Law and Peace (24 page)

Phew. Game, set and match for today. Our big concern was that they might try and insist on having the cases heard or at least want to see good reasons for withdrawing them at this stage. Whilst we figured that they had been faked, we certainly didn't have enough to constitute evidence. So if we'd told the other side about these cases even a minute before going into court, TopFirst and the solicitor would have had a chance to get to UpTights and give her clear instructions and our plan may have been thwarted.

As it was, I took particular pleasure in holding up a sheet of paper to TopFirst upon which I had written the words ‘Who's the loser now, LOSER?'

 

 

Monday 5 May 2008

Year 2 (week 32): I am instructed . . .

 

With the trial now underway, both TopFlirt and WhistleBlower continue to be AWOL. I've tried calling TopFlirt's mobile a few times now but it's always switched off, and I obviously can't call her house with the lovely TopFirst likely to pick up at the other end. I even checked to see if there was any clue on Facebook but her last status update said simply, ‘Out of the country'. This is all a big problem because although we have managed to get our expert evidence together, as I remembered from my own button-on-clip-on-braces moment, that could still go either way. TheBoss has investigators looking for WhistleBlower and I've hired one specifically to try and track down TopFlirt just in case she can somehow help us get to her. However, it's becoming pretty clear that at present they are in hiding.

The big issue is the leaked documents. So far the telecom company has managed to hedge on the issue as to whether they are actually authentic or fake. They have merely stonewalled by saying that the burden of proof lies with us. My guess is that their main concern is that we'll track down WhistleBlower. If we do, then to have denied the authenticity of the documents will make their position far worse. But if it transpires that we can't find her, I imagine they will claim that the documents we have are fakes, having destroyed all other evidence of their existence.

All of this is why I emphasised how important it was for OldSmoothie to get the other side to commit to the documents one way or the other today. Needless to say, when he raised it, the other side were full of bluster about there being ‘no proof whatsoever that the documents were authentic'.

‘In which case,' said OldSmoothie in court this morning, ‘it should be fairly easy for the other side simply to deny their authenticity.'

‘Er, well, no, it's not as simple as that,' said UpTights.

‘Why not, Ms UpTights? You've known about these documents now for several weeks. Plenty of time to conduct your own investigations. Are they real or fake?'

UpTights didn't look at all happy with this but she looked even more unhappy when she was given instructions from her solicitor via TopFirst.

‘I am instructed . . .' she started, knowing full well that the use of these words indicated her own lack of complicity with what would follow, ‘. . . that . . .' she hesitated, looking distinctly uncomfortable, ‘. . . the documents are fake.'

She sat down with a grimace to those behind her, which suggested that the instructions she had been given left her feeling somewhat sullied. It's the same kind of face I imagine she'd pull in the unlikely event that she ever had a dog and was forced to pick up its droppings.

This certainly puts even more pressure on me now to track WhistleBlower down.

 

 

Tuesday 6 May 2008

Year 2 (week 32): Killing time

 

For some reason I decided to dig out our old family photo albums last night and I soon stumbled upon a picture of the day I had recalled after my skateboarding experience. It had obviously been taken by a passer-by and it showed the three of us, next to our respective creations on the beach, beaming. Well, almost. More accurately it would have showed the three of us were it not for the fact that my mother's face had been cut out of the photograph. Her hands were there around her sandcastle but the one-inch square where her face should have been was missing. Puzzled, I pulled it out and found myself wanting to keep it, even with the hole in it. Maybe I would even scan it at some point. Just at that moment my mother came into my room unannounced and looked at me and then the album and finally the mutilated photograph in my hand.

‘BabyB? What on earth are you doing?'

I tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Oh, I was just flicking through our old albums.'

‘But why on earth are you taking the photos out? Why can't you just leave them as they are?'

Surprised at her tone, I just looked at her blankly. Then the expression on her face changed from shock to anger and she said, ‘BabyB, I just don't know what's happened to you recently. You were always such a lovely child and now all you seem to care about is your oh-so-important cases and clients and, let's face it, money.'

I did not know how to respond, being both surprised at where it had come from and also knowing that there was a great deal of truth in what she said, and so I stayed silent and hung my head.

‘I don't know what goes on in that head of yours any longer, but I know for sure that I don't like it and obviously Claire doesn't either. You've turned into a money-making machine, BabyB, and you've sold your soul in the process.' Her voice rose in pitch as she continued, ‘A cold-hearted lawyer who doesn't give a fig for anyone or anything, least of all his friends and family. You never have any time for anyone these days unless they'll earn you some cash or further your career. You haven't just got your priorities skewed. You've become a different person. Sometimes I feel I don't even know you any longer. Or want to know you for that matter.' Then she paused, composed herself and flattened down her rumpled skirt before delivering the final blow. ‘You're as bad as your old man, BabyB. I always knew it in my heart. However much I tried to believe otherwise.'

It was like being hit by a force of nature. I found myself struggling to compute what she was saying, but also painfully aware of how hurt and angry she was.

‘You treat me just like one of your cases. One minute I have your complete attention and the next I'm effectively being tied in pink ribbon and sent back to the solicitors along with a bill for your time, whilst the spotlight of your attention moves on to the next task. Always compartmentalising, always emotionally detached. It's just not healthy. You've got to engage. Let the sadness in, feel regret and guilt. If you can't do that you'll never be able to feel happy or experience forgiveness either.'

Then just as quickly as the hurricane had started it came to an end and my mother collapsed in a heap, her head in her hands. She began to sob, and after a few moments, between breaths, she whispered, ‘I'm so sorry, BabyB. I don't mean any of it. I just hate your father so very much. Not for what he did to me but for leaving you without him.'

Still in shock I moved towards my mother and hugged her. ‘I know you don't mean it and I do understand,' I said, feeling tears springing to my own eyes.

‘It was an education for me having a little boy,' she continued. ‘One day it was football, the next day it might be den-making, and your attention would duck and dive on a whim. But whatever it was would take up your complete focus for that moment. Boys are so very different to girls and in the beginning I thought it meant that you were careless. But then I realised that in fact you were just completely carefree and I wanted so very much to have just a little bit of that rub off on me.'

I smiled, and struggled to find words to say everything I was feeling.

She went on, ‘But you're none of those things I've just said. I don't even know where that came from. It just kind of erupted inside me when I saw that terrible photo that I'd cut myself out of years ago in a fit of self-loathing. It was a deep visceral anger. I'm so very sorry, BabyB. The last person in the whole world I'd want to inflict that on is you.'

I hugged her more tightly. Her sobs were slowing down now.

‘Honestly. It's him, not you, BabyB. You've always been so very patient and kind with me I can't believe I just said those things. I've never even thought them before, never mind believed them.'

I told her I loved her and then she looked up, grasped my shoulders and said, ‘I love you too, BabyB, and I'm not in the slightest bit angry with you. In fact mostly what I feel is guilt at knowing that what you're doing is actually for me and is driven by the debts I've run up in the first place. But nevertheless, I am concerned about you.'

We let the silence fall and then she said very quietly, ‘You're always rushing around, BabyB. Chopping up your life into hours, minutes, seconds. I suppose it's what you lawyers are about. But if you're not careful, you'll turn into one of them and your whole life will be lost on to some dusty, meaningless timesheet.'

I certainly wasn't going to dispute that. Then she seemed to brighten a little, shook her head and said, ‘It's all my fault for not having the time to show you what's important in life. I was too wrapped up in wanting you to escape my poverty and powerlessness and I forgot to teach you to have fun. You know, your father wasn't much good for many things but he did know how to have fun.' She smiled and then said, ‘Take the time to stand and stare. Smell the fresh morning air, look out your window at the cherry blossom, or watch the girls go by in the summer. I don't care what it is but just take a little bit of pleasure in being rather than doing.'

Her eyes were soft as she added, ‘I do worry for you, BabyB.'

 

 

Wednesday 7 May 2008

Year 2 (week 32): Attic attack

 

I can't say that I slept terribly well last night as I lay there worrying not only about what my mother had said but also about the reasons that Claire and I had fallen out. The deeper I get into this mess the more I seem to be hurting the people that I'm closest to and yet I still can't see a way out. Anyway, as I arrived at court bleary eyed this morning, I was pleased to see that ScandalMonger had come along to watch since he's always guaranteed to take the attention away from anyone else. So it was today as he sat there chuckling to himself just behind SlipperySlope. When UpTights entered the court it certainly didn't look as though her mood had improved from yesterday. In fact, her whole demeanour was distinctly ‘out there' even for her. Scandal was immediately on it with a loud whisper of, ‘Who let Mrs Rochester out of the attic?'

I hate to admit it, but after TopFirst's petty attack over my utility bills, I've been determined to be equally petty in my response, and so for the last three days I've been lacing his water in court with strong senna-based laxatives. This has meant not only that he's been looking tired and emotional but also having to leave the court every half-hour or so. I'd mentioned this to Scandal before the hearing and he'd obviously heard me wrong because looking at UpTights's stressed-out face he whispered to me, ‘Looks like those pills are really getting to her.'

To which I could only answer, ‘No pills needed to make UpTights look like she's straining, I'm afraid.'

When there was a short break in the proceedings mid-morning, Scandal again piped up, this time commenting upon how many lawyers it takes to settle a small dispute. Then he added, ‘You know, there have been studies that have shown that wherever you are on the planet you're never less than five yards away from a lawyer.'

Being the smart alec that he is, TopFirst immediately looked over to our side and corrected Scandal with, ‘I think you'll find that that statistic refers to rats, not lawyers.'

‘Well, there you go,' smiled Scandal gesturing around the court. ‘The mother lode.'

TopFirst scowled as he realised that he'd fallen for one of Scandal's little jokes and as he did so, Slippery let loose with another of his misquotes, ‘Ooh, grin for me, grin for me, they've all gorrit in for me.'

But despite all the high jinx, it was clear to all of us as the day dragged on that the more time that passes, the more we are losing the case itself. At one point in the afternoon, UpTights really rubbed it in when she made a comment to the judge about the weakness of our evidence, and all OldSmoothie could muster was the sort of resigned look that England cricket captains tend to give after another test match defeat. Whilst he was doing so, UpTights started up the theatrics by staring at him for just a bit longer than was polite and said, ‘Look at that, Your Honour.'

The whole court turned to OldSmoothie. Then UpTights smiled and gave the knife a final few turns, ‘Utterly beyond hope and he knows it.' She looked around and then added, ‘Though I believe the death throes of a cockroach that has been decapitated can take several weeks to come to an end.'

 

 

Thursday 8 May 2008

Year 2 (week 32): BrainWasher

 

With the trial going from bad to worse and no sign of either WhistleBlower or TopFlirt, I was called into the solicitors' office today by none other than Smutton.

When I arrived I mentioned Smutton's name and was whisked up to the floor above Slippery's office. Her office was at the end of a long corridor. But unlike all the other solicitors in the firm, there was no little cubbyhole for her. Her office was more like something out of Wall Street, with views out over Tower Bridge and the Thames. As I entered, I was taken aback by a little white Jack Russell jumping up at my legs.