by David Cooper
“All the better for touching base with you, Pleb! Time to get our ducks in a row, eh?”
Endacott gestured towards the array of drinks on top of the nearby cabinet. It was already becoming painfully obvious to Craven that the next stage of his involvement in Endbrack IT’s warranty claim would be something to endure rather than enjoy.
Two hours earlier, Craven had dutifully gone along to the Hyatt on Broad Street to start off the process of gathering evidence, by interviewing Colin Dowling. He discovered that Dowling had not yet returned from an earlier meeting but had phoned ahead to tell the hotel reception that he was on his way. When Dowling walked in ten minutes later, his first gesture was to usher Craven outside and show him the Lamborghini that he had just left with the valet parking attendant, caring little for Craven’s evident lack of interest in either cars or ostentatious wealth.
“Jerry’s just let me drive this back from the Villa ground. What a man!”
Craven gave a polite nod, but was anxious to get on with the task in hand. He felt uneasy at the waste of any time for which the firm’s client would be charged, however trivial it might be from a wider perspective. The unduly obsequious attitude that he felt Dowling was already displaying towards his boss was hardly any help.
Having gone up to Endacott’s suite, and declined anything stronger than coffee while Dowling helped himself to wine, he busied himself with the process of quizzing Dowling about the warranty claim and the pre-contract investigations. He soon had a good idea of exactly how Dowling had approached the exercise and what he had uncovered.
However, he was left with an uncomfortable impression that Dowling was too keen to tell him what he thought Craven wanted to hear, rather than the unembellished truth. Dowling’s sycophantic loyalty towards Endacott was jarring. In his earlier legal career, Craven had been much more accustomed to plain speaking industrialists from the North Midlands, than to aspiring high flyers in modern technology businesses. He sensed that Dowling might prove to be a poor witness. His session with Dowling drew to a close just as Endacott himself returned from his conference, and he decided to keep his misgivings about Dowling to himself until there was a chance to discuss them privately with Finnie back at the office.
To his credit, when Endacott asked how useful the session had been, Craven was able to demonstrate that he had picked up the technical background to the deal very quickly. But he winced at Endacott’s unprompted description of Dowling as a ‘half soaked detail dodger’, reading nothing into Endacott’s sarcastic tone or the grinning Dowling’s semi-obscene flick of the wrist in return. He wondered once more if he would be able to rely on anything he had just been told. The ringing phone that anticipated Finnie’s arrival spared Craven further embarrassment at the clients’ hands, but not for long.
When calm had finally descended, Craven began his note taking role while Finnie steered the course of the interview. For the first half hour, he kept up diligently. He was still keenly interested in the fine detail of how the target assets should have complemented the development of the clients’ product lines. But when Endacott had replenished his and Finnie’s empty glasses for the first time, and launched off into what would be the first of many reminiscences from their student days, Craven began to feel a growing sense of frustration. As the interview progressed, the ever increasing digressions left him with an acute sense that Finnie was a superficial interviewer, skating over important points that ought to have been explored more deeply. But both Finnie and Endacott seemed to care little.
“What about you, then, Paul? Were you ever hauled up in front of the deans?”
Endacott’s question was an embarrassment, but not for any reason that he might have guessed beforehand.
“Er, sorry, I never went to university. I started work straight from school.”
“Did you, now?” Endacott made a sweeping gesture with his palms outstretched, the theatrical exaggeration leaving Craven even more ill at ease. “He’ll never know what he missed out on, eh, Pleb?” He leered in Finnie’s direction. Craven’s forlorn hope that Finnie might act like a responsible law firm partner and come to his defence proved futile, as Finnie raised his hand and traded a high five salute with his client.
By the time the meeting had run its course, with Endacott distinctly the worse for wear and Finnie not far behind, Craven could not recall any worktime occasion when he had ever felt more uncomfortable. He had, at least, participated in the meeting exactly as he had been asked, and was all set to produce a written statement in Endacott’s name once he was back at his desk on the following day. But his unease had reached new heights. The session had lasted for almost three hours, an hour too long in Craven’s view thanks to the endless straying into long forgotten undergraduate escapades. He was left with the impression that Finnie had deliberately encouraged the diversions, simply to pad out the time that would be charged to Endbrack’s file. There were still a number of unclear issues that Finnie had only addressed sparingly. And once the legal papers had been packed away, with Craven anxious to escape the hotel and head for the station, Endacott’s boorish conduct had continued unabated.
“Right, how about some serious drinking? Come to think of it, I wouldn’t say no to an eyeful of tits and fannies. Where’s the best place around here, Pleb? I’m sure you’ll be up for it!”
To Craven’s utter disbelief, Finnie reeled off a list of lap dancing clubs that he knew to be within walking distance of the hotel, and made a disparaging remark about Endacott’s fiancée that still reflected his clear enthusiasm for the round of evening entertainment that his client had proposed.
“Don’t worry about her indoors. To coin a phrase, what happens in Birmingham stays in Birmingham! At least you’ve got no personal commitments to worry about, you randy little bugger!” Endacott roared with self congratulatory laughter before turning to Craven. “I take it you wouldn’t be interested in joining us? No, thought not. Right, off to the bog.”
He extended his hand to Craven for a brief parting handshake, before striding across to the bathroom at the opposite end of the suite. Craven was left to mumble a farewell to Finnie, hoping to salvage a few civilised words before leaving. But Finnie’s reply was far more consistent with his student days than his status as a partner in BLH Solicitors.
“Great character, eh? Mark my words, he’ll be as pissed as a newt tonight, and he might wake up tomorrow next to a slapper without knowing how she got there, but he’ll be all bright eyed and bushy tailed tomorrow at ten, just in time for his conference. Wish I could live his life…”
Craven was at least able to keep in control until he had reached the station platform. As he sat down to await his train, he buried his head in his hands and hoped that he would never have to become involved with such a client ever again. But it was not long before even more troubled thoughts began to descend upon him. By the time the train had arrived and pulled out of Birmingham on its way northbound, he was almost trembling.
How can I carry on like this, if that’s what life in a big law firm is all about?
Why can’t they just leave me in peace to get on with my work? I can get things done and earn decent fees for them. Isn’t that good enough?
I can’t do anything about the way that I am. Can’t they just accept me like this?
But they don’t know…
In a flash of self directed anger, he tried to banish the demons. Ever since he had first come to understand that his mind was what some might describe as differently wired, it had always been his choice to keep the explanation to himself as far as possible. All too often in times gone by, a trouble shared had been a trouble doubled rather than halved. The firm would never find out about his mental weaknesses, and could not be expected to take them into account, unless he broke his vow and said something.
Is that the price I might have to pay for surviving in this job? Can’t I just carry on doing my best to cope?
As the train arrived at Stafford, his thoughts had swung once more. He
realised that if any of their employees were afflicted by an obvious physical disability, the firm would be under a duty to help them. And it suddenly dawned on him that the answer was almost at his fingertips. He left the station and his fifteen minute brisk walk home almost became a trot.
Over the previous weekend, never knowing that few others would take the trouble to interpret the HR department’s instructions so literally, he had read the firm’s newly published office manual from cover to cover, even pausing to highlight the occasional passage and make jottings in the margins. He was the first of the firm’s employees to confirm, by countersigning and returning the copy of the covering note, that he had done so. With his thoughts still in a state of turmoil, he arrived home and was soon flicking through the manual again to track down what had suddenly occurred to him on the journey home.
‘BLH Solicitors Equality and Diversity Policy
BLH Solicitors is committed as a firm to the elimination of discrimination and the promotion of equality and diversity in its own policies, practices and procedures and in all internal and external situations that it is in a position to influence…BLH will treat everyone equally and with the same respect and courtesy and will not unlawfully discriminate against any person nor victimise or harass them on the grounds of their race or racial group, gender, sexual orientation, religion or belief, age or disability.’
“Or disability…” Craven turned a page, hoping that he had correctly remembered the substance of a passage that he had noted four days earlier. He was soon assured further.
‘BLH will take all steps and will make all adjustments as are reasonably necessary, in all the relevant circumstances, to ensure that members and employees of the firm and clients are not placed at a substantial disadvantage in comparison with those who are not disabled.’
Craven seized a red pen and marked a large asterisk in the margin next to the passage, before looking at a section further down the page, headed Conditions of Service.
‘BLH will create a working environment which is free from discrimination, victimisation and harassment and which respects the diverse backgrounds, beliefs and personal circumstances of employees of the firm. Where applicable and necessary, the firm will endeavour to provide appropriate facilities and conditions of service which take into account employees’ specific needs.’
Craven was almost at the end of his quest. He knew that he would much prefer to avoid drawing attention to himself, but the horrendous experience of the session with Finnie and Endacott only a few hours earlier had shaken him to the core. He surely needed to do whatever he could to make his working life as enjoyable, or at least as tolerable, as possible. To be left with the need to test the waters again in the job market, after such a lengthy and uncomfortable spell of unemployment, was a prospect that he knew to be far from attractive.
He picked up his red pen once more as he reached the last passage of interest.
‘The firm will, as appropriate, but without requiring any employee of the firm to provide information should they not wish to do so, monitor and record…
…the ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, religion and belief of all employees of the firm, and the number of disabled staff and the nature of their disability, in order to ensure that they are not being discriminated against in terms of the opportunities or benefits available to them, and (in the case of disabled employees) to ensure that all reasonable adjustments are made for the purpose of preventing them from being placed at a substantial disadvantage in comparison with those who are not disabled. Employees are encouraged to communicate freely about any equality and diversity issue, in order to ensure that these goals and purposes are achieved and met, and they should rest assured that a conscious decision on their part to avoid keeping personal concerns about these issues to themselves will never leave them subjected to any detriment.’
But Craven’s short lived sense of relief began to turn to unease. He had a fair idea of what he probably now ought to do, however uncomfortable it might be to abandon the approach of saying nothing and finding ways to cope. But he had no idea how to do it. The handbook had spoken about the firm’s stated policies in effusive detail, but had given no practical guidance about how anyone could seek help and support under those policies.
“Jackie…”
Craven realised that the next day was a Friday, and that he would soon have a perfect opportunity to obtain some sensible advice.
Friday 10 May
Karen recognised the number on her phone display and picked up the receiver, never expecting for one minute that the call would bring her more bad news.
For the previous two years, Karen had contributed a witty article on recruitment and training issues to ‘The Weekend Is Here’, a light hearted local email bulletin that found its way to a target audience of Midlands professionals every other Friday. Her enthusiasm to contribute went hand in hand with her knowledge that this was a useful way of raising the profile of Ripple with potential new clients. Even in the face of her time consuming conflict with Avery, she had never missed a copy deadline. The recent retirement of a high profile Premier League football manager had enabled her to produce a topical piece on ‘filling big boots’.
“Hello Karen, you won’t know me. My name’s Ed Craddock, and I’ve just taken over from Jodie at Weekend.”
“Oh, hi. Thanks for calling. Hope you liked today’s article. I’m sure we can keep everything going.”
“Well…that’s not what I was ringing about. I can’t really soften the blow on this. I won’t be needing your column any longer.”
“Oh, right…” Karen managed to keep her regret to herself. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
“Nothing personal, if that’s what you mean…it’s just that, well, I don’t really think your sense of humour is what we need any more, and anyway what you’ve written over the last few weeks hasn’t really been that funny…”
There was a lack of conviction in her caller’s tone of voice, which irritated Karen. But she realised that disagreeing outright, however instinctive, would be futile. In her heart she knew that it had been a challenge to keep up her usual high standards when her morale had been so low.
“I see. Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. Does that mean you’re scrapping the column?”
“Er…no it doesn’t, we’ve lined up someone new, and to be honest I think he’ll be a breath of fresh air…”
Karen suddenly felt personally insulted. It was plain that Craddock was holding something back.
“You mean you’ve got another headhunter to take over my column?” There was a non-committal grunt at the other end. “You wouldn’t mind telling me who it is, would you?”
“Sorry, I can’t. He might be using a pseudonym.”
“Oh, come off it.” Karen’s restraint finally snapped. “No one’s going to pass up the chance to put his name in the frame. It wouldn’t be Wayne Avery, by any chance?”
The click on the phone, as Craddock hung up, spoke volumes. Karen was left to nurse her frustration. She knew that there was nothing she could do about what she had just been told, but the thought of Avery stealing her thunder was far from welcome. It was scant consolation to hear Dawn’s view that The Weekend Is Here was more likely to end up trapped in junk email filters rather than reach an appreciative audience.
* * * * *
“God, that’s terrible. I’m really sorry.”
Craven had finished telling Jackie about how he had worked out, many years earlier, that he was affected by Asperger’s syndrome. She was intrigued to hear that it had always been his preference to tell as few people as possible about his unwelcome discovery. He had gone on to explain how the previous day’s experience with Finnie and Endacott had led him to conclude, with great reluctance, that the firm probably now needed to know about his condition, so that it could recognise him as a disabled person. But although he knew that Jackie had unexpectedly become a new found friend, who would surely not betray him and gossip
about his condition with little concern for his feelings, he had almost changed his mind again and ducked out of telling her. It had taken a great deal of gentle encouragement from her before he came clean and gave her the whole story.
“So can you see why there’s so much about this place I find so difficult? I thought you might. You’re about the only person who’s shown me any sympathy at all, ever since I started here. I probably wouldn’t care if I could just get on with what I’m paid to do. It was never like this back in Stoke.”
Jackie leaned over and squeezed Craven’s forearm. He tried not to wince at the gesture, realising it was well intended, but she quickly withdrew her hand as she sensed his discomfort.
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, Paul, but I did think that there was something not quite normal about you. I notice things like that. Probably because I’m married to a medic.” She smiled at him and was pleased to see a lukewarm smile in return. “I’m glad I know what it is now. I don’t think any worse of you, and I’m still on your side. It can’t be an easy condition to cope with in a workplace like this…”
“I’m glad you described it like that.”
“Like what?”
“A condition. Not an illness.” There was a noticeable change in Craven’s tone of voice. “Most people think we’re like mental patients. It’s not like that. We’re just the way we are. We’re different, not sick. At least you understand. I thought you would.”
“That’s OK.”
“Anyway, you’re right.” Craven had calmed down once more. “I’m struggling to work out what the best way is for me to tell them. The office manual doesn’t say what the procedure is…”
“Oh, forget the manual. I haven’t read it, I probably never will, and I doubt that any of the partners will read it either. It’s just box ticking. All about being seen to be doing something. And if you think that’s bad, you should hear what it’s like in the army. Some of the stories Adam tells me…”
