In keeping with this circumspect approach, the firm shied away from criminal practice, as if these cases would sully its reputation. On the rare occasion when such a need arose for a client, the case would be referred out to another firm with slightly lower standards. Or, after a quick review of the case, the client summarily fired. Garth recalled a case in 2005 when their client, a sitting Member of Parliament, was held in remand for allegedly having sex with a minor. After a brief review of the case and a quiet word with the client, the partners determined the use of the word “allegedly” was not entirely accurate. Garth still recalled the pitying sobs of the disgraced, and soon to be former, Member of the State Cabinet as security escorted him from the building.
At present, Williams & Teacher maintained 15 offices worldwide, the vast majority in Europe. Each office run autonomously by a sole senior partner; however, as was universally understood by the other 14 senior partners, the senior partner of the London office held sway in all matters affecting the overall direction and wellbeing of the firm.
Each location subsisted with anywhere from five to ten partners operating under the senior partner’s guidance. The Melbourne office having maintained just six partners for the past 20 years. In turn, each partner managed a staff of two or three solicitors and an administrative assistant. Garth O’Neal had reported to Marcus Colstrom for the past 15 years. And would more than likely do so, he lamented, until one of the two of them either retired or died.
Garth often questioned why he’d stayed with the firm for so long. But, if he was true to himself, he knew the answer. Marcus was a good man to work for, even allowing for all his idiosyncrasies. Now in his late seventies, and an infrequent visitor to the office, Marcus gave Garth free reign to work within his specialities with their client list. Money was no longer an issue, and as Garth himself aged, there was something to be said for stability. However, the allure of the forbidden fruit of partnership did weigh heavily.
While musing over his lot in life, Garth took a moment to peruse the paperwork, now signed and filed with the courts, from his past week’s work with the Sisters of Mercy. Before him on the leather-bound desk pad sat powers of attorney signed by the two new patients assigning him all rights to transact business on their behalf. In the coming days, he’d contact the Department of Human Services to re-direct pension payments, then begin the process of liquidating their properties. He’d schedule estate sales to sell-off household effects and have the St Vincent de Paul society collect the remainder, then deposit the proceeds accordingly. And, of course, conduct one last search for any living relatives – just to be on the safe side.
What started out as a pro-bono assignment he felt beneath him, at some point turned into an interesting aside, a way to thumb his nose at his senior partner, Ambrose Sinclair, then as the dollar amounts grew, into a serious business. Father Kelly, who oversaw the management of the hospice for the diocese, considered him a financial godsend. Through Garth’s legal expertise, Father Kelly could staff and operate the hospice without having to cut corners or compromise his patient’s dignity. Garth’s banking partner was also just as appreciative of his work, though for a vastly different reason.
And Garth? With fingers interlaced behind his head, he leant back in his office chair, slipped off his brown loafers and, with an effort, propped his feet up on the corner of his desk. He shifted his gaze upward, from the pearl buttons of his designer dress shirt straining to keep his gut in check, past his argyle-patterned silk socks and out the window to the park beyond.
He contemplated his situation, both present and future, and wondered how he’d allowed it to come this far? And for how much longer could he keep it all on track?
He grunted a mirthless laugh and slowly shook his head from side to side.
For such a brilliant legal mind, how did I not think of planning an exit strategy?
A jogger on the street below turned from St Kilda Road, onto a trail leading through the park, and promptly disappeared beneath the tree’s thick canopy.
Garth wished it was just that easy.
***
Over grilled barramundi, chips and a calamari plate – washed down with bottles of Pellegrino – we discussed our plans for the next day.
January 26, Australia Day, and our first bank holiday. Doug shared he’d be spending the day at his parent’s house in Oakleigh. The barbeque lunch followed by a boozy game of backyard cricket with family members. Then later in the evening lounging around the living room watching the cricket live from Adelaide.
I just hope we take these twenty-twenty games serious for once.
What? You think they don’t try?
Oh, they try all right. It just seems they still treat it as a bit of a hit and giggle affair while testing out a bunch of the young guys.
Are you guys going to talk cricket all lunch time?
Mary, who’d polished off the last of the calamari and finished checking various social media sites on her phone, was ready for a change of topic.
So, Mary, what are your plans for tomorrow?
We both turned to face her with looks of joyous anticipation for what followed.
Oh, piss off you two.
We all three laughed.
Mary, born in Melbourne, lived with her parents in Springvale. They were of Chinese descent, having immigrated to Australia in the 1980s. Though she spoke only Mandarin at home, her Australian accent was as heavy as any overheard in a dockside pub. It burst forth from deep in her throat, like a kookaburra trying to shake a cold. A by-product of trying to assimilate at school when your looks clearly set you apart. Now, as a financial professional, she’d soon be advised to tone it down. Not all of the bank’s clients expected those handling their fortunes to be products of Scotch College or Camberwell Grammar, but it certainly didn’t instil confidence if you sounded more at home shearing sheep.
If you must know, I’ll be studying my AFSL material most of the day. Meredith wants to get me licensed as soon as possible.
The Australian Financial Services License was a required part of becoming a licensed financial advisor. The move from assistant to banker would never occur until we’d completed, and proved proficient, with the mandated training. The fact Meredith was already pushing Mary to complete her training surprised both Doug and me.
Doug pushed back from the counter, leaning his stool back on two legs.
Shit. Stephen didn’t say a word to me about training this morning. How about you, Craig?
Same thing, not a word. Of course, with Eric, he’ll just ask one day if I’ve finished. Then act surprised if I haven’t. Based on our talk this morning, training seems to be the farthest thing from his mind.
Mary turned to face me, a question forming in her mind. Doug continued to try and balance his stool on two legs while ogling two young shop-girls passing by the window.
So, what does he want you to do all day long?
I chortled before replying, an easy question to answer.
Not stuff anything up.
Doug gave up on the balancing act and plopped back down on all four legs to join the conversation.
Easy enough. Want to switch? The human sweat stain lectured me for two hours this morning on how to interpret the daily sales report.
Mary was incredulous.
Jesus, Doug! Are you kidding me? Doesn’t he bloody think about anything else? Meredith told me to not even worry about it. If we do our job right, the report will take care of itself.
Sound advice, unless of course, you happen to be last in the rankings. He’s so paranoid; it amazes me the fat bastard hasn’t already dissolved into a pool of sweat with just his hair flapping around on the surface.
Mary grimaced from an involuntary shudder before responding.
Ugh, gross!
It hadn’t taken me long to realise both Doug and Mary were extremely competitive. The festering chip on Mary’s shoulder since being bullied in primary school wasn’t soon going anywhere. And Doug, although feigning noncha
lance, seethed over his placement with Stephen. I could already see it in his eyes, him calculating the income lost by training with such a liability.
And me? I was just happy to have a regular pay cheque. Prospective employers weren’t beating my door down after graduation. And steady as she goes was just fine for the time being. My hyper-competitive nature on the tennis court hadn’t yet made the transition to the world of banking. Perhaps the passion would materialise one day, perhaps not. For now, with my life on hold, this job checked a box. One of the few concerns I could cross off of a long list.
***
So, today was my first-day training with the banker I was assigned.
Mum faced the window looking out towards the courtyard. The sun was low in the sky and the evening’s lengthening shadows stretched into her room. Dappled sunlight covered her bed clothes and highlighted her eyes.
His name is Eric. He seems like a nice bloke.
Why concern her with reality.
Will you be going out of town again next week, dear?
Mum turned to face me. Seeing her husband, not me.
I hate it you’re gone so much. Craig’s a good boy, but he needs his father around.
Her eyes roamed around the room, intently searching but not finding the familiar comforts of home. The internal struggle in her mind trying to reconcile the 20-year leap between person and place.
No, I’ll be here in town. No more travelling. How about my new suit? Do you like it? And how about the tie? Is it a little too bright for your taste?
I stood, removed my jacket and hung it on the back of my chair. I’d switched off the television to help Mum focus on our conversation, the only sound filtering into the room the familiar squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the floor as they passed in the hallway and the occasional cry of anguish.
I don’t know why you need a new suit; your other one was perfectly fine. And that tie? Far too flash. Who are you trying to impress?
No one, Mum. I was just wondering if you liked it.
Mum fell silent while the battle within raged. I sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. She gripped it tightly as if I alone could pull her back from the dark abyss of insanity. At this stage of her struggle, I wondered what portion of her mind remained and what level of understanding did it represent. And if presented with a choice, would she wish for this shell of life to go on.
From down the hall drifted a soft ballad from another patient’s radio. I wasn’t able to make out the tune, but the distinctive voice could only be Missy Higgins. Listening to the hurt and emotion in her voice while staring at the forlorn look on Mum’s face overwhelmed me.
I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to get something to drink.
Slipping my hand free, I gently placed hers back on the covers and strode from the room. I prided myself on keeping my emotions in check in front of Mum. The doctor warned me getting her overly stressed or emotional would only exacerbate her condition. Why did I think, with time, it would get easier?
The hospice kept vending machines in the small kitchen area where the staff ate their meals. I’d made my selection and bending over to retrieve my drink when I heard the door open behind me.
Well, the people you meet when you haven’t got a gun.
It was the familiar voice of Judy and in her usual jovial mood. I turned to face her as I opened the can of Coke.
What, no snappy comeback?
Sorry, Judy. I’m not really in the mood today.
She sat with me at the small Formica table in the corner of the kitchen.
Yeah, I understand. Let’s change subjects. So, how’s the new job going?
The look I gave said it all.
Oh. Not good, huh?
I… I don’t know. It’s just taking some getting used to.
So, what are you doing to relieve some of this stress? Your mum. New job. You’ve got a lot on your plate.
I run a few times a week.
You run? You stress your body even further? On purpose?
Her comment brought a smile to my face. She made a good point; it did sound nonsensical.
Believe it or not, for me, it helps relieve stress.
And the more stressed you get…?
The more often and further I run.
You sure you aren’t just running away?
In a way, yes. But I saved the truth for my own consumption.
Well, I haven’t forgotten to turn around and return home… yet.
Have you any other less strenuous hobbies? Some that, say, involve other human interaction.
Sure. Dayne, my friend from school, and I will catch a concert once every few weeks or so. He also has a band; maybe I could take you to see them perform sometime?
The words tumbled out before I was even sure what I was saying. I looked down, sheepishly, at the table top and waited for the stinging words of rejection. We’d gotten along well enough over the past few weeks, but asking Judy out on a date was, I assumed, probably out of bounds.
Um, you know, it’s discouraged for us to see visitors outside of work.
I understand. I’m sorry, I should have realised.
Judy leant across the table and placed her hand on mine.
Though in this situation, I think it would be a good idea.
I looked up and smiled.
But didn’t you say…
Are you questioning a medical professional’s decision?
I thought you were just a…
Judy rose from the table and made for the door.
Shut up, would you? Do you want me to change my mind?
Before she disappeared around the corner, she left me with a smile. The one where the left side of her mouth raised ever so slightly higher than the right. The one constantly leaving me a little off-kilter. And left me wondering exactly whose idea this had been.
While talking with Judy one of the nurses delivered Mum’s evening snack. She sipped the apple juice with little enthusiasm and stared blankly at the wall. I switched on the television before sitting down beside her and, together, we watched the tennis for the next hour.
Just think, dear, one of these days it might be our Craig up there playing on the television.
The night session was in full swing from the National Tennis Centre. The second-ranked player in the world, Andy Murray, was handling Australia’s number one in a perfunctory manner in their fourth-round match.
I answered with little enthusiasm.
Yeah, you never know.
I do love our boy so.
She fell asleep soon after. I gently kissed her on the forehead and crept silently from the room.
Another day spent together, who knew what tomorrow would bring and how many more there would be. At least on this occasion, with her final words still on my mind, my heart was a little lighter than normal.
Before leaving the parking lot, I searched for and found a compact disc by Paul Kelly and slid it into the Beast’s disc player. Mum liked to sing along to this one of an evening as she prepared dinner. I sat for a moment listening to the plaintive opening tune about a man wishing he could turn back time and to start the day again. Thinking 24 hours fell far short of the mark, I exited the parking lot and pointed the Beast in the direction of home.
Dublin, Ireland
October 24, 2014
Michael Barry slept restlessly. He rolled away from the warm, lithe, body of Siobhan, his wife of five years and gazed for the hundredth time at the alarm clock – 4:26 a.m. He wondered why it was always like this the day before vacation. One more workday to get through, a thousand minuscule tasks to complete, each one dragging out the day interminably. Everyone and everything keeping the excitement of a week under the sun in Ibiza, with Siobhan and without the kids, a too distant dream.
Of course, Michael loved little Sarah, now two, and four-year-old Michael Junior, but the upcoming week away would be their first vacation alone since Sarah was born.
4:34 a.m. – Michael chewed over the day ahead; monthly
audit procedures to update, teller cash counts, update sales reports for his boss, staff schedules to peruse. He loved his job, Bank Manager with Allied Irish Bank, but the paperwork involved to keep even a small branch operational could be overwhelming.
An employee with AIB for five years, and a Manager for less than two, the branch in Ranelagh was his first Managerial posting which he hoped to use as a springboard to bigger and better things. Banking wasn’t his first choice coming out of college, but with only marginally passable grades, he took what he could get.
The clock ticked over to 4:42 and Michael could lay there no longer. He slipped out from underneath the covers, careful not to disturb Siobhan and stood next to the bed shivering in the early morning cold. He gazed down at her sleeping form and smiled. She lay on her left side, knees drawn up at a right angle to her body. The covers pulled up tight under her chin and held in place by her right hand she’d balled into a small fist. With her long blonde hair splayed out across the pillow, Michael thought her just as beautiful as when they’d first met at Dublin City University more than eight years ago.
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