Gross Negligence - first three chapters

GROSS NEGLIGENCE

It was almost midnight, early August, and a summer storm was battering the moor with cold savagery.

Ed was hanging half off a cliff face with his nipples scraping bare rock. He pressed his cheek to the wet stone as he tried to hold on.

There was a flash of lightning. He saw the man jerk forwards, and swing his arms wildly as if he could shake off gravity.

He screamed and fell, smashing against the cliff face. Rocks and shale scattered around him. One of his shoes shot off at a right angle as he spun out of sight.

Ed strained up onto the ledge above. He leaned into the rain. The body was about twenty five metres below, jackknifed against an outcrop.

A woman skirted the gritstone boulders on the cliff edge towards him. She reached out to Ed and put her arm around his waist. Cold, heavy raindrops fell around them.

'Is he dead?' she asked.

Ed was stark naked. She was in her underpants. They were both spattered with mud, and covered in cuts and bruises.

Ed reached down and lightly fingered around his anus. It really hurt. It might have been bleeding. Beside them, a torrent of water gushed over the edge of the escarpment.

'I killed him,' she said.

Ed would be very glad if that were true. If he hadn't been frozen half to death he would have said so. Instead, his teeth chattered idiotically.

He took her by the hand and they wound their way between the boulders, groping their way back to a rough dirt track.

Lightning flashed another jagged arc. They disappeared over a ridgeline into the black heath. Thunder rolled across the moor.

1

Nineteen days earlier, it was a sunny morning in mid July. Ed was sitting at a long desk at the Solicitors Disciplinary Tribunal on Farringdon Road. His chin was stubbly; his hair loosely combed. He fumbled in his pockets for a packet of cigarettes he didn't have. He sniffed his knuckles. He thought he could still smell smoke.

There was a dim sound of traffic cutting across the busy intersection outside. The panel was due back at any moment. Regardless of the outcome, Ed was in trouble. He was deep into his overdraft, miles behind on his rent, and was collecting a thick stack of letters with "Final notice" written on them.

Across the room sat a middle-aged woman - the tribunal clerk - wearing a neat skirt and blouse. She had a kind, motherly face, and looked bored. The applicant was at the other end of the long desk. He was a stiff looking guy with grey hair from Barker and Barker. His main preoccupation seemed to be avoiding making eye contact with Ed. Ed didn't know why. He had no hard feelings towards the guy. Not really. He was just a cog in the machine employed to grind people's lives into a fine paste. Sure, Ed felt persecuted, but not like he was special or anything.

Behind him, in the public gallery, there was an energetic looking young man with thick black hair and a notebook. Ed was worried he might be a reporter for the Law Gazette, a paper focused on every failure, fuck up and indiscretion by the legal profession. Nobody read it, but you still didn't want to end up in it.

A heavy-set man with a shiny, bald head, thick browline glasses and neatly manicured hands entered the room. He sat down behind Ed, cleared his throat and spoke quietly: 'Sorry I'm late.'

'Hey Nick,' said Ed.

'I thought you might need a bit of moral support.'

Nick wrinkled his nose: 'Why aren't you wearing a suit for god's sake?'

Ed looked at Nick's navy suit with its crisply pleated trousers, and then at his own off-white shirt, black jeans and desert boots. He popped his collar, took his tie off, rolled it up, and put it in his pocket.

Nick looked at him with dismay.

There was no response necessary.

'This whole charade is starting to feel more and more ridiculous, but at least it's almost over now,' said Ed. He trilled his lips like a trumpet player. The clerk noticed him, got up from her small table, and walked over. She smiled at Ed sympathetically: 'They should be out any moment now.'

'Thanks,' said Ed, smiling glumly. 'I'm starting to feel like... like... something that's had the juice sucked out of it and spat all over the floor. I don't know what that is... I'm bad at similes.'

The clerk screwed up her eyes a little bit, and nodded.

'I know it's a long process.'

'More than three months now,' said Ed. 'I feel like I've been sitting outside the headmaster's office the whole time.'

Ed took his tie out of his pocket and unfurled it on the table in front of him.

'Would you at least put that back on?' asked Nick, glancing up from his phone.

'I really hated school,' said Ed absently.

'You're crazy! School was the best time of my life,' said Nick. 'I was fit. I had hair. Girls loved me - I got so much pussy.'

'Do you mind?' Ed asked Nick, clipping him lightly on the arm. Nick looked up from his phone. Ed discreetly motioned to the clerk.

'Oh, shit, yeah, sorry!,' mumbled Nick, putting away his phone.

'Don't mind me - I've heard it all before!' said the clerk.

'That may be the case, but that doesn't mean you need to be exposed to casual misogyny in your workplace,' said Ed, frowning. 'In fact, I don't know why we need to refer to vaginas as "pussies" at all.'

The clerk tilted her head in thought and then pulled out her phone.

Nick smiled bitterly: 'Classic, Ed. Mr Chivalry! Always trying to impress the ladies by throwing his mates under the bus.'

'What the hell are you talking about?' said Ed. 'I'm just trying to get you to think about what you say before you say it.'

The clerk held out her phone.

'The internet says "pussy" is slang for the female genitalia because it comes from Old Norse puss, meaning pocket or pouch.'

'That doesn't make sense! Pussies are both soft, warm, furry things,' said Nick, smiling to himself. 'I mean, the French call it "le chat" too.'

'I think a pocket makes perfect sense,' the clerk said.

Ed glanced at the guy from Barker and Barker. He was sitting there grimly, doing his job, not talking about pussies. Ed envied him for a dull moment.

'But - excuse me - can I ask you a bit of an off-colour question?' asked Nick to the clerk.

The clerk smiled: 'How off colour?'

'Only mildly,' said Nick.

'Ok, go ahead.'

'What's sexier: a pocket or a cat?'

The clerk considered the question, as Nick spread his arms as though the answer were self-evident.

The young man with the black hair - who may or may not be a reporter - had been discreetly listening to their conversation.

'Excuse me,' he interjected, leaning towards them. They all turned and looked at him. He stood up, moved behind them in the gallery and sat down.

'Apologies, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I just wanted to add, if I may?'

No one said anything, so he kept going: 'In Mandarin - if we are being very vulgar - we may say bywhich means "abalone". But if we are being more poetic we might say thu?yu which translates to "garden of peach blossoms".'

'Ok, what's your point?' asked Nick.

'My point is that I don't think it has anything to do with perceived sexiness,' said the young man.

'He's right,' said Ed. 'The Portuguese call it a rata - a rat. Sexiness has nothing to do with it. Why peach blossoms though?' Ed asked, turning to the young man.

'I'm not sure,' he replied. 'It may have something to do with the Spirit Mother of the West.'

'Who's that?'

'She is one of the oldest gods we worship in China. She lives on Kunlun mountain, and serves peaches that make her guests immortal.'

'But a cat is a sexy animal!' protested Nick. 'Pockets are not. Neither are abalone or rats. And vaginas don't make you immortal!'

Ed shook his head. 'Don't you think we should talk about something else?'

'You started it,' said Nick.

'Yes, I did. As a subtle way of trying to get you to think about the sexist language you were using. That's it! I'm not sitting here to listen to a debate about vagina metaphors,' said Ed, turning to the young man. 'Who are you anyway?'

'Hi, I'm Felix Wei. I'm a reporter for the Law Gazette.'

Ed banged the desk in front of him and looked at the roof. Nick looked sideways at Ed.

'This guy is a reporter for the Law Gazette,' Ed whispered to Nick.

'Don't you think you should have led with that information?' Ed asked Felix.

Felix sat back in his chair, 'Don't worry - That conversation was off the record.'

'I don't know what's taking so long...' the clerk said absently, checking the clock on the wall.

'Is it a good or a bad sign?' Ed asked her.

'I wouldn't read too much into it.'

She walked to the front of the room and slipped through the door to the retiring room.

'You've got bigger problems than my choice of words,' said Nick.

'Hey, thanks for the moral support. I feel much better with you here.'

A moment later there was a loud knock from the retiring room. They all stood up. The clerk returned, leading the three members of the tribunal to their bench. They were very sensible, very serious looking people. Everyone sat down again. Ed felt like he was being strangled by his shirt. He unfastened his top button as the Chair, a middle-aged woman with a steel-grey bob, looked carefully along the line of her nose and began to speak:

'We thank you for your patience as we made our final deliberations, Mr Offerman. In making our judgement we took into account the circumstances described by the complainants, as well as the presentations you have made to us over the course of the inquiry. Ultimately we agree that the facts suggest that this was an accidental, rather than pre-planned incident.'

Ed stared fixedly at the table top in front of him, until he heard the word "accidental". Then he breathed a sigh of relief. The worst outcome was eliminated. He reminded himself not to get cocky and listened as the chair continued:

'You have consistently stated that you genuinely believed, at the time, that you were entitled to receive the gift from your client, and that because it was a relatively modest sum - amounting to no more than two thousand five hundred pounds - that you believed you did not need to tell your employer about it.'

The Chair removed a paper from a manila folder, and put on some spectacles:

'Mr Offerman, you have an otherwise unblemished record as a solicitor and private citizen, and have cooperated with the SRA's investigation throughout. It was, however, clearly contrary to your employer's Bribery and Corruption Code of Conduct. You failed to record and disclose receipt of that cash gift until it was brought to your employer's attention. We expect that members of the legal profession are familiar with and act in accordance with all their employer's policies. To do otherwise undermines the public's ability to trust us "to the ends of the earth", as the profession demands.'

She took a moment and cleared her throat before concluding:

'In light of all of these considerations, the Solicitors Regulatory Authority has determined that neither reprimand nor a fine is sufficient, but neither the protection of the public nor the protection of the reputation of the profession requires that you be struck off the solicitors' role.'

She paused for a moment and allowed the information to sink in. She continued:

'This case falls in a bracket in which a period of suspension is appropriate. Accordingly, the agreed outcome is that you, Edward Offerman, shall be suspended from the Roll for a period of twelve months from today's date; and pay a contribution to tribunal costs in the sum of eight thousand pounds. Do you have anything that you would like to say to the tribunal at this time, Mr Offerman?'

Ed shook his head.

'Very well. We thank you for your time.'

2

On the street outside, Ed looked around bleakly. The sun was high in the sky and the air was choked with traffic fumes. Ed stepped forward and almost bumped into a man in a light blue jacket. He stepped back and nearly collided with two women walking the other way. It was like playing a game of Frogger and even less fun. Ed negotiated his way into a vacant doorway. Nick stepped in beside him.

'Well, could have been worse,' Nick said.

'Could I have a moment to feel sorry for myself before you start with the whole "look on the brightside" bullshit?' said Ed, running his fingers down his face.

Nick sucked some air through his teeth and grimaced.

'Listen, Ed...'

'I mean I am in some serious difficulty, right now,' said Ed. 'I'm in danger of getting booted out of my flat. I owe a lot of money that I don't have!'

'Ok, but...'

'I may have been a bit depressed for the last few months. I've sort of let things slip in a pretty bad way. And now I've got to pull eight grand out of thin air as well!'

Nick waited for him to finish.

'But at least now that this is over, I feel like a load has been lifted from my shoulders. I know I can turn things around! I'm going to get my life back on track! It's time to sort my life out. Let's go to the office and...'

'Stop! Just stop for a minute,' interrupted Nick. I'm just going to rip the bandaid off: I need your keys and building pass.'

The words took a moment to sink into Ed's brain.

'Are you fucking kidding me?' he said.

'Your personal belongings will be ready to be picked up from reception tomorrow morning.'

'I can't believe this,' he said, shaking his head slowly. 'What a kick in the guts!'

'Don't be like that! You know the deal! You don't get a farewell party and cake when you're being fired for gross misconduct.'

'Gross misconduct?' asked Ed indignantly. 'I was mildly negligent at worst!'

'No, you were grossly negligent! You knew about the register and any reasonable person would have just filled the bloody thing in.'

'Oh, c'mon! You and I both know that everybody does it! The firm would be in a lot more trouble if I and every other lawyer declared every "gift" we ever got on the job.'

'That doesn't change the fact that you're a senior member of staff and you just got suspended from the roll! How are we supposed to trust you after this? It's a fatal breach of contract and you know it.'

Ed shook his head bitterly.

'I knew you had an ulterior motive...'

'Well it was either I come down and do it, or send Carol from HR. I thought I'd do you the courtesy.'

'Very kind of you,' said Ed. 'How the fuck did this get brought to their attention in the first place? Somebody fucking snitched on me!'

Nick considered for a moment: 'I have no idea. I don't know anything about that.'

Ed looked into Nick's eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up into the summer sky. The plane trees were shedding their tear-duct swelling pollen into the breeze. Tears filled Ed's eyes, and he looked away, embarrassed.

'I know you've been having a rough time since all this started,' said Nick. 'You just need time to process it.'

Ed got a hold of himself. He removed two keys from his key ring and fished his lanyard out of his back pocket. He handed them over to Nick. Nick gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

Felix Wei had followed them outside. He snapped some photos of Ed, who turned and stared daggers down the lens with his watery, red eyes.

'Felix, give me a fucking break, dude!' said Ed.

'Sorry,' he said. 'Just doing my job.'

Felix gave a polite nod, put his camera into his pocket and went back inside the building. As Felix went back in, the lawyer from Barker and Barker came out and almost bumped into Nick.

'Sorry, Tony!' Nick said absentmindedly.

'No problem,' the man replied as he scooted around, and walked off down the street at a brisk pace.

'Tony? You know that guy?' Ed asked.

'Oh, yeah, sure,' Nick replied.

'How?'

'Oh, he's just one of those people I've bumped into around the Temple over the years... Listen, I've got a meeting I need to go to now, but after that let me buy you one last lunch on the company card and then let's go and have a few drinks. Let's get shitfaced, yeah?'

'Sure,' said Ed.

He began walking, hands deep in his pockets.

3

Ed met his uncle, Frank, at The George Pub in Chancery Lane, not far away. His uncle was mid-lunch, tucking into a sirloin steak with pepper sauce on a bed of mashed potatoes. Ed sat down opposite him and crossed his legs. Frank took a sip of water, wiped his lips on his napkin, and stared across the table.

'Want something to eat?' asked Frank.

'No, thanks. I'm going to meet a friend after this.'

'I must say, you look remarkably calm for a man whose life is falling to pieces.'

'No point getting worked up about it.'

Frank shook his head sadly. He looked around for his food and drummed his big meaty fingers on the table. He was a heavyset man in his sixties with a square, flabby jaw and close-cropped grey hair. He was six foot two, and had the stiff posture and cold, dead eyes of a retired cop.

'Are you struck off?' asked Frank.

'No. Just suspended for twelve months and have to pay eight grand in costs. And I'm officially unemployed now.'

Frank chewed some steak.

'So what's the plan?' he asked.

'I'm not sure yet.'

Frank chewed up and swallowed another piece of steak. He eyed Ed cooly: 'Do you need to borrow some money?'

'I've got money,' Ed lied.

'Good. I wasn't going to lend you any anyway. You know me, I always say: "Charity is a cold, grey, loveless thing."

'You do always say that. And everytime you say it, I try to explain that it doesn't mean what you think it means, but it doesn't ever seem to sink in.'

'What does it mean then?'

'It means charity is no substitute for rich people paying their fair share of taxes.'

'Pay more taxes? I'd rather die!'

Ed watched Frank chew. His big jaw ground sideways like a cow.

'Good thing you're not rich then,' said Ed. 'Frank, it's nice to see you. You're looking healthy. You have, as always, a prodigious appetite. What did you want to see me about?'

'I could murder a Guinness right now, but gotta watch the weight,' said Frank. He sipped some water and looked into the distance. 'We're flat out at the moment and I'm understaffed. Something time consuming has come up and I'd rather not pass it up. Since you've now got plenty of time on your hands, I was wondering if you'd be interested.'

'What's the job?'

'Something that'll take some legwork and a bit of discretion.'

Ed waited for him to elaborate.

'A bit of marital surveillance around your neighbourhood.'

'Sounds depressing.'

'The husband came to see me - seems like a highly strung kind of guy - he's convinced his wife is having an affair.'

'Why doesn't he just ask her?'

Frank shrugged.

'Maybe he has. I don't know. I'm not a marriage counsellor am I?'

'Maybe it's none of his business?'

Frank raised an eyebrow and sat back in his chair..

'It sounds to me like this potential client of yours should either suck it up or divorce her. Save himself the heartache and money,' said Ed.

Frank finished his meal and pushed his plate away. He pointed his steak knife at Ed: 'You know why I'm still happily married and you're not? You always have twenty smart-arse answers for everything - never an honest one.' He put down the knife on the plate in front of him.

Ed looked into his uncle's icy-blue eyes. 'Okay,' he said, not knowing what he meant. Of all the people in the world, he was probably closest to Frank than anyone else in the world. And most of their conversations were like this: a stulted, passive aggressive, back-and-forth.

'You've always been way too lackadaisical about everything. And look where it's gotten you!' continued Frank. 'You've embarrassed yourself. It's time to clean up the mess and move on.'

'That's exactly what I'm trying to do, actually.'

Frank shovelled down the last of his mashed potato, and pulled out a manila envelope from his jacket pocket.

'Look, the job is straightforward enough. Do you want it or not?'

'Can I think about it?'

Frank groaned.

'C'mon! I've had a shit day. I've had a shit six months to be honest. I feel like I need to blow off some steam. I can't think straight right now.'

'Best I can do is give you twenty-four hours. I'm going to the club tomorrow for lunch. You can tell meet me there if you want to do it.'

'Ok,' said Ed, standing up from the table and checking his phone. 'I might see you tomorrow then.'