expression snaps back to concern and he rushes over to take my hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to. I'm just, well, I'm totally..." he trails off. "Don't, under any circumstances turn on the TV."

I may be a bit dippy sometimes, but I'm not stupid. The reality of his comment hits me like a sledgehammer.

"Which, which channel?" I manage.

"It doesn't matter. Just don't turn on the TV, don't go online and don't buy the paper for a few days until the dust has had a chance to settle. Actually, I hate to suggest this, but you might want to consider staying in for the rest of the week. I've cleared my diary, so we can watch loads of crap telly and order in."

"Which channel?" I repeat. There's a note of determination in my voice which Sebastian obviously hears by the expression on his face, "All of them," he replies. "Someone has obviously tipped the press off. They've used the footage from your arrest and your Chambers photo."

"For God's sake!" I exclaim, "I've been arrested for something I haven't done, exiled from Chambers and treated like a leper by people I thought were my friends. If that wasn't bad enough they've used that sodding picture too?"

Sebastian ventures a smile. Before I can register what I'm doing, despite everything, I find myself returning it.

Chapter Seventeen.

The next week goes surprisingly quickly. Sebastian and I (Despite my protests that he should return to the real world) move from room to room, finding tasks to keep us occupied during my period of self-inflicted house arrest. So far, we've painted the bathroom, baked some truly atrocious cupcakes and watched more American chat shows than I ever thought existed. We've steered clear of the UK channels for obvious reasons.

There was a sticky moment on the day after I found out about my newfound fame. I got up at the crack of dawn, crept downstairs and put the news on with subtitles. I didn't have to wait long until my spectacular demise was shown as part of their regular loop of current affairs. I could only watch it for a few seconds, but in that short space of time I imagined all of my friends, my family and my peers judging me on the basis of some misinformed journalism.

Sebastian found me sobbing into one of the cushions from the sofa, desperately trying not to wake him. To my surprise, he immediately turned the set back on, flicked to a random music channel and began to dance like a crazy man to Lady Gaga. Given he was still in his boxers, with his hair unbrushed and sleep in his eyes, the effect was somewhat amazing. His routine had the desired effect and I couldn't help but to crease up in laughter at his antics.

Serena has been amazing too. She came round the morning after our phone call with a box of wine and two huge bags of Malteasers. To her credit, after striding into the lounge and sitting cross-legged on the floor she got straight to the point.

"Hobbs has walked."

It was a good job I was sat down at that point, as had I been standing I expect my legs might have given way. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't expected it, but even so, hearing it still hurt like hell. I asked the expected question "Why?"

"Well as you know, it was the third trial so it'd only be in very rare circumstances that the prosecution would be allowed to try him again. Plus, well, given the circumstances of how the trial ended..." she trailed off.

"I know, I know," I sighed, "Seeing as it looks to the world like I tried to pervert the course of justice on behalf of the prosecution, it'd look really shitty to start a fresh one against him. Interests of fairness and all."

"Exactly, they can't look like they're that desperate to get him."

I picked up another Malteaser and surveyed it. Deciding it looked appetizing I put it in my mouth and began to chew pensively.

"I just can't make sense of it. I mean what the hell has happened? How did that man get my cheque? How was my signature on it?" As I asked the questions my voice raised in pitch and volume.

"Whoa, calm down," said Serena. "I know it's only half nine, but I'm going to open this," she said, indicating to the three litre container of rose.

I attempted to protest, but my heart wasn't in it. Heck, my career has gone down the loo, may as well wreck my liver too. By the time Sebastian got back from his run we were both merry, watching a program about control-freak brides. Serena offered him a glass of our pink poison but he declined with a wry smile, stating that he had a few phone calls to make.

She's popped round a few times since and called at least twice a day to keep me informed of the latest gossip and wedding news. Her hen do is coming up soon and she's decided on a fancy dress theme to inflict on us all - 'Pop stars.' I did try and make excuses not to go, but she's having none of it.

I had hoped that the wagging tongues in Chambers would have stopped by now, that they had found something more interesting to talk about than me but apparently not. On my instruction, Serena has given me a no-holds barred rendition of the gossip about me and it seems that most have deemed me guilty already.

It's a sad state of affairs when a load of lawyers neglect the fundamental principle our criminal justice system is based on: innocent until proven guilty.

Before I know it, our week is over and Sebastian has to return to work. I sit, alone, trying to formulate some sort of action plan to keep me occupied. We have absolutely no food in the house, so I guess I should pop out and get some bits. We've lived on an assortment of fast food for the last week and we're totally out of bread and milk.

I pull on an old pair of jogging bottoms and one of Sebastian's hoodies from the laundry basket. I contemplate a baseball cap and sunglasses but dismiss them as too z-list celebrity wannabe. There is absolutely no point in makeup and as my hair looks like it belongs to someone who has never heard of anti-frizz serum. I don't even bother trying to brush it.

I feel a strange sense of liberation as I leave the house looking like an absolute state. I turn out of the bottom of the drive and my heart nearly stops when I'm confronted by a seedy looking man wielding a camera.

"Alright Lauren!" he yells cheerfully, snapping away at me. I'm blinded by the flash and try to conceal my face using my hands.

"So what about this bribery business then?" he continues.

"Go away!" I scream "No comment!"

It's clear that he's not going to stop, so I start to run away, gaining speed as I go. I don't know where I'm headed but when I'm sure that he hasn't followed me I stop and turn round. In the distance I can make out the man getting into a battered old car parked across the road from my house. He's got his pictures.

I reach for my mobile to call Sebastian and realise that I've left it at home. I have however, got my wallet so I make my way to a nearby corner shop. Inside, I grab a basket and fill it with packets of biscuits, chocolate bars, packets of sweets and most importantly, wine. I pay without looking at the cashier and make my way home, all the time keeping an eye out for lurking paparazzi.

I eat my stash quickly, without really tasting it. I don't feel any better now, but as I was stuffing the fat and sugar-laden food into my mouth it was like I was blocking out all of the crap that has happened lately. I feel really, really sick now. I know that adding wine to my already swollen stomach is not the answer, but hey, in for a penny and all.

I pour myself a large measure of the cheap alcohol into a tumbler and throw in some ice for good measure. The wine tastes sour and I try not to gag as I swallow a large mouthful. Undeterred, I carry on working my way through the remaining food in an attempt to block out the thoughts haunting me about the photographer from earlier. Halfway down the bottle I start to feel a little better and turn the television on and flick to a documentary about sloths. Fascinated, I sit and watch, drinking more and more wine until fatigue overwhelms me, and probably due to the alcohol, I decide to have a nap on the sofa.

When I wake I realise with a start that it's now early evening. Sebastian has a meeting and won't be back until near midnight. I don't know how, but I'm hungry again so I go to the kitchen and start to open the cupboards, already knowing that this is a pointless exercise.

I really don't want to leave the house again in case there are more press outside looking for another humiliating shot of me. Inspiration strikes and I run upstairs and grab my laptop. I open two windows: one so I can do an online grocery shop and another so I can find the details of a local takeaway. I settle on a large stuffed crust meat feast, some potato wedges and happily, as they are licensed, a couple of bottles of wine. As I phone through the order, a small voice in my head is telling me that this is not what you're supposed to eat or drink when you're on your own and depressed but I push it to the back of my mind and successfully ignore it. Order placed, I turn my attention to the shopping. I guess I should start to think about economising, as without any sign of a regular income, money may get tight. I know Sebastian could easily support us both, but I can't bear the thought of becoming a burden.

I spend a happy twenty minutes filling my virtual basket with all sorts of wonderful goodies (all on offer!) to keep me full over the coming week. By the time I'm finished I feel better; I've managed to combine three things that cheer me up: shopping, food and alcohol. The order is coming first thing in the morning so I'd better make sure that I set an alarm.

My pizza arrives quickly and I wolf it down, appreciating the rich cheese and juicy meat topping. The wine goes down easily too. I wonder why I didn't think of this before? Everything has a fuzzy edge now, the trauma of what's happened seems much further away and I almost feel like I can cope. I reach for my phone and fire off a text to Serena, letting her know that I'm looking forward to her hen do. Actually, that's a good point.

I retrieve my laptop and load up some fancy dress websites. It only takes me a few minutes to find the perfect costume. I add it to the basket and checkout quickly. Job done, I return to my wine and nondescript movie.

Chapter Eighteen.

My routine of wine and biscuits continues for the next two weeks. Sebastian goes to work, I watch daytime television whilst eating junk and drinking cheap chardonnay. Each day seems to blur into the next and I've lost track of everything apart from the television schedule.

Serena has been an absolute star. Not once has she judged my new alternative lifestyle and diet, but has come round most days after court to keep me occupied with wedding issues and general gossip. Tonight is such a night.

"Ewan simply refuses to let me give everyone a Mont Blanc pen as a wedding favour!"

"I'm not surprised!" I exclaim. "Do you know how much they cost? Plus, you are having quite a few people..."

"Only two hundred of my closest friends and family," she replies sulkily. "Anyway, money has got a little better recently."

"Oh yes? Has Ewan been promoted?" I enquire. Immediately I recognise my foolishness. "Forget it, please don't answer that!" I beg. It's obvious. Serena is earning more because she's doing my work.

"Shit. Sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned anything," she says, coming over to me and putting an arm around me. "This'll be over before you know it. You'll be back at work, the case will be dropped and you can forget all about this mess."

I look up at her, unable to prevent the tears spilling from my eyes.

"Do you really believe that?" I ask in a small voice.

She rubs the back of my shoulders and smiles a kind smile.

"Yes, yes I honestly do."

Before I know it, it's the morning of Serena's hen do. I get up early having decided to spend the day pampering myself and getting ready for an evening of debauchery. My costume arrived yesterday and I'm looking forwards to trying it on later. I know that a few other women from Chambers will be there so if I'm honest, I'm terrified about seeing them. As I walk into the kitchen to make myself some breakfast Pop Tarts, I spot Sebastian sat at the table eating his usual bowl of bran flakes. He looks up at me and smiles.

"Big night tonight then Gaga?" he jests.

"You bet!" I laugh, pulling out a chair next to him. "I sincerely hope I'm not the only one in fancy dress though! Can you imagine?"

He looks at me with a wry smile on his face. "You've dealt with worse," he says seriously, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

I nod in agreement.

"How very true. Anyway, what are you up to tonight?"

"I'm going out with Ewan and a few of the guys. Nothing too hardcore, just off to the pub then maybe into town if we have the energy."

"Fair enough. I think we're off to Zeus, so steer clear if you know what's good for you! What time are you going to work?"

He looks up at the kitchen clock.

"I'll be leaving here in about half an hour. Do you need me to get anything from the shop on the way home?"

"No thanks. I imagine I'll be long gone by then."

"What have you got planned for the day?" he enquires.

"Well, I'm going to spend the morning trying to sort my hair out and make myself look vaguely human. I know its fancy dress, but even so!"

Sebastian rises and opens the fridge door. He rummages about for a few moments and I can hear him moving food and cartons within.

"What have you lost?" I enquire.

"Just looking for some juice. I think we're out. Did you get any when you did the shopping?"

I pause and think for a moment.

"No, sorry. It totally slipped my mind."

"Lauren, I have noticed that you seem to be getting through an extraordinary amount of wine."

Immediately I stiffen.

"So? I'm over the age of 18."

"That's not the point. I'm just worried about you. It can't be good for you. Plus your diet seems to have, well, changed."

I stand up abruptly.

"Great so you're saying I'm a fat alcoholic?"

The look on his face makes it clear that he was thinking no such thing but I'm too angry to care.

"Enjoy work," I snap sarcastically before storming upstairs into the bathroom and locking the door. He follows me and tries to get me to talk but I'm having none of it.

I run myself a hot bath and immerse myself in the scented bubbles until I'm sure that he's gone, all the while quite literally stewing over his remark. When I'm wrinkled by the water I get out, wrap myself in a fluffy white robe and pad downstairs, back to the kitchen. If he thinks I'm a bloated lush, then that's exactly what I'll give him.

I open the fridge, fish open a bottle of champagne we'd been saving for a special occasion and pop open the cork. From the cupboard I retrieve a new packet of Penguins and take my breakfast up into the lounge. Whilst watching Jeremy Kyle I consume my contraband and I confess, make several return trips to both the fridge and the cupboard to replenish my supply.

I decide to start getting ready at four. I start by applying a skull cap over my dark hair in order to make way for the glossy platinum wig. I line my eyes with black kohl and a smoky grey shadow, finishing with two coats of mascara and some extremely thick and long false lashes. I smile at my reflection in the mirror; this is something that I did in my 'former life' and makes me feel almost, almost as if things are back to normal. I colour my lips a dark shade of red and blow myself a kiss. Right, costume time, but before that, I may as well polish off the rest of the bottle of wine I've just opened. As I've been drinking pretty much all day I feel pretty drunk already, but I'm going to need some Dutch courage to see my former peers later. As I gulp down the cold liquid I feel slightly better about seeing the girls later, I mean, they've known me for years, they can't think ill of me, surely?

I rip open the large brown cardboard box that contains my costume and reach inside for the fabric. I look at it slowly. Even in my alcohol-induced haze I can see that something isn't right.

Inside the box is not an artfully structured black and silver mini-dress with matching headpiece, not the dress that would hopefully flatter my newly enlarged figure, not the dress that would make me feel ready to paint the town red. I reach into the box and lift out the small folded garment. I pull off the tag with the price and size on and discard it on the floor by my feet, letting the material unravel to reveal the full, horrific extent of my current problem.

It's a one piece, nude catsuit with yellow police tape placed strategically across the groin and breast area, as seen in the 'Telephone' video. Holy crap. How on earth have I ended up with this? I mean, yes, I was somewhat tipsy when I ordered it, but even so? I stop and try to focus my spinning mind on my current predicament. Ok Lauren, just try it on, I think. Perhaps it'll be like a giant Spanx suit.

I place my left foot into the left leg and pull. Shit. Double shit. I guess that weeks of eating junk food has had the obvious effect on my figure. Instead of gliding easily up my body, the costume is stuck around my knee, refusing to budge. I scrabble around on the floor for the tag to see exactly what size I bought; perhaps they sent the wrong size too? The numbers printed in clear black and white immediately put pay to that theory.

I spend what seems like the next half an hour wrestling and wriggling into the thick lycra and eventually after much sweat, manage to get it up around my neck. I don't need to look in a mirror to know that every lump and bump is on display, every flaw, every roll can be seen by all and sundry. If it wasn't for the fact I have on more make up than a troupe of clowns, I would cry.

I survey my options. One, don't go. I can't do that to Serena, she'd never forgive me. Two, go but in normal clothes. Again, she'd kill me. Three, pour myself another drink and try to pretend I look good in this ridiculous get-up. We have a plan.

I add the wig to complete the ensemble and the requisite yellow tape and head back to the fridge. There's only one bottle left and I open it. I attempt to do some maths, I'm sure there were four bottles in here this morning? That can't be right.

As I work my way through the comforting liquid, my mobile rings and when I answer it, I'm connected to Serena.

"Hi biatch, we'll pick you up in five," she yells.