Noah's Law

by Randa Abdel-Fattah

  ‘Oh I won’t,’ I said, probably too quickly. I had to stop doing that.

  She pursed her lips and then marched back into her office, calling over her shoulder, ‘We’re leaving in five. Make sure my suitcase is packed.’

  I turned to Jill. ‘Suitcase? Are we going to court in Melbourne?’

  Jill rolled her chair back and opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet under her desk.

  ‘Here, take this key. It opens the cupboard in the photocopier room. There’s a small suitcase there. Get the files on the spare chair in Casey’s office and put them in the suitcase. The files are too heavy to carry so the lawyers always wheel a suitcase to court.’

  ‘And she couldn’t explain that herself?’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’ll learn how to handle her soon.’

  ‘Oh yeah, and how is that?’

  ‘Walk around on eggshells whenever she’s in your presence. Like the rest of us.’

  ‘So if everybody hates her—’

  ‘Shh! You need to learn how to whisper.’

  ‘Okay, sorry. So if everybody hates her, why doesn’t Aunt Nirvine fire her?’

  ‘You can’t fire people for being unpleasant. Plus, she brings in a lot of money. She’s a very good lawyer. Probably the best one here.’

  ‘Well there are only three, aren’t there? Casey, John and Aunt Nirvine?’

  ‘No, there’s five. Branko is interstate for a trial and Ameena is on leave. They both deal with our family law practice. The clock is ticking, Noah. We can chat later. When Casey says five minutes she means it. You better hurry.’

  Sure enough, Casey was standing at the lifts, impatiently tapping her foot, when I finally wheeled the suitcase out to her. The first suitcase I’d grabbed had a busted wheel, which I only discovered after I’d packed it, meaning I’d had to unpack it and find another suitcase. Casey wasn’t interested.

  The Supreme Court was only four blocks away so we walked. For someone wearing heels as high as stilts, Casey was surprisingly fast.

  ‘So what’s this case about?’ I asked as Casey lit a cigarette. I wasn’t going to let her intimidate me. For God’s sake, I’d taken on my school principal. I’d let a mouse loose in a classroom during mid-term exams. I’d put tennis balls in the cistern of the staffroom toilet (okay, so it was me). Who did this chain-smoking, PMS-overloading Grim Reaper think she was? She may have been able to bully the others but she didn’t scare me.

  She looked me in the eye (I told you the heels were high) and almost cringed. I think she was allergic to conversation. She sighed (well, hacked a cough) and then said, ‘It’s a very simple case. I really don’t know why I should have to handle it. I deal with the complex cases. Well, it’s a no-brainer so I expect that’s why your aunt sent you along with me today.’

  Ouch. I filed that one for later.

  She flicked the cigarette onto the ground as we approached the Supreme Court.

  After we’d gone through security we caught the lifts up to level seven. Casey marched ahead of me towards a very short, skinny man standing at the windows in the hallway outside Court 7B. He was dressed in faded jeans, a white T-shirt, denim jacket and scruffy runners. His face was hollow, his narrow eyes oddly framed by long lashes. He saw Casey and stuck his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

  ‘So what’s happening today?’ he said. ‘Do I need to say anything?’

  ‘No, I’ll be doing all the talking. It’s straightforward. Like I told you, there’s no need for you to be here.’

  ‘Well, I wanted to come. This is me dead wife we’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But you don’t need the extra stress. You’ve been through enough already. It’s ridiculous, you turning up like this.’

  Casey’s idea of compassion.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s the least I can do. Show those pigs she won’t be forgotten.’

  I wondered what had happened to his wife.

  ‘We’re simply getting a callover date. This case will settle, without question. WorkCover are just stalling.’

  ‘Who’s this?’ He suddenly fixed his beady eyes on me. ‘You from the other side? Trying to eavesdrop? Eh?’

  Casey shook her head. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s just a kid working with us. Come on, Bernie. Let’s go.’ She turned to me. ‘I need you to dig out a letter dated 13 September 2008. Can you manage that?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure I can read dates. We spent all last term learning how.’

  They continued talking while I opened the suitcase and stared at the folders. There was a folder labelled ‘Original Documents’, one labelled ‘Court Documents’, and two marked ‘Correspondence’. I opened the first file of correspondence. It ended in August 2008, so I opened the second file and flicked through the pages, which were in chronological order. There were several letters dated 13 September 2008. Did she want the ones addressed to her or the ones she’d written? Annoyed that I’d have to ask her to clarify her instructions, I stood up, holding the folder open at one of the letters.

  ‘Which do you want – letters addressed to you or letters you sent?’

  She gave a frustrated sigh, as though it was my fault her instructions were vague.

  ‘Addressed to me,’ she said. ‘Come on, Bernie, we’ll be called soon. Just take a seat in the back of the court. I’ll go and have a word with my opponent. He’s not terribly bright. There’s nothing to worry about. Just to confirm, you have no plans for holidays or anything in the next three months? If we get a hearing date I need to know you’ll be available.’

  ‘Of course I have no holiday plans. I’m in mourning.’

  ‘Okay, just checking. Noah, stay here and look after the suitcase.’

  I zipped up the suitcase and pulled it up by its handle. ‘I’m coming to court,’ I said. ‘I’m not here to stand guard over the suitcase. I’ll bring it with me.’

  ‘Go in with Bernie then. And no funny business.’

  I followed Bernie to Court 7B. We found two seats in the back row in the corner. Court hadn’t started yet. There was no judge. The courtroom was packed though. Mainly lawyers in black and navy suits. Some of them looked like my dad, dressed in their robes and wigs. Some people were dressed in normal clothes, probably litigants. The room was filled with noise. People were standing up in front of the rows of seats and calling out things like, ‘Anybody in matter number fifty-two?’ and ‘O’Brien and Taylor? Anybody appearing for Taylor?’ It was like a marketplace.

  ‘So, is this your first time in court?’ I asked Bernie. I figured I might as well make conversation.

  ‘Yeah, first time. I hate these places. Cold pigs, the lot of them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Lawyers.’

  ‘Oh . . . right . . . I know.’

  ‘The WorkCover ones, they’re the worst. They’ve got no heart, these people. Me wife dies and they hire scumbags to follow me around with their cameras and notepads. They think I’m stupid. That I don’t know. But I’m way ahead of them.’

  Hmm. Interesting. This sure beat photocopying. Maybe not surfing with Amit at the beach. But it could only get better.

  ‘How did your wife die?’

  He looked down at his hands. ‘She was murdered. She was on her way to her car after work. She had the day’s takings with her. It was a robbery. Her bloody employer.’

  ‘Her boss killed her?’

  ‘Nah. They never found the guy who did it. But it was her boss’s fault. He may as well have murdered her himself.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It means their bloody systems were dodgy and her employer was a frigging tight-arse and didn’t do nothing about it. She wasn’t trained to carry that amount of cash! They should have had security people transporting the money or got someone else to walk with her. Instead, they made her walk through a car park in the dark with eight thousand bucks in her bloody handbag!’

  ‘That’s terrible! So why are you in court?’

  ‘Well I deserve some com
po for me pain and suffering. And she would have got something if she’d survived the attack . . . The pigs should pay. The hip pocket, mate. It’s the only thing that makes them wake up to themselves.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And they’re stalling!’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘The insurer.’

  I had no idea what this meant but I didn’t want to look stupid so I nodded.

  ‘But Casey thinks it’s just a routine tactic,’ he continued. ‘That it’ll all be cleared up soon. It’s a pretty clear-cut case of negligence, she said. And the company’s ’fessed up that they weren’t safe. You know, that they were negligent. Which is a good thing. Last thing I need is a long trial. I just want this all behind me so I can get on with me life. I need to learn how to live without her, you know? My mates, they say, Go out, find another lady, you’re a good-looking guy.’ (Were they kidding?!) ‘But I can’t. I’ll never look at another woman again.’

  Suddenly there were two loud knocks on the door that opened up beside the judge’s bench. I copied everybody else and stood up. The judge walked in, followed by a woman who approached a seat in the row below the judge. The judge nodded and everybody bowed. Then the judge sat down and we all did too.

  It was nothing like the movies. People argued over court dates and times, not bloodied knives or forced confessions. Everyone was sickeningly polite. I wanted to hear shouting, people breaking down under cross-examination. Our dining room disciplinary hearings packed more punch than this.

  When Bernie’s case was finally called Casey approached the bar table, followed by the lawyer appearing for WorkCover. He was shy and awkward and announced his appearance in a low voice. Casey, on the other hand, was confident and clear.

  ‘I thought this matter was going to settle?’ the judge said. ‘And now you’re all here to take a callover date?’

  ‘Well, Your Honour—’

  ‘Speak up, Mr Humphries! We are recording these proceedings so it would help if you didn’t mumble.’

  Mr Humphries blushed. ‘Er, sorry, Your Honour,’ he said in a louder voice. ‘The parties aim to explore settlement—’

  ‘Aim? You mean you’ve taken us this far, clogging up the court system, without having explored settlement yet?!’

  ‘Er . . . Your Honour, there were a number of—’

  ‘Louder, Mr Humphries. I may be ageing, but I don’t think I require a hearing aid just yet.’

  ‘Sorry, Your Honour. There were a number of issues arising from discovery which required further investigation.’

  ‘And have those issues been resolved or will you be coming to my courtroom on the day of the hearing only to tell me you need further time and are seeking an adjournment?’

  ‘Er, no, Your Honour. We have now clarified those issues and propose to launch into settlement discussions with the other side.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. Ms Williams? Do you have anything to add?’

  ‘Only this, Your Honour: may the court please note that my client has complied with all the court timetables and has made attempts to initiate settlement discussions in the early stages of this matter to avoid lengthy and protracted litigation. Mr Humphries’ client, knowing all along that this was a matter that warranted immediate settlement, has stalled and put my client through increasing stress and expense. I seek costs for today.’

  ‘I see that as a reasonable request. Mr Humphries, what is your response?’

  ‘We . . . er . . . oppose the application . . .’

  ‘On what grounds? I require a legal argument, Mr Humphries. Some synthesis of thought. A cogent reason upon which to base your opposition to Ms Williams’ application.’

  ‘Er . . . I have no instructions, Your Honour. I can only say that we were looking into things.’

  The judge rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, haven’t I heard that one before. I order the defendant pay the plaintiff ’s costs of today within twenty-eight days. The matter is listed for callover on 4 January at which time a hearing will be allocated. Is that suitable?’

  ‘Suitable, Your Honour,’ Casey said.

  ‘Er . . . could we make it 5 January, Your Honour? Our counsel is busy on the fourth.’

  ‘Fine, 5 January it is. Next matter.’

  Bernie looked at me and grinned. ‘At least we’ve got the judge on our side, hey?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said with a nod.

  I watched Mr Humphries shuffle out of the courtroom looking like he needed a sick bag.

  Mary, Nadine and I went to Mum’s house for dinner that night. We stayed with Mum every second weekend and didn’t normally go over on school nights, but because it was the holidays Mum and Dad had relaxed the schedule.

  We lived with my dad because when my parents divorced my mum got really sick to the point that she couldn’t look after us. We got used to living with Dad. Mum lived on the other side of the city so by the time she was well enough to do the whole full-time mother thing we were settled in our schools. The only thing Mum and Dad agreed on was that we should continue going to Sydney’s elite schools and so moving away from the area wasn’t an option. Anyway, by then, Mum had met George. She fell pregnant not long after they got married. George was nice enough. He worked for the RTA, the Roads and Traffic Authority. He always had funny stories about L-platers flunking their exams. He was also home at normal hours, unlike Dad, whose heavy workload meant that he and Mum had grown apart years before the divorce (this is information I collected from eavesdropping on Mum and her friends).

  Mum and George had five-year-old twin girls who were adorable. The twins were named Jenny and Jenine, because being identical wasn’t confusing enough. They had this cool trick of hiding Mum’s make-up in between plates and inside coffee mugs. I wouldn’t say I taught them that. I just convinced them that a coffee mug would be a more effective hiding place for Mum’s lipstick than in her dressing table drawer.

  Mum used to work as a librarian in the District Court (that’s how she met Dad). I got along with her pretty well. She didn’t give me a hard time like Dad did. Because she hated my dad so much she usually took my side when I complained about him, even though that was probably a no-no in some divorced parents’ parenting guide.

  I told Mum that Dad had sentenced me to work at a law firm for my school holidays. As I expected, Mum was unimpressed.

  ‘How typically excessive of your father,’ she said.

  What did I say? She had no problem bagging him out. The divorce was as ugly as they come and despite the years since, Mum and Dad were still bitter. We knew they loved us. We knew they hated each other. We weren’t damaged (although my school counsellor would beg to differ. She refused to believe that my pranks were not cries for help).

  ‘I know. Where’s the fairness? And he calls himself a member of the legal profession. Upholding justice and the integrity of the law. Yeah, right.’

  ‘So this is to go on for your entire school holidays?’

  Oh finally. A chance to vent to somebody who was on my side.

  ‘Yeah, can you believe it? Unpaid, too.’ (No-one needed to know about the fifty bucks a day. And technically I wasn’t lying; I hadn’t been paid yet.) ‘And I was planning a trip to Terrigal with my friends. We were going to go bushwalking, fishing, swimming. Sleep out under the stars and avoid fast-food outlets.’ (Mum was really into recycling and organic food.) ‘Try and get back to nature, you know?’ (Where did I come up with this stuff ?) ‘And now it’s all ruined.’

  My mum suddenly seemed distracted. ‘Pardon, Nadine?’

  Nadine walked past and smirked at me. ‘He’s no angel, Mum. He changed the students’ exam marks. That’s why Dad’s punishing him.’

  ‘You changed the students’ marks?’ Mum repeated.

  I gave Nadine a look of pure hatred. ‘You seriously need to go on a diet. Your butt is huge.’

  She sneered at me and walked out of the lounge.

  ‘Did I tell you he’s making me work at Aunt Nirvine’s law firm?’

>   Too smooth.

  ‘WHAT?!’

  ‘Yeah, I’m working for Aunt Nirvine.’

  That set mum off. If there was one person she hated more than Dad, it was Aunt Nirvine. Aunt Nirvine had been Dad’s lawyer in the divorce and property settlement proceedings, so it was her job to discredit Mum. It got pretty ugly. I believe Mum was so enraged at one point she discarded a tofu burger in favour of a Big Mac just to calm herself down.

  When Dad arrived to pick us up later that night Mum rushed out to the car.

  ‘You’ve sent Noah to work with Nirvine? I don’t want my children associating with her!’

  ‘Oh grow up, Angela. She’s my sister.’

  ‘To think my son is supposed to be learning about the law from somebody who thinks the law is there to be twisted and perverted!’

  ‘Oh this is rich! You call a reasonable interpretation of the law perversion when your lawyer had the audacity to instruct me on the Court of Appeal definition of best interests of the child . . .’

  I held back from breaking up the shouting match, hoping it would result in Mum pressuring Dad to change his sentence. But Nadine ran out, pinched my arm and said, ‘You selfish idiot! Now look what you’ve done. As usual, I have to be the peacemaker.’

  ‘You’re the one who wants to work for the UN.’

  ‘Yeah, trying war criminals, not playing mediator between Mum and Dad . . . Oh for God’s sake!’ Nadine hollered. ‘Mum, get back inside, will you? The neighbours will be out soon and Jenny and Jenine are eating your carob-flavoured lipstick!’

  ‘Well, young man,’ Dad said, as we backed out of the driveway moments later, ‘if you think your sentence is to be commuted because your mother happens to have no appreciation for discipline you’d better think again.’

  The next morning John asked me to put some folders of documents into chronological order. Given that it wasn’t a mammoth photocopying task, I said okay. Not that I had much choice.

  John had briefly explained what the matter was about. A twenty-three-year-old guy had been working on a construction site. He’d been on the side of a building, twelve storeys up. The company hadn’t put up proper scaffolding and he’d slipped and fallen, breaking his legs, damaging his spine and suffering a stack of other injuries. He’d spent a year in hospital recovering and learning to walk again. I skimmed through the zillion medical reports. Will never be able to work again . . . Irreparable damage to legs and back . . . Will be in constant pain for the rest of his life. I shuddered. John’s task suddenly didn’t seem like much to complain about after all.