by Gill Mather
“James here is dying to meet you,” gushed Sam as soon as Ali was within groping distance. James looked innocent enough as he quaffed his punch so Ali smiled at him pleasantly and was rewarded by a lurch in the general direction of her bosom, though it was hard to tell as she realised James was at least nine parts slaughtered.
“Well you two get to know each other,” Sam said as she sashayed off towards a group of girls Ali hadn’t met before.
James it turned out was a surveyor, not quite chartered yet but getting there, he told her as he made assiduous attempts to chart the contours of her bottom without any apparent sense of what was or wasn’t politically incorrect. He had a healthy country glow and white, perfect teeth that, unlike Darren’s, looked totally natural. The product of generations of good living and a privileged background.
Though clearly hammered he proved to be easy, undemanding company and Ali found herself laughing at his accounts of his tussles with planning officers and the trivialities of party wall disputes. She even silently forgave him when he started on about the shoot his family was putting on over Christmas on their estate and the riding to hounds soon after, not even considering that she might not agree with field sports….which she didn’t. It just seemed too churlish to bring it up at this pre-Christmas bash when there was so much good cheer about.
So instead she told James about her attempts to get a training contract and he said his old man knew a lot of bods in the legal business and he’d see if a word couldn’t be put in for Ali who was overcome by this generosity from an almost total stranger. By now three parts cut herself, Ali grovelled her thanks, not even considering that James might not remember a word of this unexpected offer the next day.
Without Ali noticing, the room had filled up with even more people and since it was gone five, the door had been locked (late comers would have to go round the back said a small sign on the window), the blinds and the lights had been lowered and burly blokes were bringing in large speakers and other equipment. There was going to be a disco realised Ali with unnecessary delight.
Soon enough, strobes were flashing and the latest hits and some oldies were being belted out to introductions from (Andy) Nutts About Sound.
Since James had disappeared to the loo (Ali thought he might have been going to hurl actually), Ali accepted an offer to dance from Jeremy who had realised belatedly that Ali was far more beautiful, talented and intelligent than he had noticed earlier, and they and others cavorted on the dance floor for what seemed like hours.
Taking a breather, Ali went off to try and find Sam. Perhaps she would be snogging with Darren by now in one of the typists rooms upstairs and if so, thought Ali drunkenly, she’d tell them just what she thought of it. Which was? Christ it was hard to recall. What did they put in that punch! In fact she saw Darren to her surprise in animated conversation with Wattsey and found Sam in the cloakroom re-touching her make up.
“So how’s it going?” said Ali expecting Sam to be as high as she was.
“You tell me,” came the reply. “You seem to be having a ball!”
“Well you could’ve had James to yourself,” said Ali airily, “but you just had to palm him off on me. He’s quite nice actually. You should try to see the good in people.”
“Gee thanks,” snapped Sam, shutting her compact with unnecessary aggression and flouncing out.
“Who’s getting Bisto sprinkled on her latte now!” shouted Ali after her and dissolved into giggles.
“Good on you,” said a voice from one of the loos and Ali’s arch enemy Amanda came out. Ali grinned and linking arms, sisters in search of mischief, they staggered together back to the dance floor, collecting James on the way who was only too delighted to be commandeered by “two lovely ladies”. He said he felt much better having had a “bit of a break”.
“You must have the constitution of a horse,” said Ali. James grinned and showed his large white teeth in reply. His laugh came out as a sort of bray and for some reason, Ali and Amanda thought this was hilarious and collapsed onto some ring-side seats.
Without warning a wet flannel approached in the form of Hugh. Out of the corner of her eye, Ali had clocked him just now talking to Pandora (Pandy) Simmonds, a newly qualified Solicitor who did crime and family at Selwyn Ashe & Mason.
“It’s rather late,” said Hugh, apparently stone cold sober. “I’ll be leaving soon. Would you two like a lift?”
They both said with varying degrees of incoherence that they’d prefer to stay on just the same.
“Actually the disco’s packing up and people are leaving. Hadn't you noticed?”
Regretfully it was true. Some background music was playing on a CD player, but the same burly blokes were starting to manhandle the outsized speakers towards the back of the building and the lights were going up.
Ali and Amanda lolling on their chairs shoulder to shoulder looked at each other. Amanda shrugged in an exaggerated manner.
“Well. S’pose we’ll have to then.” Ali knew her words were coming out slurred but couldn't do anything about it.
Hugh, smiling slightly, helped them both onto their stiletto heeled feet and shepherded them towards the front door which was now open. The blast of icy air that hit them was refreshing rather than shocking.
“I’ll call you next week after having a word with the old man,” James said as Ali went past. Christ, he’d remembered thought Ali, though there was hardly going to be any of next week. They broke up Wednesday for Christmas. Broke up! Just like school she thought. Ten whole days off. Like many solicitors’ firms, they were closing down from the day before Christmas Eve through to the next working day after New Year’s Day. Suddenly she realised she was going to miss going into the office for nearly two whole weeks.
Sam was waiting at the door for a lift too which appeared to be just arriving. She ignored Ali. As Hugh guided the girls out into the picturesque snow-covered High Street, Ali glanced back and caught sight of Darren, looking over Wattsey’s ample torso, gazing after Sam. The expression on his face was…what was it? Ali suddenly realised with surprise. It was wistful. Not lecherous or lewd but sad and full of unrequited longing. She wished she hadn't looked. She really didn't want to be burdened with Darren and Sam’s unresolved attraction. But somehow she felt that she was.
CHAPTER 10
THE NEXT DAY, Saturday, Ali sent out more CVs and begging letters to firms who might just be prepared to offer a training contract or even some form of training or experience coupled with actual remuneration. She also, with remuneration in mind, called some pubs and clubs in Colchester enquiring about jobs, anything, over Christmas. Amazingly, her favourite watering hole since she’d started at Pattersons, The Sod and Shovel, needed bar and waiting staff urgently and could she start that evening. When she heard the rate of pay over Christmas, she wondered why she’d put so much effort into trying to become a solicitor. She’d be better off opening a town pub. At least they could afford to pay their staff.
Ali agreed immediately despite a raging hangover. She’d just have to drink loads of orange juice and dose herself up with aspirins.
She called Rob to tell him the good news but he said huffily that if she was going to be tied up all the holiday letting drunken businessmen peer down her front, there wasn’t much point in him taking a break from his studies to come and spend a few days.
Ali tried to hide her disappointment but was distracted by a female voice in the background at the other end of the line yelling something about hurrying up. Rob quickly put his hand over the mouthpiece and there was silence for about ten seconds.
“Who was that?” Ali asked when Rob’s flustered voice came back on the line.
“Just one of the others with a bedsit upstairs. Some of us are going out for a lunchtime drink.”
“Oh.” Ali couldn’t think of much to say. But then, she thought, he obviously had a life of his own down there in Bristol. She said, “Well have fun.”
“Yeah. And you.”
Th
is seemed somehow a bit final. Did he mean today, or the Christmas break or, and this was the thing, the rest of her life?
“Rob. Don’t put the `phone down yet. Er…look we haven’t seen each other since the summer. I know long distance relationships can sometimes work, but do you think this one is?”
It just came out. She’d been thinking about what Sam had said on their night out before they’d been accosted by Darren.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” He paused. Ali heard a door slamming in the background at his end. The other bedsit occupant no doubt.
“Though you obviously have,” continued Rob and left it there.
Here we go. Ali mentally kicked herself. After making all the running herself for months, she’d given him the perfect let out. She was tempted to start ranting at him but found she hadn’t got the energy. So she just said:
“Look Rob, you’ve neglected our relationship for months. If you really want to go somewhere with it, call me by Wednesday about coming up here. I’m only doing bar work because I need the money. But you’re not working. You could spare the time surely.”
“Gee thanks. So your career is so much more important than mine. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Rob. You’re deliberately twisting what I said. No-one said your career wasn’t important too. But I’ve got the possibility of earning a few quid over Christmas and I’ve got to take it because basically I’m flat broke.” She ended almost in tears.
“I’ll have to see what I can sort out,” said Rob non-committally.
“Well. Good. Call by Wednesday. If you don’t I’ll assume it’s over. I’d better go now. I’ve got to go and have a short interview at the club.”
“Yeah. `Course.” Rob’s relief was almost palpable, even down a `phone line! “Speak to you soon,” he said cheerily and hung up.
Not even a Merry Christmas!
Ali put the `phone down. So that was probably it then. But she didn’t have time to sulk. Quickly she put on some decent clothes and begged her dad for a lift into town. He was only too happy to oblige. “Celia,” he said, “I’m afraid I won't be able to empty and refill the dishwasher.” Her mum sighed and muttered but wished Ali good luck anyway.
SATURDAY NIGHT WORKING behind the bar at The Sod and Shovel was quite a laugh really. A few faces from the previous night’s party at Summer Homes looked familiar and apparently also recognising her, congratulated her meaningfully on her stamina. Christ was I that obviously drunk, thought Ali.
She’d rather been hoping she wouldn't be recognised. She wasn't sure how the firm would regard their “associate” (as Wattsey described her to clients) working behind a bar. Well they could go hang themselves she thought after a while. She hadn't signed any sort of exclusivity contract or any contract at all in fact. The whole thing was completely informal and if they weren’t prepared to pay her, she was a free agent. Yes that was it, a free agent. In all respects she thought. Rob didn't want a serious commitment either. Why should she beat herself up about it?
The other bar staff were nice. She got a break every two and a half hours and could sit in the kitchen and chat to the others on their breaks for fifteen minutes or so. There were quite a few like her who were just there temporarily for the cash. In fact between them there was a range of talent.
There was Jessie trying to make it as an actress and, she said, because she’d been to drama school and was a professional, she shouldn't really even do any amateur dramatics to keep her hand in. The most she’d had recently was a bit part. Listening to her, Ali thought she maybe ought to count her blessings. The legal world was at least less restrictive than that.
Another high achiever with no actual job was a chemistry PhD student Don. He’d have the doctorate soon he said and after that, well he might earn 13K per annum doing research if he was lucky.
Si would have liked to be a chef but couldn't find anyone to give him proper training. He hoped that by working in the S&S he’d be able to seize any opening that came up.
“But don't they just do snacks and stuff they re-heat?” asked Ali. She hoped he wouldn't be offended but it wasn't exactly haute cuisine that was served to the clientele, mostly suffering from varying degrees of inebriation. A large proportion of the food got stamped into the floor throughout the evening and must’ve caused a hell of a job for the cleaners in the morning.
“They’re building a conservatory-cum-dining room and opening a proper restaurant soon,” said Si. “So,” he shrugged, “with any luck they’ll get a decent chef in and need trainees.”
“Ali,” called Peter the bar manager that night, “Your fifteen minutes is up and the bar’s five deep. Can you come and serve again.”
Later, mentally totting up what she would have earned that evening plus her share of tips, Ali thought that if paid work in the legal profession continued to elude her, and if the S&S kept her on after Christmas a couple of nights a week, and if she didn’t die of exhaustion, she could probably afford to stay on at PWT for the time being. Which she was actually rather pleased about. The place had started to grow on her.
CHAPTER 11
ON MONDAY MORNING, Wattsey was cock-a-hoop for some reason. Perhaps he was looking forward to the Christmas break Ali thought. He called her into his room and as usual it looked like it had been turned over by a gang of burglars who had no idea what they were looking for.
Ali had come to realise that solicitors worked on the basis that out of sight meant out of mind, that is if they put a file away in the cabinet, they’d forget it needed more work doing on it or they were waiting for something to come in or whatever and the necessary wouldn't get done. Hence, what with completed case files as well, all the fee earners’ floors were always deep in files to the extent that it was sometimes hard not to fall over them. In fact Wattsey dined out on the story of how the firm had once actually been burgled and when the police had seen his room, the constable had said: “Cor, they’ve given this one a right going over!” whereas in fact his room hadn't been touched!
So Ali picked her way carefully through the piles of files starting to tip over and sat down opposite Wattsey. Perhaps he was going to offer her a training contract. Or at least a proper job with pay and perks and whatnot.
But instead he said:
“Look sharp Ali. We’ve got a big job coming up. Darren Summers and his new partner bought the old leather factory and some adjoining land several years ago. At the time it seemed as though they’d develop it into industrial units, but they’ve decided on residential now and they’re asking us to act for them. Hundreds of plots. And the factory buildings themselves to be converted into flats. It’ll be very good experience for you, getting all the core documentation drafted etc. We’ll have to have a session later about precisely what’s going to be required.”
Ali was thinking that if she knew anything about clients as she’d come to know them, this new development company would want to pin them down to as low a price as possible per unit, regardless of the complications of the job.
She started to suggest that they offered an hourly rate to get the scheme going. It could take hundreds of man hours. But Wattsey wasn't taking it in. His eyes were ringing up pound signs like a one armed bandit and he shooed her out saying again that they’d discuss the details later but he would be relying on her help and, again, what wonderful experience it’d be for her.
Back in The Privy, Ali found a note to ring Darren. It was his speeding case the next day. They hadn't managed to get it put back until after Christmas. So she called Darren and tried to reassure him, said she’d be there herself and thanked him for the bash on Friday. She’d enjoyed it, she said. Which was true.
She worked on a couple of briefs to counsel for Hugh for things he didn't want to do himself or was too busy to do.
Then she went for a lunchtime drink with Sam.
“So did you enjoy the party Friday?” said Ali rooting about for information.
“Could have been better. Sorry I
was such a grouch. I thought Darren might pay me a bit of attention but he, well he didn't ignore me, but I might as well have been just anyone.”
Ali sighed. “It’s probably for the best you know. Just think of the mess if you got into an affair with him. He seems quite a family man. He’d possibly lose his children and his home not to mention the money side.”
“I suppose so.” Sam was silent thinking of the two week Christmas holiday stretching ahead of her like a desert.
“I’m not looking forward to Christmas. Do you know,” she said, “I’d rather be pulling pints all Christmas like you than be at home walking on egg shells in case I do something to upset Den.”
“Surely it’s not that bad?”
“Yes it is. If he drinks. I’m dreading our family get togethers. He’ll be great while we’re there and then when we’re alone he’ll start. I just have to keep quiet. Anything I say’ll be wrong.”
“Well I’m not working every night. Couldn't you come out with me one night at least.”
“I could try to get away. OK we’ll keep in touch then.”
To change the subject Ali started talking about Darren’s case the next day. Sam was of course transfixed. Ali forbore to tell her about Darren’s expression as he watched Sam leaving the party. It wasn't that she didn't want to get involved or help her friend out, but she believed that if you weren't sure of your ground or the effect you might have if you gave something away in a situation like this, then it was better to say nothing. So she didn't say anything.
“THE COURT WILL RISE.”
Ali stood up next to the young barrister Daniel Warren who had put in the plea in mitigation for Darren. Darren hadn't taken the stand. Normally in these high speeding cases, it was best for a defendant who pleaded guilty to take the oath and give evidence, but Darren hadn't wanted to. Ali wasn't sure why. He didn't seem the nervous type but, he said, he was well known in the area, he employed a lot of people, his reputation should speak for itself.
