Law and Disorder (8 page)

‘Worrier, we’re here to help. What exactly’s bothering you?’

‘Oh, it’s probably nothing.’

‘Well, let’s see. Try me.’

I tried to warn her by catching her eye, but vulnerable as she was she appeared to have been taken in by his mock concern.

‘It’s OldSmoothie.’

‘Ah,’ said TheBoss. ‘Being offensive again is he?’

‘Well, it’s just that I did some papers for him and he didn’t like what I’d done so I gave it another try.’

‘And he still didn’t like it?’

She then started to blurt it out: ‘He told me not to be so indecisive in my advices. That I needed to get to the point. Well, that was OK in itself. In fact I’ve often thought that myself. I just don’t find it terribly easy.’

Like a cheap car salesman, TheBoss pulled a super-caring face and asked, ‘So what did he then say, Worrier?’

‘He told me that he didn’t know how on earth I was going to cope with court. Maybe it’s a girl thing, he said, and that he just wasn’t quite getting it. Is it a girl thing? he demanded. Is that what it is?’

Now, it seemed to me that he could certainly have phrased his comments more diplomatically, but if you met Worrier, you’d know that he had a point – although it certainly isn’t a ‘girl thing’. But TheBoss was off on a completely different tangent.

‘Worrier, despite all my years at the Bar I’m shocked to hear that such things go on. Really. You hear apocryphal stories but you don’t actually think they happen in real life.’

‘I know,’ she whimpered.

‘It must be terrible to be in your position and feel so powerless. You know, that’s exactly why the Bar Council is so strict about this sort of thing. To avoid this abuse of power.’

‘I know.’

‘They’re there to protect not only you but everyone like you around the country.’ The thought of armies of little Worriers was an exhausting one.

‘You’re right.’

‘And the biggest thing they have to fight against is fear. Fear instilled into the victims that somehow they will be punished if they complain. Classic battered wife syndrome.’

He paused, perhaps concerned that he might be pushing it just a little too far. ‘You know, the real difficulty for you is that you’re almost in a Catch-22.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Well, if you complain, you’ll annoy OldSmoothie and potentially even HeadofChambers.’

‘Exactly.’ She brightened up.This was obviously what she wanted to hear. In fact I think all she wanted was a little reassurance.

However, he followed up with, ‘But if you don’t complain you may undermine your whole position. Fatally, even.’

‘Because?’

‘It’s obvious, really. If you don’t complain you give him carte blanche to bully, discriminate and otherwise demean you for the rest of the next year. He’s hardly going to improve. Then, when you are finally pushed over the edge into complaining, it’ll be held against you that you didn’t say anything early on. They might even use that to question your whole account.’

‘Oh. You’re right.’ She started to look even more worried than usual. ‘So the only course is for me to complain to the Bar Council, you think.’

‘Well,’ TheBoss said, taking a more conciliatory tone. ‘Perhaps there might be a compromise where you don’t have to go nuclear at this stage but you can still record your unhappiness.’

‘Really?’ She looked hopeful.

‘Perhaps,’ he continued,‘you could simply start with complaining to HeadofChambers.’

‘Oh. Yes, I suppose you might be right. That might work.’

‘Although I’d be careful if I were you and I’d definitely take a dictaphone along in your pocket to record the conversation in case he comes out with anything else.’

‘Oh thank you so much. You’ve been a real help.’

‘Oh, my pleasure,’ TheBoss replied.

As she left the room, I looked at TheBoss with what can only have been horror on my face and he said,‘Litigation,pupillage,life, BabyB, it’s all war. Read the book. You fight or you die.’

Tuesday 5 December 2006

Day 47 (week 10): HotCake

Today I had a visit in chambers. Not work-related either. Actually, it couldn’t have been more non-work-related. In fact it’s something to which in many ways I’d rather not admit. My esteemed visitor was none other than my mother. In itself, you might say that’s not so unusual. Nice that she’s interested and all. With that I would agree. To a point. Even if she arrived without any notice whatsoever. Even that I could handle. But not, and when I say not I mean never, when she arrives in the middle of the afternoon carrying a hot cake which she’s just baked. Nor when she proceeds to tell the whole clerks’ room that she’s worried that I’ve been ‘working a little too hard’ and thought that this might cheer me up. Is she mad?! I couldn’t have been more mortified when I was called out of a conference with TheBoss to greet her. Worse still, OldSmoothie was around and spotted the comedy potential at my expense.

‘Ah, BabyBarista, I see you have a guest. Do introduce us.’

‘Er, OldSmoothie, this is my mum.’

‘Delighted to meet you.’ He extended his hand, all charm itself. ‘And I see you’ve brought along a cake? Smells rather good, I must say.’

‘Well, they do work you all very hard and poor BabyBarista. He’s only young, you know. Hasn’t even left home and he’s thrown into this big grown-up world.’

‘I quite agree. It’s very tough on the little ones. We try to help them along, of course, but nothing can beat a mother’s tender care.’

‘Oh, I’m so glad you understand.’

‘I certainly do. Now, you must come and join us at chambers tea where perhaps everyone can have a small taste of your wonderful culinary skills.’

‘Oh. Do you think so? I wouldn’t want to get in the way or anything.’

‘I can assure you that you will be most welcome.’

No! Please! Just leave me alone and let me go and hide in the farthest corner of the library. No such luck and I simply had to smile wanly and trot along tied to my mother’s apron strings. Literally. Which meant that chambers were merrily entertained by my mother for the whole of tea as she regaled them with the usual motherly embarrassing stories. Worse still, everyone now knows that I continue to live at home, which was something I’d hoped to keep hidden under my little horsehair wig, despite the fact that my pupil poverty is actually caused by them. All she could say afterwards was, ‘Sorry, BabyB. I’ve embarrassed you, I can tell. It’s just that I was worried about you, that’s all.’

No answer to that.

Wednesday 6 December 2006

Day 48 (week 10): Killing the Mockingbird

‘I had my meeting with HeadofChambers this morning,’ began Worrier as she came into our room just before lunch. Her remarks were addressed to us both but it was TheBoss who replied.

‘And? What did he say?’

‘Discouraged me from doing anything at all.’ She put on a particularly pompous voice and said, ‘You know, my dear, I’m sure this can be sorted out informally with a word in the right ear.’

TheBoss raised his eyebrows. ‘Did he say anything else?’ he asked.

‘Yes, he went further than that,’ she replied and put her HeadofChambers voice back on. ‘I can assure you that I say this with the very best of intent for your career. Be very careful where you take this. A woman can get a name for herself for causing trouble which it becomes impossible to lose in such a small world.’

‘He actually used those words?’

‘Oh there’s more,’ she said, rising slightly to the occasion with all the attention TheBoss was lavishing on her. Back to the voice again. ‘I’m afraid, dear, you’re going to have to get used to the rough and tumble of the Bar. It’s only going to get worse once you’re in court and throwing insults at each other across a courtroom. To survive in this job, you have to be tough. I’m sure OldSmoothie was only trying to help you.’

‘That’s extraordinary, given the nature of your complaint.’

‘So what do you think I should do?’ she asked TheBoss.‘I’m now completely confused. Though I did get it on tape as you suggested,’ she added.

‘Well, your choices are pretty clear. You can either make a formal complaint to chambers or you can take it straight to the Bar Council and include HeadofChambers within that complaint.’ He paused and let her mull this over before continuing, ‘You know, my own view is that you should still avoid overstepping the mark and so maybe it’d be wise simply to formalise your complaint with chambers.’

Both TheBoss and I knew that to make such a complaint would be professional suicide. He had brought her to the edge of the cliff and was now giving her the choice of jumping.

‘I’m not sure Worrier needs to go as far as that,’ I attempted, but TheBoss interrupted me and gave me a dismissive wave of the hand. There was only one answer as far as he was concerned, but just to make sure he pushed her over the edge.

‘The problem is, as I’ve mentioned before, if you do nothing now it may well come back to haunt you if things then get worse.’

This was indeed a winning argument and over the edge she went as I just stood by and watched.

By mid-afternoon it was the talk of chambers. Whilst I was supposedly making coffee I overheard one of the more senior barristers in chambers telling TheBoss, using the word ‘foolhardy’ and finishing with, ‘Well, on her own head be it.’

Later I told Claire.

‘Of all the people to do it to. Poor innocent Worrier wouldn’t harm a soul.’

‘I know.’

‘But why? What has he got to gain?’

‘Nothing. Nor is it because she’s a woman or anything like that. I think with him it’s just sport. Killing for killing’s sake.’ This was probably about right, although I still felt bad for not mentioning the book he had given me.

‘He aims, he fires and down comes the mockingbird,’ said Claire ruefully. Then she added, ‘But why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I don’t know. I tried,’ I ventured, as Claire raised a sceptical eyebrow. I was silent. I felt and probably looked quite ashamed. Seeing my unease, Claire didn’t pursue it further though I could tell she was disappointed. She ended the conversation with, ‘It’s terrible, this pupillage thing, and it’s only going to get worse.’

The problem is that I fear TheBoss may have a point. Kill or be killed.

Thursday 7 December 2006

Day 49 (week 10): Solicitor party

Out to a party at a solicitors’ firm this evening with TheBoss, who was feeling generous after another of his last-minute lucrative settlements.

‘Now, BabyB,’ said TheBoss. ‘There’s a pecking order at these sorts of things and you’d better get it right.’ He paused for effect before continuing. ‘Accident management companies chase ambulances, solicitors schmooze accident management companies and barristers fawn over solicitors. Fail to do that and you’ll have no practice even to lose.’

Once there I ended up chatting to SlipperySlope, the senior partner. He’s got all the airs and graces of a country squire but a suit with stripes that would have done Arthur Daley proud. Maybe a legal version of Boycie from
Only Fools and Horses
might be a way of imagining him. He oozed his way over to chat to TheBoss who then eventually dumped him on me. Looking for something to say, I commented on the plush surroundings of the large room at Somerset House which must have cost an arm and a leg, which I guess would be appropriate for a personal injury firm.

‘How do SlipperySlope & Co. make the sort of money that can pay for a party like this out of personal injury cases?’ I asked, going for the subtle approach.

‘We’re alchemists, BabyB. Making gold.’

‘I see,’ I replied, politely.

The champagne was starting to take effect and he warmed to his theme. ‘You know how?’

‘No.’

‘Working forty-eight hours a day.’ He chuckled at what must have been an in-joke.

‘I don’t think I understand.’

‘It’s simple. When each little action like a quick letter or a ten-second telephone call can be billed as six minutes, you can accumulate a lot of hours in a short amount of time.’

‘Oh.’ Silly me. Kind of reminds me of that joke about the lawyer who died aged forty and was standing before Saint Peter at the pearly gates:

‘You know, I’ll sue,’ the lawyer says. ‘I don’t smoke or drink, I take regular exercise and above all, I’m only forty years old. There’s no way I should be dead.’

So Saint Peter goes off and checks the records and replies, ‘I’m afraid that according to your time sheets, your age is at least one hundred and thirty-five just by hours billed alone.’

Until this point the evening was going swimmingly. Until, that is, I stumbled across SlipperySlope’s second-in-command at the firm who managed to corner me for a good twenty minutes and tell me about how important the firm was to chambers. In the end I just had to escape and made it to the serving area for some fresh air and away from the stench of smug drunken legalese.

‘If that man over there has the same effect on me as he has on his opponents, I’m sure he could bore them all into settling just to save themselves from having to listen to him again,’ I said to the two waitresses who were also taking a sneaky break.