Law and Peace

by Tim Kevan

  ‘I completely agree,’ I said quite sincerely (although I have to admit to being a little put out by the word ‘ugly’). The very last thing I need right now, what with problems at work and Claire very much on my mind, is that sort of complication, whatever the destabilising effect it might have on TopFirst.

  After that, TopFlirt relaxed a little but still kept it pretty businesslike for the rest of the evening. Although as we parted company after the obligatory peck on the cheek she did say, ‘I don’t know whether it’s just because you understand what I’m going through but I’d still like to see you again.’

  Then she added quickly, ‘As friends, of course.’

  ‘Naturally,’ I replied with a smile.

  ‘By the way,’ she continued. ‘I’d watch your back at the moment. TopFirst’s definitely up to something big. I think it’s to do with the Moldy case but I also think it’s going to involve you personally. He really doesn’t like you, you know.’

  You don’t say.

  ‘But what is it about this case in particular that’s getting his goat?’ I asked.

  ‘No idea, BabyB. He wants to beat you obviously.’

  ‘But what else?’

  She thought about my question and then answered more thoughtfully, ‘He has mentioned something about beating you to a red bag but I never asked anything more about it. Although I’m sure that as a fellow member of that venerable institution which is the Bar, with all its secret handshakes and funny walks, you’ll know what it means.’

  Now that was food for thought.

  Monday 18 February 2008

  Year 2 (week 21): Feral justice

  Word has it in the robing rooms that there’s a particular county town in which the district judges have all gone, what can only be described as, feral. Now, truth be told, there has always been the odd (in all senses of the word) one here and there and we’ve all known who they were. In fact, if you were advising your clients as to the likely outcomes, it was something that seriously had to be factored into the equation. One judge, for example, simply doesn’t like women claimants and another hates anyone with a regional accent. But it is generally considered pretty bad luck to get one of these judges since even at their own courts they are only one out of four or five who are dishing out the justice.

  Not so in this particular county town where every one of the district and deputy district judges have pretty much declared independence, Passport to Pimlico style. It started with the publication of their so-called ‘Local Practice Directions’ in which skeleton arguments and bundles of authorities were ‘discouraged’. For that, read not merely ‘frowned upon’ but instead ‘actively ignored’. Then there’s the policy that ‘personal injury cases are encouraged to settle’ for which read ‘if they don’t settle, there’ll be wasted costs against the lawyers’. Oh, and just the small matter of cross-examination and submissions for which the directions say, ‘Judges may dispense with these if they deem it appropriate.’ For this read ‘We can’t be bothered with you testing the evidence or going on too much so we’ll just decide the cases our way thank you very much.’

  Then, as if that’s not enough they’ve even started offering oaths based on what they describe as the ‘religion’ of the local football club where they can all be found every other Saturday during the season. One of the judges has even started wearing the team’s shirt under his judicial gown as part of what he considers to be an essential element of his dispensing of justice.

  Tuesday 19 February 2008

  Year 2 (week 21): London Counsel

  I went to court in Yorkshire today with TheBusker who had managed to get me instructed as his junior. His opponent, who I’ll call Gruff, was an extremely patronising bully who spoke with a broad Yorkshire accent, something which it became clear he intended to wield against TheBusker in court. He introduced the case with: ‘Your Honour, we are privileged today to be graced with the presence of London counsel. Not just any London counsel, either, Your Honour, for my very learned friend has even written a law book on the subject, which lies before you.’

  The judge smiled back mischievously at Gruff and answered him in an equally broad accent: ‘Yes, MrGruff, it is an honour indeed to have such esteemed Counsel in this humble county court.’

  ‘Some might say, Your Honour,’ continued Gruff, ‘that bringing up such high-powered artillery for a case as small as this one is the proverbial sledgehammer to crack a nut. Others might say that it reflects a lack of confidence by the defendant’s solicitors in their own case that they don’t feel able to trust lowly and less-qualified local counsel to conduct the proceedings on their behalf.’ He paused before going on. ‘But all I would say, Your Honour, is that this is a great opportunity for us all to learn a little more about an area of law which most of us, who have practised in it for too many years to remember, have always taken to be governed simply by good old-fashioned, decent common sense.’

  The judge was very much enjoying the grandstanding and kept giving indiscreet little chuckles in the direction of Gruff. Meanwhile, TheBusker sat through the performance as if he didn’t have a care in the world. After Gruff finally sat down the judge said, ‘Well, MrBusker, that was quite an introduction.’

  TheBusker stood up. By way of background, the way he speaks isn’t particularly identifiable by any marked accent although I’ve heard a note of his childhood West Country come out on occasions, particularly after a few glasses of wine, and today it came out in particular force. ‘Your Honour, it is indeed a rare treat to return to the county of my birth. And when I talk of my birth I feel I must honour the suffering that my poor mother went through as she was driven several hundred miles after going into labour on the off-chance that one day I might be good enough to play for this great county at cricket – a sport at which, in the end, I’m afraid I was a great disappointment to my parents. This is a county that has not only produced the likes of Fred Trueman, Len Hutton and Brian Close but leaders in all fields. Politicians such as Wilson, Asquith and Wilberforce, explorers of the standing of Captain James Cook and Amy Johnson and writers like Ted Hughes and Alan Bennett. Indeed, Your Honour, such is the depth of their achievements that it might well be said that the men and women of this great county provide the golden thread through which the whole fabric of our nation has been woven. Yet there is a great and abiding sadness for all those such as myself who are exiled from this beautiful place and who are unable to do that which their ancestors have done before them: to breathe the fresh country air, to walk its beautiful dales and swim in its fast-flowing rivers and streams. And above all, Your Honour, to feel the warmth and sincerity of the people of this great county.’

  With this TheBusker looked over at Gruff. ‘The only consolation is that on those occasions when we return, we get to experience that same warmth and sincerity in the welcome we receive and it is this above all for which I offer my thanks to MrGruff.’

  The judge by this point was positively beaming at TheBusker and this didn’t really stop until the moment that he later delivered judgment in his favour and finished with the words, ‘MrBusker forgot another great aspect of the Yorkshire character that doesn’t seem to have been lost on him and that is a sharp wit and sense of humour. Whilst I can’t comment on his cricketing ability, he does seem to have a great aptitude for hitting a sloppy ball exactly where it deserves to go and that’s straight out of the ground.’

  With which he stared pointedly at Gruff. It reminded me of that childhood fable where however hard the North wind huffed and puffed it still singularly failed to get the traveller to remove his cloak and thereby win the bet, whereas all the sun had to do was to shine in all its glory until the cloak was coaxed off through the warmth of its rays.

  Wednesday 20 February 2008

  Year 2 (week 21): Yes we can

  I was against BusyBody in court today. Her hair was frizzier and curlier than ever which I took as a warning sign that her busyness had probably reached the manic stage of its cycle again. She was mayb
e getting even less sleep than usual perhaps?

  ‘Hi, BabyB, all well I hope. I’ve been up since four o’clock this morning writing myself lists of goals I want to achieve.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a new life coach who specialises in doing working mothers, you know.’

  ‘I’m sure he does,’ I said, raising my eyebrows.

  BusyBody was too intent on what she had to say to respond to the innuendo. ‘He also showed me a speech by a new politician who’s standing for President called Barack Obama. Great man, BabyB. He’s going to win, you see.’

  ‘Right.’

  I didn’t ask any questions since she was talking at about a thousand words a minute and I was already feeling exhausted just listening to her. So it wasn’t until we got into court and she started opening her case that I quite realised the full extent of the influence of said life coach.

  ‘Your Honour, I represent the claimant in this personal injury case. The defendant will be arguing that you cannot award damages for injury to feelings only. Your Honour, what I say to you is just one thing: yes we can. Just as Nelson Mandela walked free and saved a nation, I say yes we can. Just as the iron curtain collapsed and half a continent was liberated, I say yes we can. Just as the American people are realising that they can repent and start over, I say yes we can.’

  She then paused before ending with, ‘Your Honour, whatever technical, sniggly or even wriggly little legal arguments may be raised by my learned friend, I simply use three words that are already echoing around the world and waking us all up to the boundless possibility of the human spirit. Damages for injury to feelings? Your Honour, I say . . .’ She paused dramatically and then, you guessed it, ‘yes,’ and she banged her hand on the lectern, ‘we,’ and again, ‘can,’ and this time the lectern tipped over with the force of her pounding and clattered to the floor.

  Ignoring the distraction, BusyBody sat down. At that moment, wherever else in the world those three little words happened to be echoing, it can certainly be said that they were doing so around courtroom number two of Staines County Court.

  Thursday 21 February 2008

  Year 2 (week 21): Skateboards and sandcastles

  ScandalMonger leaked a story to the press yesterday about TheMoldies suggesting that the telecom company are delaying settlement in the hope that our clients will start dying off. It’s completely untrue but it didn’t stop a number of newspapers covering it in lurid detail today. I guess he figures the telecom company are hardly going to sue and further stoke the fire of bad publicity.

  One immediate effect of course is that the share price has plummeted. It also led to a phonecall from ScandalMonger asking for anything I might have to add to the press bandwagon. I told him that there was nothing so exciting happening in the real world.

  Although perhaps that wasn’t strictly true, because mid-afternoon I left chambers for an appointment with Arthur, Ethel and another Moldy friend of theirs, Alfred. Alfred at the age of eighty-one has not only taken up skateboarding, but insists on doing it along the main high street of their town, garnering a huge audience but also backing up the traffic for hundreds of yards in either direction. Arthur and Ethel had said they wanted to meet up and that it was important, and I’d therefore arrived suited and booted and with notebooks in hand. But when he opened the door to me Arthur said, ‘We wanted to share a special afternoon, BabyB. You see, it’s Ethel’s eightieth birthday.’

  I was quite thrown, and very touched that they’d thought to invite me although I realised I hadn’t exactly come prepared.

  ‘Oh don’t worry, BabyB,’ said Ethel, obviously sensing my discomfort. ‘Arthur and I have always made a point of doing something special for someone else on each of our birthdays. Someone we considered particularly in need and for this one we both thought of you.’

  I looked and felt completely confused. ‘Er, well, a very happy birthday, Ethel. I feel privileged to be here. Truly privileged.’

  I was stumbling.

  ‘But why me?’

  ‘BabyB, it’s obvious to both of us that you’ve got a good heart. But you just need a little help raising your view from your work desk, to throw off the bowlines and look to the horizon,’ said Arthur.

  ‘To the horizon . . .’ I mumbled, now even more confused.

  ‘It was ever thus, BabyB,’ said Ethel. ‘Young people get so caught up in the details that they forget to see beyond.’

  ‘Which is why we’ve also invited Alf along. You see, it’s time you learnt to skateboard.’

  ‘But . . .’

  I could think of a thousand buts and yet they were having none of it.

  ‘You wouldn’t want to cause any aggravation, BabyB,’ said Ethel. ‘Not with our weak hearts and all.’

  She smiled with a twinkle, which was reflected straight back from Arthur, as if they were some kind of elderly Bonnie and Clyde duo pulling a fast one on me.

  ‘I’d go with the flow,’ said Alfred with a smile.

  ‘We’ve even bought you some skater clothes for the occasion,’ said Arthur as he produced a bright orange jumpsuit which was more Guantanamo than skate park though by that point I was already starting to get into the spirit.

  We set out for their local park and by early evening I’d not only learnt to skateboard and picked up a few cuts and bruises along the way, but I’d also really started to relax for the first time in the last couple of years. As I regretfully handed back my slightly tattered jumpsuit, Ethel handed me a glass and beamed at me. ‘When you get to our age, BabyB, you realise it’s not the things that lawyers set out in their witness statements and wills that stay with you. It’s the little everyday experiences. The fun, the friendship . . .’

  ‘And the love,’ said Arthur, as he smiled at Ethel.

  ‘Through the hard times especially,’ she added.

  ‘Yes, don’t make the same mistakes as me, BabyB,’ said Arthur somewhat obliquely. Then he raised his glass and said, ‘To the little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.’

  It made me think of Claire. We clinked glasses and Ethel said with a proud look at Arthur, ‘It’s Wordsworth, you know.’

  After we’d finished our drinks and cake I carried out the glasses and plates for Ethel and she followed me into the kitchen. As we left Arthur and Alfred in the sitting room Ethel said, ‘I lost him for a whole twenty years, BabyB. Whilst the children were growing up. Work, work and more work. Always in the name of putting food on the table. Can’t tell you how much he regrets it now.’

  Back home in the evening, as I climbed stiffly into the bath, I found myself suddenly recalling a beach holiday I’d had with my parents when I was a small child when they were still together. We had spent a day building sandcastles and laughing uncontrollably as we each tried to construct higher and higher castles in a kind of seaside version of Jenga. It was so fleeting that it was more like a feeling than a memory but it has lingered with me. Yet however hard I try to really remember the details of that day, or indeed the rest of that holiday, I’m only left with a shadow of that small moment.

  Friday 22 February 2008

  Year 2 (week 21): Regrets

  My birthday today and OldRuin very kindly took me out for a slap-up lunch to celebrate with his favourite meal: roast beef at Simpson’s on the Strand.

  As we leaned back in our chairs, contentedly full, he gave me a searching look. ‘Tell me how you are. How you really are,’ he emphasised.

  ‘Full of fear and regret, if I’m honest,’ I answered, looking away slightly as I did so.

  Then I added, ‘Fear of failure, I guess. Fear of being found out for being a complete fraud. I don’t know. It feels like I’m always running. Maybe that’s just how it’s going to be.’

  ‘And regret?’ asked OldRuin.

  ‘That I ever met TheBoss. That I stood by as my mother racked up ruinous amounts of debt and . . .’ I paused. ‘Claire. We’ve definitely drifted apart in the last few of months.’

&
nbsp; ‘Such a lovely young lady, BabyB. Why is that?’

  ‘She says she needs to give me a little space to grow and I guess I haven’t challenged that.’

  ‘Maybe she’s right. Even when plants live side by side they always struggle to grow if one gets stuck in the shadow of the other.’

  I didn’t answer for a little while and then I decided to open up further. ‘I had the most wonderful experience yesterday, OldRuin. Arthur and Ethel arranged for me to go skateboarding.’

  ‘I see.’ He raised his eyebrows with amusement.

  I smiled back and said, ‘The thing is. For the first time in I don’t know how long I felt, well, free. Then last night I had the most vivid dream in which my mum and dad were together and we were all on a beach. I think it came from something I remembered for the first time in a long while yesterday. In the dream we were each building sandcastles and laughing and then suddenly the tide started to come in. At first we carried on laughing, thinking it would never reach as far as our castles. But then slowly, inevitably, it crept forward. My parents gave up and left me to it and I started furiously digging a moat and building huge walls made of sand. But of course they made no difference and eventually as the tide surged I tried to lift the sandcastles up with my hands. Then, just as soon as I thought I’d saved them they started to pass through my fingers and I woke up in a cold sweat.’

  ‘Like time itself,’ murmured OldRuin.

  We looked at each other in silence for a little while and then he said, ‘Believe it or not, BabyB, I used to be scared of so many things. Most of all that something terrible would happen to my wife.’

  I looked at him and his voice dropped. ‘Then the worst happened and she was taken from me. There was nothing left to fear but I found that if I wasn’t careful, my fear was sometimes almost entirely replaced by regret. Regret at the time we spent apart.’