by Tim Kevan
When I finally arrived at the restaurant, she rose from her chair, revealing a black figure-hugging, knee-length dress that made her look absolutely stunning. Being used to seeing her in her court clothes, for a moment I just stood there, speechless. She smiled and offered me a glass from the bottle of wine she had already started. Then a little more wine, as we talked about our new tenancies and caught up with each other’s news. Then dinner and yet more wine and soon enough we were walking along the Embankment and over Waterloo Bridge with its stunning views of St Paul’s and the river. My doubts about whether we should try and change the nature of our relationship had dissolved, and if ever there was a time to make a move this was it. I took her hand and we stopped. There was an awkward pause in which both of us stared down at the river below us, and then Claire said, ‘Look BabyB, I really don’t want to risk our friendship.’
My heart sank. I knew where this was going. Then she looked in my eyes and said, ‘I mean, do you?’
In that moment I couldn’t tell whether she was saying she just wanted to hear it from me first, or whether she simply wanted affirmation of her own decision not to take things any further. But what I did know was that there were no half measures in this, any more than a jury can ever find someone half guilty. I could either go for it and risk everything, not knowing whether she wanted the same thing, or pull back to the safe haven of our friendship.
‘I guess you’re right,’ I replied, knowing that I had made the coward’s choice. Even in that moment the irony was not lost on me that whilst at work I never hesitated to take risks when it came to Claire it just felt, well, too important to gamble and get it wrong.
She looked at me quizzically and dropped her head a little.
‘I guess so.’ Her voice was quiet.
Which just goes to show that even professional communicators singularly fail when it comes to crossing that unbridgeable gap between the sexes.
Wednesday 24 October 2007
Year 2 (week 4): An apple short
Today, still troubled by the outcome of my evening with Claire, I was charged with calling up BigMouth and trying to get a bit more sense out of him than OldSmoothie had managed on Monday. In truth, I think he was just embarrassed for his old friend and he didn’t want to explore the whole conspiracy story in too much detail.
‘Please can you elaborate on the conspiracy you suspect?’ I asked, trying not to sound circumspect.
‘I know what you think, young man. Old duffer’s gone off the deep end. An apple short and what not. But you’d be wrong in this case. There are big commercial interests at stake here. If phone masts do the damage my people suggest then other people stand to lose billions.’
‘And who are those people?’ I asked.
‘Well that’s what I’m hoping you might be able to find out. Telecom companies, I assume. All I know is that I asked one question about phone masts in parliament and within a week I was being exposed by RedTop.’
‘Maybe that’s simply because they had something to expose?’ I refrained from asking. Instead I followed up with, ‘Er, yes, I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, what exactly do your constituents say are the effects of this exposure to the, um, rays?’
‘Well, there’s a group of old age pensioners all within the same neighbourhood who have suddenly started causing all sorts of trouble. A grey crime wave they’re calling it locally. Turned themselves into something of a gang. At least a dozen of them have been served ASBOs already and the figures are rising by the week. It’s all very peculiar.’
Well, he’s certainly not wrong there. I will await the documentation and maybe I’ll even get to meet this unusual bunch of oldies who have suddenly started razzing it up. It would be worth organising a conference with them in chambers just to see the reaction of a few of the more staid of the tenants.
Thursday 25 October 2007
Year 2 (week 4): Snakes and ladders
The new pupils were all standing neatly in a row at chambers tea today. OldSmoothie was the first to comment.
‘Look at you. All unformed. Still finding your place in the world. One minute you’ll be buzzing around feeling like a drone and the next you’ll be absolutely full of your own cleverness as you get to help on some big case or other.’
‘Oh but don’t they look so cute,’ whispered TheVamp eyeing up the two male pupils. ‘All fresh-faced, clean-cut and so deliciously corruptible.’
Then, I think without realising, she actually licked her lips.
‘Must be about time for the annual snakes and ladders speech,’ said TheBusker, referring to the talk the pupils always get about their status now being at the very bottom of the pile just like that of new judges.
‘That’s all it is really, isn’t it?’ said UpTights, looking a little madder than usual. ‘This whole thing. Life. Just one big cruel game of snakes and ladders.’
‘There’s certainly no shortage of snakes,’ said BusyBody looking at OldSmoothie.
‘Yes, and the only ladders you’ve ever got close to are in your tights,’ he replied.
‘Well, little pupil boy,’ purred TheVamp into the ear of the nearest of the two she’d been admiring. ‘How would you like a game of snakes and ladders?’
With which he blushed, quickly made his excuses and left.
Friday 26 October 2007
Year 2 (week 4): Humiliation
On my arrival this morning all I got from HeadClerk was a very curt nod, which was completely out of character for a person who is usually so positive and upbeat. ‘What’s up with HeadClerk?’ I asked TheBusker as I passed him in the corridor later.
‘It’s not good at all,’ he replied. ‘As bad as it gets actually.’
‘What can be that bad?’ I asked innocently.
‘One of OldSmoothie’s solicitors rang up and demanded that HeadClerk double his fee. Said that at its current level it was making their own fees look embarrassingly high to the client.’
‘That sounds great,’ I replied. ‘How can he be annoyed about an increase in our fees?’
‘That’s just it. HeadClerk prides himself on billing top dollar for all his barristers. To then have a solicitor ring up and say that what he’s billed simply isn’t enough . . . well, it hurts . . .’
Oh.
Monday 29 October 2007
Year 2 (week 5): TheMoldies
‘They’re all as mad as cheese, BabyB.’ SlipperySlope had called me to talk about BigMouth’s ASBO-attracting blue rinses. ‘They’re far more eccentric than your usual Saga louts with their recycling bins stuffed full of bottles of fine Rioja. No, these ones are quite simply mad, mad, mad and very old. But even if there’s a small chance that there’s something in this, we could be on to a windfall settlement just to keep the whole thing out of the press.’
‘And how do you think I can help?’ I asked him, somewhat confused as to what role I might play in all this.
‘You’re going to be doing the running, BabyB. All the important work.’
Chief dogsbody more like. But I’m not exactly in a position to argue.
‘I’ll provide the back-up and funding. BigMouth has asked for a two-hundred-pound backhander for every case he refers involving a mad oldie or Moldy as I like to call them. My shout on that. All tax deductible through my er, marketing budget although somehow I doubt it’ll ever appear in his declaration of members’ interests.You, meanwhile, my sharp-witted friend, will get to work growing our little money-making tree.’ This was all delivered in a voice that reminded me of Del Boy in Only Fools and Horses, putting his arm around his brother’s shoulder and assuring him that this time next year they would be millionaires. Oh, except Slippery already is a millionaire, several times over probably.
After that little introduction, he sent over the paperwork, which consisted of long ranting letters from each of TheMoldies but little else. No medical evidence, no real details of the legal case they are trying to make. Which means of course that we need to get them all into chambers for a
nice cosy little conference in the next few days. I’ve deliberately booked it to coincide with chambers tea . . .
Wednesday 31 October 2007
Year 2 (week 5): Bombshell
I can’t pretend that I haven’t been worrying about today’s meeting with my mother’s loan shark. The deal I’d made last year was that they wouldn’t call in her debts and leave her homeless and destitute on the condition that I would agree to take over her loan next year. It all seemed so simple at the time and it is only as the months have gone by that I have started to regret not having the agreement in writing. But then, why on earth wouldn’t they allow the debt to be passed to her oh-so-solvent barrister son?
Why on earth indeed? And this is the question I am now left asking as my mother and I try and recover from the bombshell that was delivered today in the form of the loan shark’s new spiv. He told us that he had it from ‘on high’ that the loan could under no circumstances be refinanced on their books.
‘It’s the credit crunch I’m afraid. No exceptions. So, Mr BabyBarista, whatever you say was agreed last year, either you pay up the whole amount now or we start enforcement proceedings.’
Now there’s no way, even with my new place in chambers, that I can raise anything close to the four hundred grand that is the terrifying total of all my mother’s debt.
All of this was bad enough but my worries were then multiplied when I rushed back from the meeting for a drink with Claire. I had had to stop at chambers on the way, to catch up with the BigMouth case and once again I arrived late. After apologising profusely I’d explained about everything that had happened with the loan shark and she listened with an increasingly furrowed brow,
‘I hate to say it, BabyB,’ she said, ‘but there may be more to this than just the state of the economy.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Look, I’m definitely no conspiracy theorist, but if there is any truth at all in what your MP is saying about the telecom company you’re thinking of suing, well they’re a pretty powerful enemy to be taking on.’
‘Oh.’
Then she added enigmatically, ‘And I really don’t know what went on between you and TopFirst, but it’s pretty clear to me that he’s trouble and also that he’s the sort of person who would have no boundaries when it comes to wanting to hurt someone.’
‘But he couldn’t possibly have anything to do with this loan company.’
‘Maybe you’re right. But we both know that half his friends all work in finance.’
Oh.
‘Listen,’ she added. ‘I don’t know anything and I’m sure I’m just being extra paranoid because I care about you.’ She paused and then added, ‘But even so, what is it they say? Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean that they’re not after you.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Who can tell?’ With which she smiled and changed the conversation.
It left me desperately wanting to tell her about everything that happened last year. About TheBoss and his corruption, but above all about the compromises I had made myself. But on second thoughts, I’m in too deep to even start offloading now. So much for my mother’s prediction that I’d never need to worry again.
Chapter 2
November: War
Thursday 1 November 2007
Year 2 (week 5): Flying
I was on the train to court today, haggling over the details of a claim with my opponent, TheCreep, who had plonked himself down at my table. Haggling is putting it politely. Getting harangued by him would be more accurate. Bearing in mind I’ve always admired the fact that arguing with TheBusker is like trying to nail jelly to a wall, I decided to go with one of his tactics by simply changing the subject.
‘Yes, very interesting,’ I said. ‘Er, have you read any good books lately?’
But this just provoked the retort: ‘Leave the Buskering to TheBusker, BabyB.’
Ouch. Once more he was back to badgering over interest calculations as if he really believed that I cared about them. Then, just as the train sped over a tall bridge, a child in the carriage who was staring out of the window shouted, ‘Mummy, we’re flying.’
Conversations actually stopped. Even TheCreep hesitated and for that moment, as we were all carried away from our present cares and lifted back to an innocent past where lawyers didn’t exist and dreams were real, the whole carriage really was flying.
It was a fleeting moment of hope before it all started up once again.
Monday 5 November 2007
Year 2 (week 6): Declaration of war
After a weekend of unsuccessfully trying to untangle finances with my mother, the very last person I wanted to bump into this morning at court was TopFirst. Thankfully, at least, we weren’t against each other and so I tried to ignore him. However, it became ever more clear that he was trying to get my attention and eventually he came over and collared me as I left the client to give my solicitor a call. He said just four words, ‘How’s your mother, BabyB?’
By the time I began to make sense of what he had said, he was gone. Claire had been right. TopFirst was behind the loan shark’s change of tack. As my mind started to clear, an anger rose in me like I’ve never felt before. War had been declared and this time there would be no rules.
Tuesday 6 November 2007
Year 2 (week 6): Facebook friend
Why and how are the two questions that continue to reverberate around my head. Why would TopFirst go nuclear when I still hold the Ginny tapes that I could release any time I like? I can only assume that he’s figuring on my not wanting to risk incriminating myself in setting up a honeytrap just to ruin his engagement. In this he would be right, if that was the only thing I stood to gain. As to how, that’s something I obviously need to investigate. But above all, if TopFirst has decided to show his hand to me at this point then I also have to ask what kind of trap he’s trying to set now and how I might stay one step ahead?
So for the moment there’ll be no brown envelope winging its way over to TopFirst’s fiancée and he can keep on guessing just how far I’m prepared to go. In the meantime I need to start gathering information and there is no better place than the lovely fiancée herself. Which is why I added her to my list of friends on Facebook today. Since we did actually meet a few times last year, I also added a note:
Hi, hope all’s well with you and TopFirst and that you’re still enjoying life in your new career as a management consultant. Got to be more interesting than the cases they’re feeding me. Anyway, just a note to say that if you’re ever in the area and at a loose end, do pop in for coffee.
Wednesday 7 November 2007
Year 2 (week 6): Rehabilitation of offenders
TheVamp was complaining today about how pointless it had been for the judge to have sent her negligent doctor client to prison.
‘I mean, it’s not like he’s about to re-offend,’ she said.
‘And it probably costs more to keep a prisoner for a year than it does to train a pupil barrister,’ said TheCreep.
‘Yes, and all they learn is how to lie, thieve and generally live off the backs of honest, upstanding members of society,’ said OldSmoothie.
‘As well as the little tricks which will keep them out of trouble on some ridiculous technicality or other,’ said UpTights.
‘And that’s before you add the shady network of contacts they get to tap into,’ said OldSmoothie.
‘You’re so right,’ said TheCreep. ‘I mean, how on earth can they be expected to come out as normal, well-balanced individuals with that kind of legacy?’
‘Can’t be much better for those in prison,’ said TheBusker with a wry smile.
Thursday 8 November 2007
Year 2 (week 6): Skeleton argument
I had told TheBusker about my frustrating time with TheCreep the other day and he suggested that I follow him to court tomorrow when his opponent will be none other than the little upstart himself. My occasional trips with TheBusker not only provide
a great distraction from my other worries but they also teach me more about courtroom tactics than anything I ever learnt from my pupilmasters. Then again, TheBoss and UpTights were something of a rum bunch. The case tomorrow is an appeal and skeleton arguments have been ordered to be written. TheCreep’s is hardly either a skeleton or an argument, extending as it does to some fifty-three and a half pages. The Busker only highlighted the absurdity of such a creation for a relatively small personal injury case with the following skeleton in reply: ‘The appeal is misconceived since it has failed to refer to the binding authority of Davies v. Howard.’
I look forward to the fight.
Friday 9 November 2007
Year 2 (week 6): Chuckled out of court
TheBusker had already wound up TheCreep with his skeleton argument and by the time we arrived at court TheCreep was almost jumping up and down with frustration as he tried desperately to find out what TheBusker was going to say. Unfortunately for him the only response he could elicit was a low-pitched chuckle. Once in court, the chuckle continued. Not in a snide way but merely in response to the constant jibes being thrown forth by his opponent.
By way of example, TheCreep said, ‘Your Honour, my learned friend has singularly failed to set out any coherent argument against each of my points and has even failed to do so when I have asked him this morning . . .’
And then when everybody looked at TheBusker for a response his shoulders started rising and falling and he just carried on chuckling to himself like he was privy to some hilarious private joke.