Law and Disorder

by Tim Kevan

  Thursday 20 September 2007

  Day 247 (week 51): Almost there

  TheBoss did as I suggested on Tuesday and yesterday he received a response from FakeClaims stating that it was too late in the day to be making such a re-examination. TheBoss replied that he insisted. Given the crucial importance of the hearing to his whole career, lateness was not something which would necessarily sway the Bar Standards Board.

  Perhaps surprisingly for such a dodgy outfit as FakeClaims, today they’ve come clean and ’fessed up that in fact the mainstay of their evidence has been destroyed. Though it’s extremely unlikely to affect the case, TheBoss was nevertheless delighted. ‘You know, BabyB, I don’t know how you did it and nor do I really want to know. But it does look like you may well have pulled it out of the bag. Nice one.’

  Taking advantage of his rush of over-optimistic hyperbole, I asked whether I could rely upon him not to drop me in his mire at the hearing?

  ‘I’ll have to think about that, BabyB. Let’s see how it all pans out. I have to say that you haven’t done yourself any harm in the last couple of days. Let’s see what happens next week.’

  Which wasn’t quite the answer I’d been hoping for, but was at least a better position than I’d been in earlier in the week.

  Friday 21 September 2007

  Day 248 (week 51): TheParrot

  With all the pressure of tenancy decisions and finance, Worrier has

  turned into a parrot.

  ‘How’s it going, BabyB?’ she asked this morning.

  ‘Oh, not bad, considering.’

  ‘Not bad, considering. What have you got on today?’

  ‘Just a small application in Wandsworth.’

  ‘Small application in Wandsworth. Oh.’

  ‘Should only take ten minutes,’ I went on.

  ‘Ten minutes, yes.’

  ‘How about you?’

  ‘How about me? Oh, you know.’

  Sadly, I do know. Anyway, you get the picture. If it was anyone else, it’d have been tempting to throw in an insult just to hear it repeated back before it registered with the brain. But not with Worrier.

  Monday 24 September 2007

  Day 249 (week 52): Counter spin

  Since he withdrew from the race, TopFirst has been busy wreaking his revenge on ThirdSix. Going round chambers collaring anyone who’ll listen and making up a different bit of malicious gossip about ThirdSix for each one. To his credit ThirdSix has shown resilience with his counter-spin. First he painted a picture of TopFirst as a bitter, twisted liar who still hasn’t come to terms with the first failure of his life. Given that this is in fact true, it resonated and ThirdSix took on the mantle of official victim. This then allowed him to start suggesting that it was TopFirst who deliberately swapped those papers and set him up to fight the wrong case on the wrong day. Which, ironically, means that ThirdSix remains in the race.

  Tuesday 25 September 2007

  Day 250 (week 52): SkinsParty

  If he hadn’t quite managed it so far, TopFirst outdid himself in the revenge stakes last night. He might not have destroyed ThirdSix’s tenancy chances but he certainly destroyed his swanky Islington flat. By way of background, he’s the only one of us who owns his own flat, and despite his initial unassuming demeanour he’s never missed an opportunity to boast. Lording it over the rest of us who are all sharing, even TopFirst. Last night he was hosting a quiet little soirée for a few of his close friends. Drinks and a few of Marks and Spencer’s best canapés. You see, despite the fact that he’s a rugby player, truth be told, he’s actually more an ice and a slice than a ten pints of lager kind of guy and he thought he was having a civilised little get-together. Except it was hardly civilised. Not once TopFirst became involved. If you haven’t heard of them before then let me tell you about them now: Skins parties. They tend to be held by teenagers whilst their parents are away and they involve smashing up a house beyond even what the Yellow Pages might be able to fix. All this is advertised online and then broadcast to the world via webcam. Well, yesterday TopFirst took the Skins party upmarket and advertised ThirdSix’s little wine-and-cheese do.

  I went with Claire who was celebrating having been taken on in her own chambers. It’s something she thoroughly deserves and I’m so pleased for her.

  ‘Let’s go and have a final look at your competition before they make the decision, BabyB,’ she said. ‘From what I’ve seen they’re not a patch on you.’

  Well, not at stitching people up, anyway, I thought shamefacedly. As we got near to the flat, I spotted Worrier skulking behind a lamppost, obviously trying not to be seen. Claire saw her too. ‘Hello Worrier,’ she said. ‘Not coming in, then?’

  ‘Not coming in?’ She was obviously still parroting. ‘Oh, er . . .’ She was embarrassed at having been seen.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘I think we should probably all go for a gander.’

  ‘Er, go for a gander? But I don’t want him to think I’m a part of it, BabyB.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any risk of that. TopFirst will no doubt be there telling him exactly who’s responsible.’

  When the three of us arrived at the door, a slightly drunk-looking girl answered and slurred in a South African accent, ‘Ah live ’ere,’ and extended her hand. She was dressed like a hippy traveller and so I suspected was the first of the Skins invitees that I would meet rather than an actual housemate of ThirdSix. I shook her hand and humoured her with, ‘That’s great. Nice house. My name’s BabyB, what’s your name?’

  ‘Ah live ’ere.’

  ‘Yes, I know. But what’s your name?’

  ‘Ah live ’ere.’ It was starting to get silly.

  ‘Sorry, I don’t think you heard me properly. I asked what your name is.’

  ‘I heard you perfectly clearly. My name is ah live ’ere.’ She then spelt it out, ‘O-L-I-V-I-A. Ah live ’ere.’

  Oh.

  Once inside, the first group I noticed was the pupil skivers, all sipping away at their drinks and looking like they knew they shouldn’t really be there but couldn’t resist rubbernecking at the damage which was already starting to unfold. Next to them were what looked like a bunch of students playing drinking games which seemed mostly to involve trying to down a pint but spilling half of it on the floor.

  It was still only ten o’clock and the house was already starting to show the effects of its uninvited guests. In one corner, bottles of beer had spilled over and were leaking into the carpet. In another, a large and probably very expensive pot plant had been overturned and the soil was slowly getting trodden around the flat. But that was nothing compared to the kitchen which was already full of empty bottles and cans, spilt alcohol and crisps. Then there was the smoke which even with the windows open was so dense that Worrier started to fret about the health implications of passive smoking. I’d say the fire threat was a little greater though and within a few minutes I’d already had to put out one cigarette which was smouldering on his brand new sofa.

  But it was early and you could still hear the sound of new guests arriving, one particularly notable crowd singing football songs as they entered. Within the next hour, the whole atmosphere changed from one of mild drunkenness to unadulterated carnage, no doubt exacerbated by the fact that a couple of people had gone round the house forcing vodka shots on everybody. ThirdSix himself was just a blur as he rushed from one group to the next trying unsuccessfully to kick them out and getting more and more stressed in the process. As things started to really go downhill, one of the pupil skivers shouted out over the noise, ‘Hey, BabyB. I hear your chambers has been having a bit of infighting between ThirdSix and TopFirst.’

  ‘You could say that.’

  At which point, BusyBody came over and started fag-ending on the conversation. Her pregnancy’s now showing and she was all decked out in Liberty’s finest flowers-and-frills maternity garb.

  ‘Fighting? Not again. Headbutting fellow members of the Bar doesn’t exactly enhance our reputation.’
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  She said this a little too loudly and TopFirst, who had been standing with another group of people, came over to answer his accuser. He was particularly drunk and for some reason he seemed to look even more weaselly than ever. Maybe he’s lost weight due to all the worry of recent months. Or maybe it’s just how he looks when he’s drunk and his pretentious façade starts to slip.

  ‘What, and sleeping with members of chambers, a pupil and a junior clerk does? Get real, BusyBody. We’ve none of us exactly done ourselves any favours this year.’

  Worrier started looking even more nervous than usual and interrupted,‘Look. It’ll all be over in a few days. Let’s just celebrate that fact this evening and forget everything else.’

  ‘That’s all right for you to say,’ said TopFirst. ‘You’ve been out of the running ever since you started screaming sex discrimination. You couldn’t take the heat right from the beginning and sabotaged yourself just to take the pressure off.’

  Worrier was horrified at such direct talk and started stuttering, ‘But . . . but . . . that’s so unfair. I . . . I . . .’ Tears were welling up in her eyes.

  TopFirst went in for the kill. ‘Oh leave it out, Worrier. You’re a loser. It was obvious from the start . . .’

  He didn’t get any further before Claire came to Worrier’s defence.

  ‘At least she’s not a smug, arrogant bully, TopFirst.’

  ‘That’s a bit rich for Little-Miss-Smug-Oh-I’ve-Just-Been-Taken­On-As-A-Tenant, don’t you think?’

  ‘That’s enough, TopFirst,’ I said. ‘Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage already?’

  ‘Shut it, BabyB. You really get up my nose the way you’re always trying to be friends with everyone. I’ve had enough of the lot of you.’

  With which he turned around and was about to go off in a huff when ThirdSix arrived and poked him in the chest, saying, ‘Apparently this is your doing?’

  ‘So what if it is?’ slurred TopFirst. ‘Not that you could prove it.’

  ThirdSix looked like he was about to sock him, when suddenly TheVamp appeared looking particularly appealing in a short black dress which left very little to the imagination and grabbed the attention of both ThirdSix and TopFirst.

  ‘Ain’t life just grand,’ she said in her best southern drawl, which elicited a response from ThirdSix that contained language that would never pass the lips of a barrister within the confines of a court.

  ‘Well, that’s just no way to speak to a lady, young man.’ I’d noticed before that the more drunk TheVamp became, the closer she got to almost believing she was Scarlett O’Hara.

  ‘What on earth are you all doing here anyway?’ he demanded.

  ‘Oh come on, ThirdSix,’ said TheVamp. ‘Don’t be such a spoilsport.’ She sidled up and brushed herself against him.

  ‘Look, just because you like having hordes of men round your house doesn’t mean the rest of us do,’ he jibed.

  Never being one to fail to step up to the mark, TheVamp hit the bullseye with her response. ‘No. You just bring plastic old hags like UpTights back, don’t you.’

  But ThirdSix was on a roll.‘Oh, take a look in the mirror yourself. Hardly the picture of youth, with that shrivelled-up, sunburnt old crust. You’re so vain you’ll be working with UpTights to get bulk discounts in no time, just you see.’

  The conversation was interrupted by TopFirst drunkenly turning on his heel, walking straight into a wall and collapsing into a giggling ball. Then, as he went to stand up, he accidentally tripped up one of the many student crashers, who fell forwards pushing a couple more people. There was enough alcohol and different groups of people around that before you knew it, a full-on fight had started. It was time to get out, and despite the fact that Worrier wanted to stay behind and help (I think she still has a crush on ThirdSix), I grabbed both her and Claire and we made a sharp exit, BusyBody and TopFirst following directly behind.

  This, it turned out, was fortunate, as within ten minutes we saw police cars arriving. As we walked back to the tube, BusyBody said to TopFirst, ‘That’s a pretty extreme form of revenge.’

  ‘Oh don’t get all goody-goody on me now, BusyBody,’ he replied. ‘You were only there to watch it happen and don’t pretend otherwise.’

  He was right, of course. A good dose of schadenfreude towards ThirdSix had lifted us from the last miserable seconds of pupillage. Even though it was somewhat unfounded given that, thanks to me, he has copped the blame for so many things that were not even his fault. Nobody said another word until we were on the tube itself. When the other pupils had gone their separate ways, I suggested that Claire and I stop off for a celebratory coffee before going home.

  ‘I’m so pleased you don’t have to worry any longer,’ I said as we stood outside the café. As I moved to hug her I couldn’t help but be aware of how beautiful she was. Maybe it was because the weight of pupillage had been lifted from her, or, I realised at that moment, what was more likely was that I so rarely took the time to notice her beauty. She looked up as we held each other. A few strands of hair had fallen over her left eye and I gently moved them to one side. She smiled and I could see the concern in her eyes. As we sat down next to each other she said, ‘But I do have to worry, BabyB. It’s a big day tomorrow. I’ve booked the day out of chambers and I’ll be there to support you.’

  I touched her face and suddenly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she moved her head towards mine. Gently I kissed her cheek and she raised her hand and touched the side of my head. As I moved towards her lips I heard from behind me the most almighty, ‘BaaaaabyBeeeeeeee!’ It was TopFirst with his arms in the air, a kebab in one hand and a can of Coke in the other. He collapsed forward putting both arms around the two of us.

  ‘You sly dog, BabyB. Keeping that under your hat.’

  The moment was lost and this time we finally did go our separate ways home.

  Wednesday 26 September 2007

  Day 251 (week 52): The hearing

  I write this sitting in chambers as we all await the verdict on TheBoss. There’s been a certain cathartic pleasure in much of this writing but right now it doesn’t help a jot as my future at the Bar is well and truly out of my hands and at the mercy of others. Whatever the verdict may be, I can now report that TheBoss has made every effort to bring me down. In flames. It all kicked off this morning when FakeClaims’s barrister asked him the simplest question of all.

  ‘Do you deny that you changed the computer records in your chambers as alleged?’

  To which TheBoss replied, ‘Absolutely. One hundred per cent. These so-called computer experts have got it wrong. Nothing more to it.’

  ‘In which case,’ the barrister addressed the tribunal, ‘I seek permission to adduce new evidence which rebuts this testimony in its entirety.’

  TheBoss glanced at me and for a moment looked caught off guard before he composed himself once more and said, ‘I have nothing to hide,’ correctly guessing that the tribunal would probably let the evidence in anyway and that therefore it was better to brazen out whatever was coming.

  The prosecuting barrister then produced an iPod and a pair of speakers and proceeded to play the contents. Which were recordings of conversations between TheBoss and me. Secretly made. As soon as TheBoss heard the first few lines, he looked at me and exclaimed, ‘They taped us. How did they manage that? They nailed us, BabyB.’

  But despite my hopes that at that stage he would finally give me some slack, particularly as I’d helped destroy the physical evidence against him, he went on the counter-offensive.

  ‘I didn’t want to say this before and have only held off in order to protect my former pupil, but what this evidence will show is that both the idea for the cover-up and its implementation came from BabyBarista.’

  This, of course, was completely untrue, although I had been brought in effectively as an accomplice.

  ‘Yes,’ he went on. ‘It is BabyBarista who is the technical whizz-kid. I mean, look at me, a middle-
aged man with no computer skills at all. How on earth could I even contemplate such a plan without the mastermind of BabyBarista?’

  It then got worse.

  ‘In fact, I suppose things could have been a lot easier were it not for the fact that as his pupilmaster I felt in some way responsible. I only discovered what he had done after the event and I accept that to the extent that I didn’t report him, I am guilty. But as to my role in the cover-up itself, it was non-existent.’

  The barrister for the prosecution listened patiently before going on.

  ‘And this is the truth of the matter? Your final word?’

  ‘It is.’

  The prosecutor then made a slightly theatrical pause, enjoying one of those rare moments when cross-examination can quite literally cut someone to shreds.He then continued,‘Well,you might be interested to listen to this, then.’

  It was a further recording on which my voice could be heard addressing TheBoss: ‘All I did was to keep quiet about seeing that set of papers.’

  To which TheBoss replied, ‘That may be so, BabyB, but it looks far worse than that now, and you know it. You knew everything about the plan itself and then, even worse for you, you’ve since officially denied knowing anything about it. You’d better start realising that soon.’

  For the first time, TheBoss was well and truly stumped. He stood there in silence for a few seconds before the prosecutor asked, ‘You’ve been lying to us all along, haven’t you?’

  TheBoss shifted uncomfortably before going back on the offensive.

  ‘I don’t know where this tape came from but it’s obviously a fake. That conversation simply didn’t happen.’

  But from then on in TheBoss was well and truly sunk.

  So now I wait to see whether I sink with him.

  Thursday 27 September 2007

  Day 252 (week 52): The verdict

  The Standards Board came back and found TheBoss guilty and disbarred him completely. As he came out of the hearing, he was not looking at all happy. I walked down the steps with him and he said, ‘I told you, BabyB. If I go down, you’re coming with me. FakeClaims&Co will no doubt be raising a complaint against you as we speak.’