Where DID Rebekah Vardy go? To punch a wall at her utter stupidity in bringing this case? JANE FRYER watches the Wagatha Christie drama unfold
Mrs Justice Steyn would surely be forgiven if she’d spent the weekend wallowing in a stack of Halsbury’s Statutes, yearning to wrestle once again with a juicy Saudi arms deal or a tricky case about Guantanamo Bay inmates and trying to blank out anything and everything Wag.
But most of us are quite happy to have the extraordinary events of last week seared forever onto our brains.
Everything from the car crash of Rebekah Vardy’s evidence (and several of her court outfits) to the restrained air-casted, Gucci-garnished dignity of Coleen.
The precise proportions of Peter Andre’s teeny acorn; the ups and downs in the Rooney marriage.
And the agony writ large across Wayne’s big pink face as he slouched, suddenly loyal as a lurcher, beside his surprisingly diminutive wife. What a week it was. Vintage. Epic. Unbeatable.
But today is another day. Another week! And a very bright one, too, thanks to Rebekah who has come dressed for Ladies Day at Aintree in an acid, lemon-yellow suit.
Which, from a distance could pass for Chanel, but close up is deemed ‘too shiny’ by the fashion elite outside court. (It is actually a rather splendid £2,095 two-piece by Alessandra Rich, accessorised with a £1,890 bag).
Coleen Rooney (sketch artist picture) on the witness stand today in the libel case brought by Rebekah Vardy in a case dubbed Wagatha Christie as Mrs Justice Steyn listens
Coleen, meanwhile, looks all set for a shift at Specsavers in a recycled grey suit from The Kooples, a plain black top and her trusty clutch at her side.
And Wayne – poor Wayne – seems to be wearing someone else’s school uniform again.
Then we’re off. Coleen – clean, clear, concise and doggedly calm – describes Vardy’s private, expletive-ridden WhatsApp messages as ‘just evil’ and shares a bit about herself with Court 13.
How she hates all the fuss and has never courted press attention. How, even when she was planning her brilliant Hercule Poirot-style reveal – originally written out by hand, like a true sleuth, on a note that is now forever lost – she told no one, not even Wayne.
How she was staggered by all the attention it caused, ‘hated every minute of it’ and is loathing the trial.
And how, horror of horrors, she doesn’t even much like the term ‘Wagatha Christie’!
Oh Coleen, what sort of Wag are you? She even gives the messy court bundles in the witness box a quick tidy at one point and spends a long, long time patiently explaining the difference between Instagram photos and ‘stories’ to overpriced lawyers who really could have taken the trouble to mug up beforehand – or just ask their kids.
Rebekah Vardy today (May 16) in an acid, lemon-yellow suit, which is a £2,095 two-piece by Alessandra Rich, accessorised with a £1,890 bag
On and on her cross-examination goes. If one can call it that. Because Hugh Tomlinson QC, the great greying Rottweiler favoured by oligarchs, royals and just about anyone needing a super-injunction, barely lays a glove on her.
If Rebekah felt ‘bullied and manipulated’ after her mauling by ‘Shere Khan’ David Sherborne, Tomlinson’s expert grilling is more a gentle stroke – a cool legal hand on Coleen’s lovely, smooth brow.
This is the Ibiza half-term holiday of interrogations. Which must be nice for Coleen after all she’s been through.
But for the rest of us it does mean there’s none of the highdrama fireworks of last week.
The zing, the zest – other than Vardy’s get-up – has gone. Everyone’s a bit floppy. David Sherborne’s magnificent tan seems to have lost a touch of its deep, mahogany sheen.
Even Rebekah – finally out of the hot seat – doesn’t seem to be revelling in it much.
Coleen Rooney with Wayne leaving the Royal Courts Of Justice in good spirits
In fact, as we trudge through endless discussions about who sat in whose seats when they shouldn’t have and then swore unattractively at the 2016 Euros, Bex looks positively sour.
Until, suddenly, during the afternoon break, she’s had enough and – citing a pre-existing appointment – legs it.
Maybe she’s spilt something down that suit. Perhaps there’s a flash sale at Dolce & Gabbana.
Or, could it be, she suddenly just needs to go out and punch a wall, hard, at her utter stupidity in issuing these proceedings?
As my taxi driver puts it: ‘It’s bloody mad. Sri Lanka’s got one day of petrol left and all everyone’s talking about is a couple of Wags at war. The world’s gone crazy!’ And, of course, he’s quite right.
But coming up in the next episode of this preposterous tale, Wayne will be giving evidence – oh golly – and we won’t be missing a single moment
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