The First Year

by Genevieve Gannon

  ‘Your honour, my name is Colbrook,’ he said. ‘I’m an associate of Mr Kirkpatrick’s, who has been feeling a little unwell. I will be appearing on his behalf this afternoon.’

  Paddy gave a wheezing cough for veracity’s sake.

  ‘Very well, Mr Colbrook.’ Judge Flower nodded his permission.

  Andy began. ‘Miss Fyfe, how long have you been a designer at Fetch?’

  She smiled. ‘About five years.’

  ‘And before that, where were you, can you remind us?’

  ‘I worked as a stylist at a homewares manufacturer while completing my diploma.’

  ‘And you’re interested in art, I take it.’

  ‘Yes. Very.’

  ‘Painters, architects, designers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’re a savvy young woman. You pay attention to trends. You have a Twitter account? Facebook? Instagram?’

  ‘I use Facebook. I like Pinterest too.’

  ‘So you are exposed to a lot of different images of art, every day.’

  She shrugged her birdlike shoulders. ‘Aren’t we all?’

  ‘Miss Fyfe, do you have an Instagram account at the moment?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Can you tell us the handle of that account, please?’

  ‘It’s @missyfyfe.’

  ‘And is that your only account?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But it’s quite new, isn’t it? Your account has a public setting, and the first photo you appear to have posted was only in April.’

  ‘Uh-huh. I was late to Instagram.’

  ‘Strange, isn’t it?’

  She shrugged again. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘It’s strange that you’re a designer working at a major fashion label and you use social media, but you’ve only recently started using the app that is the most visual.’

  ‘Your honour! This is a comment,’ Mr Lawler said, not bothering to stand.

  ‘Mr Colbrook, please refrain from editorialising in my courtroom,’ Judge Flower droned.

  ‘I apologise, your honour. Miss Fyfe, have you ever had another Instagram account?’

  ‘I have so many social media accounts. I had a MySpace account once. It’s hard to remember them all,’ the woman replied.

  ‘Miss Fyfe, you are under oath.’

  ‘I suppose I probably have had other Instagram accounts in the past.’

  ‘And was one of the accounts you named @FireFlyFyfe?’

  Miss Fyfe paused before she answered. ‘I’d . . .’ she faltered. ‘I’d have to check. I couldn’t say, off the top of my head, for certain.’

  ‘But you have a Twitter account with the same handle.’

  She shifted in her seat. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t also have an Instagram account of the same name? Under oath, Miss Fyfe.’

  ‘All right, yes, that was my account. But I deleted it. I don’t have it anymore.’

  Andy gave a quick little smile. ‘Your honour, I’m going to seek to tender into evidence an email.’

  ‘Your honour!’ Mr Lawler shot out of his chair. ‘This is the first I’ve heard about this.’

  ‘What is this email, Mr Colbrook?’

  ‘It’s a document that relates to the marketing of Little Hill Designs. A model who operates the Instagram account @Juliet_in_Milan posted a photograph of the Hero cuff in January and directed her thousands followers to contact Little Hill if they wished to buy it. What I wish to tender is an email she received as a consequence of this action.’

  ‘Mr Colbrook, I’m not sure this is quite cricket,’ the judge said.

  ‘It’s not, your honour.’ Mr Lawler’s voice was heated. Saskia and Paddy exchanged curious glances. It was the first time they’d seen the Fetch barrister on any emotional setting other than smug or condescending. ‘We heard nothing of this email in pre-trial.’ Spittle flew from Mr Lawler’s mouth.

  ‘Your honour.’ Andy flashed a smile. ‘It’s an email related to the marketing of Little Hill Designs. Fetch knew such documents would be tendered. In addition to which, this particular item only just came to our attention.’

  Judge Flower frowned. ‘You may proceed for now, Mr Colbrook, but I’m not sure this email will be admissible.’

  ‘Miss Fyfe,’ Andy strode across the court room and handed the designer the piece of paper, ‘the model who posted this image of the Little Hill cuff is not a very technologically savvy person. She gets thousands of emails each day alerting her to comments left on her Instagram account. She has never bothered to shut it off and never checks that account, so they just build up. Here is a print-out of an email she received within an hour of posting the first photo of the Hero cuff on Instagram in January. Could you read it out? Please.’

  Miss Fyfe was matchstick-thin. When she had taken the stand she appeared elegant and delicate. Now it was as if she had collapsed in on her herself. Her chest was sunken; her shoulders curved forward.

  ‘Please do as you have been asked, Miss Fyfe,’ Judge Flower said.

  Miss Fyfe took a sip of water, lifted the piece of paper and began to read. ‘On 12.34 a.m. January 12 @FireFlyFyfe commented on your photo.’

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Fyfe,’ Andy interrupted. ‘Could you speak up when you read that next bit, the acoustics in this courtroom are terrible.’

  The crowd of artists leaned forward. Mr Lawler had stopped the petulant twiddling of his pen that he had persisted with through much of Paddy’s addresses, and Elinor Durchenko was wide-eyed and waiting. Everyone in the courtroom was hanging on her next sentence.

  Miss Fyfe starred at Saskia, and then Andy. ‘On January 12 @FireFlyFyfe said: OMG I luv this Roman-style cuff.’

  ‘Yes!’ A cheer was heard from the back of the gallery. Heads swivelled and Saskia saw her dad on his feet. She broke into a smile. Several spectators began to clap.

  ‘Your honour!’ Mr Lawler said loudly.

  ‘Could members of the gallery contain themselves,’ Judge Flower roared.

  Saskia clutched her hands together, feeling on the brink of relieved, delighted tears. She looked over at Andy, who smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Fyfe,’ he said. ‘That will be all.’

  *

  After Miss Fyfe was dismissed the lawyers spent the afternoon summing up their arguments. Paddy announced he was feeling better and delivered a closing address that made Saskia’s spirits soar. Mr Lawler made a lot of technical arguments about copyright law that she found hard to follow.

  ‘It is what it is,’ he said, grumpy and bear-like. ‘It’s a matter of law.’

  At four o’clock Judge Flower rose and said he was going to retire to consider his verdict.

  Once he was gone, the swarm of onlookers rushed at Saskia, wanting to shake her hand and wish her good luck. She looked for Andy, but there were faces everywhere, blocking her view.

  ‘Well done, Sas, well done.’ Annie and June were behind her.

  ‘Thanks. It’s not over yet,’ Saskia said.

  Others clambered to offer their congratulations and appreciation. Saskia accepted the plaudits, but she wanted to find Andy. She made her excuses and pushed through the mass of bodies until she reached the side door. Andy was walking briskly away.

  ‘Andy,’ Saskia called. He stopped and turned. She jogged down the hall to catch up with him. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I was going to wait for you and Paddy outside. I thought I’d let you have a moment with your friends. They’re all very impressed.’

  ‘It’s you who was impressive. How did you know to check Juliet’s Instagram notifications?’

  He shrugged. ‘It was just a hunch.’

  ‘I just wanted to say thank you for everything you did.’

  ‘Nothing’s certain yet.’

  ‘I know. But the fact you tried means the world to me. I—’

  ‘Miss Hill!’ Cecilia Carmichael was running towards her. ‘How do you feel after the final witness? Are you ha
ppy?’ A photographer and the ABC cameraman were following Miss Carmichael.

  ‘Now step back, step back.’ Paddy emerged from the body of the court.

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ Saskia said. ‘I still have no idea how things are going to turn out.’

  Day 262, Friday, October 11

  It was a whole nail-biting, restless, shitty week before Saskia received the call the judge had reached a verdict.

  The public gallery was cluttered with supporters twittering with excitement when she arrived. A few held placards condemning Fetch. They quietened only when Judge Flower shuffled to his seat and hooked his glasses around his ears. He met Saskia’s eye. She caught her breath and tried to read his expression. Was it apologetic, congratulatory, sympathetic? She couldn’t tell.

  At his associate’s side was a tall stack of paper.

  ‘They’re probably copies of the ruling,’ Paddy whispered.

  Her fate was written, even though she didn’t know what it was yet. She wanted to leap over the bar table, grab a copy and flip to the last page.

  The judge cleared his throat and a hush fell over the courtroom.

  ‘It seems clear to me that Miss Hill is a skilled and passionate artist. Her work is elegant and sturdy. There is a substantial volume of evidence that suggests she created her Hero cuff first. The court has received sketches, notes, photos of early prototypes, and even a medical report for a burn that gives a rather fascinating insight into the labour required to create an original piece of art work.’

  The courtroom stirred. He continued.

  ‘Others have recognised her skill and one item in particular — the Hero cuff — has become a popular sensation. And herein lies the conundrum. Another company, one which thrives, quite legitimately, on feeding consumers’ appetites for on-trend fashion, became aware of the cuff’s popularity and sought to profit from it.’

  Saskia’s heart was pounding. Judge Flower turned a page.

  ‘I cannot, however, find that Fetch has breached Miss Hill’s copyright. The wreath is, by its nature, generic. Its allure, and indeed much of its value, arises out of how iconic it is.

  Saskia looked towards Andy, who was on the other side of Paddy, and wished he was next to her.

  ‘As a sketch,’ Judge Flower continued, ‘Miss Hill may have been able to make a claim. But, expressed as a three-dimensional piece, the art is no longer covered by copyright law and becomes instead a design. I have on file the registered design of Miss Saskia Hill dated mid June. However, it had already been exhibited online before it was registered, and so the law does not protect her from the Fetch usage.’

  He paused and removed his glasses.

  ‘I want to make it clear that this court does not condone the actions of Fetch. In my mind the company has acted unscrupulously by exploiting the work of a creative and devoted individual. However, in the eyes of the law they are not liable, and I must rule in favour of Fetch. I make orders that Fetch may continue to sell the cuff.’

  Saskia gasped, numb.

  She had imagined this moment so many times, and not once had it played out like this. She had tried to prepare herself for the worst, guarding herself against hope. But inevitably, she had found herself fantasising about the moment when the judge would reveal he had ruled in her favour and she and Andy, in their happiness, would embrace, and everything that had happened between them would somehow fall away, irrelevant, because they had beaten a giant corporation together. Without meaning to, she had banked on this moment to solve everything. And it hadn’t come.

  Someone in the public gallery jeered. Then another did. From the rabble of onlookers rose a noise so loud that it seemed the roof might lift off. Judge Flower did not attempt to quieten them. He quickly left the bench, as the gallery erupted into mayhem. They shouted at the Fetch executives and their lawyers. Friends surrounded Saskia.

  ‘So that’s it?’ Annie said.

  ‘What happens now?’ Alicia asked. ‘That can’t be it.’

  The lawyers and Fetch executives were standing up, smiling and shaking hands. Saskia stayed seated, her legs untrustworthy.

  ‘We can appeal.’ Andy was at her side. ‘We can file the papers right away.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Saskia’s face was ashen. ‘I don’t know. I’m so tired.’

  ‘We don’t have to think about it now.’

  ‘I thought that judge really liked me,’ she said dimly.

  ‘I think he did. But he’s bound by the law.’

  They looked sadly at each other.

  She had thought they would win and now the only thing she felt was numb. ‘It was all for nothing,’ she said.

  Elinor Durchenko was coming towards them, wearing a superior smirk. ‘That was rather fun in the end,’ she said caustically. ‘It feels great to be vindicated.’ Then she stalked away.

  ‘We’ll appeal,’ Andy said again. ‘I’ll get Krystyn onto it. She’s a copyright expert.’

  ‘Maybe it’s time I focused on other things and put this whole experience down to a valuable life lesson,’ Saskia said. ‘In future I’ll know to register my designs. You can’t waste the next year working on a case that might never pay off.’

  ‘You did you best,’ Paddy said. ‘It was always a long shot.’

  ‘You were great, Paddy. Thank you.’ Saskia threw her arms around him.

  As she pushed open the court door, Cecelia Carmichael was upon her. ‘Saskia, how do you feel?’

  She instinctively put her hand up to her face. ‘It’s a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Could we get a shot of you?’

  Saskia lowered her hand. ‘The judge ruled that my design wasn’t registered and so Fetch was free to copy it.’ The camera flashed in her face. She blinked under the harsh light.

  ‘Will you appeal? Will you fight it?’

  Another journalist appeared and asked Saskia how she felt.

  ‘Excuse me there!’ They all turned to see a woman in a red suit running across the road from the Magistrates’ Court, her arm held aloft as she yelled.

  ‘She looks like that comedian from TV,’ Cecilia’s photographer said. ‘Whatshername? Lenore Leckner.’

  ‘Yoo-hoo!’ The woman waved her arm.

  ‘It’s Magistrate Leckner,’ said Andy.

  ‘Hello, there.’ The magistrate arrived, a little breathless. ‘I heard about Judge Flower’s decision. My dear, I am so sorry.’ She looked genuinely crestfallen. Then she addressed Cecilia. ‘Are you a journalist?’

  ‘Yes. I’m from The Age.’

  ‘Right. I’m the president of the Magistrates’ Court and I have something to say.’

  ‘Yes ma’am.’ Cecelia fumbled with her recording device then gave a nod when she was ready.

  ‘I met this young lady at a fundraising party at the start of the year,’ Magistrate Leckner said. ‘Here’s a photo of us that night. You can see she’s wearing the ear cuff.’ She held up her phone that showed pictures from the Law Council website. ‘This is incontrovertible proof that she conceived the design months before Fetch put it on their shelves.’

  The magistrate climbed the steps of the building. Artists and supporters coming out of the courtroom assembled around her.

  ‘Come up here, Ms Hill,’ the magistrate commanded.

  A blonde in a green jacket approached the steps. ‘Magistrate Leckner, Rebecca Talia from Channel Nine. Would you mind making a short statement for the camera?’

  Magistrate Leckner began. ‘Judge Flower had no choice but to rule in favour of Fetch. The law notwithstanding, it was unethical and despicable of a big company to steal the ideas of this young artist. Backing yourself, building your own business from scratch, is hard. We don’t need greedy corporations making it harder.’

  The crowd had grown, attracting more journalists who were there covering other trials.

  A young man with rolled-up shirt sleeves pointed his pen in the air. ‘Magistrate Leckner, should the government be looking at changing the legislation to protect ar
tists?’

  ‘The legislation surrounding copyright is a federal matter, but as Melburnians, there is something we can all do about it. I’d call on anybody who thinks corporate greed of this kind is repugnant to boycott Fetch and teach them a lesson. We Melburnians value creativity and art and the spirit required to pursue it. It’s our lifeblood. We need to stand up for that spirit and let big business know we will not tolerate the self-interested greed that tries to crush it.’

  ‘Miss Hill! Miss Hill!’

  There was a media horde now, clamouring for answers. More cameras crowded in on Saskia.

  ‘Magistrate Leckner, Magistrate Leckner!’ they shouted as cameras flashed.

  ‘I call for a boycott of Fetch,’ Magistrate Leckner said again, raising a fist. Behind her Saskia could hear the beginning of rhythmic chanting, ‘Boy-cott, boy-cott.’

  What started as a murmur, swelled to a war-cry.

  She turned and saw her brother Aiden leading the call. He was shouting loudly, and stamping his foot. ‘Boy-cott, boy-cott!’ He stood amid a wall of artists he had corralled onto the street.

  There was Leon the milliner in a turquoise top hat, and next to him, Annie. She smiled ferociously as she chanted. ‘Boy-cott, boy-cott!’

  Alicia was there too, in a graffiti-style screen-printed T-shirt. And Matthew Nash, the malcontent pop singer, his hair once again long and unkempt, his fingernails black. ‘Boy-cott. Boy-cott!’

  The cameras panned around and took in the sea of colour: the cerulean and violets, the golds and greys and pinks and blues. The Mohawks and hats, and piercings and tattoos. June chanted, adorned with her trapped insect bulbs, and Luna shook her fists and tousled her multi-coloured hair.

  ‘Boy-cott! Boy-cott!’

  Saskia wanted to cheer. Tears filled her eyes, so touched was she by the show of support. She beamed at Andy and he smiled back. He reached out and touched her arm — their first real contact in weeks — and she shuffled towards him. She was hemmed in by the crowd now, but eager to be close to her champion. She leaned into his body. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Their faces close, they smiled. She entwined her fingers with his, raised their hands above their heads and together they joined in the cry for the cameras: ‘Boy-cott, boy-cott, boy-cott!’