Gross Negligence - first 3 chapters v2

GROSS NEGLIGENCE

Ed was hanging half off a cliff face with his nipples scraping bare rock. It was early August and a storm was battering the moor with cold savagery. Lightning flashed across the dark sky.
          He could barely see through the rain, but the man suddenly jerked forwards, and swung 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 gasped. His breathing was shallow and haggard. He tried to slow it down, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. He pressed his cheek to the wet cliff and held on.
          An arm reached down and gripped his shoulder. She helped him back up onto the ledge, and steadied him with her arm around his waist. Cold, heavy raindrops fell around them.
          Ed felt so frigid he could barely think. He was stark naked. She was in her underpants. They were both spattered with mud, and covered in cuts and bruises. He reached down and touched his bottom. It really hurt. It might even be bleeding. Beside them, a torrent of water gushed over the edge of the escarpment.
          'Are you ok?' she asked.
          Ed turned and leaned into the rain. The body was about twenty five metres below, jackknifed against an outcrop. It wasn't moving.
          'Better than him,' he thought. He would have said so, but his teeth chattered idiotically.
          She led them between the gritstone boulders, and they groped their way back to a rough dirt track. They disappeared over a ridgeline into the black heath as thunder rolled across the moor.
1
Nineteen days earlier, it was a sunny morning and Ed was sitting in the Solicitors Disciplinary Tribunal. 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'd been on unpaid leave for months now. He was deep into his overdraft, miles behind on his rent, and was collecting a thick stack of threatening-looking letters that he didn't even have the courage to open.
          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 had no hard feelings towards the guy. Not really. He was just a cog in the machine grinding his life 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 dedicated to every failure, indiscretion and act of incompetence perpetrated 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: 'Hey!'
          Ed turned. 'Oh, hi... Nick,' he said. 'What are you doing here?'
          'I thought you might need a bit of moral support.' Nick surveyed Ed and wrinkled his nose: 'Why aren't you wearing a suit?'
          Ed looked at Nick's attire. He was wearing a navy suit with crisply pleated trousers. Ed was in an off-white shirt, black jeans and desert boots.
          'This whole charade is starting to feel more and more ridiculous, but at least it's almost over now,' said Ed. Ed popped his collar, took his tie off, and rolled it up. He trilled his lips like an out-of-tune 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.'
          'What's taking so long?' asked Ed. 'I feel like I'm sitting outside the headmaster's office. Ed unfurled his tie on the table, and started rolling it back up again.
          'Would you please put that back on?' asked Nick.
          'I really hated school,' said Ed absently.
          Nick scoffed. 'You're crazy! School was the best time of my life,' he said. '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, and gesturing 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 it doesn't make it ok,' said Ed, frowning. '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.'
          'I'm not trying to throw anyone under the bus!' said Ed. 'I appreciate you showing up today, Nick. I'm just trying to get you to think about what you say and who you say it in front of.'
          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.'
          Ed didn't know what he'd expected her to say, but it wasn't that.
          'That doesn't make sense! Pocket? No way. "Pussies" are both soft, warm, furry things,' he said, smiling to himself. 'I mean, the French call it "le chat" too.'
          'I think a pocket makes perfect sense,' the clerk said. 'In fact, I know women who refer to their vaginas as pockets.'
           Ed glanced at the guy from Barker and Barker. He was sitting there grimly, minding his own business, not talking about pussies. Ed envied him for a dull moment.
          'I mean, c'mon! Can I ask you a bit of an off-colour question?' Nick asked the clerk.
          She grinned cheekily: 'How off colour?'
          'Only mildly,' said Nick.
          'Ok, go ahead.'
          'What's sexier: a pocket or a cat?'
          Nick spread his arms as though the answer were self-evident
'Excuse me,' interjected the young man with dark hair, leaning towards them from the back row of the gallery. They all turned and looked at him. He stood up, moved behind them and sat down.
'Mr Offerman,' he said. 'I'm Felix Wei. I work for the Law Gazette. I was wondering - since we're still waiting for the panel - would you care to comment on your case for us?'
Ed sighed: 'Nice to meet you, Felix. But no, no comment right now. I mean, if I get a favourable judgement I'll give you all the comments you want at the after party, but right now, no.'
'Good luck then!' said Felix.
          'Thanks!'
          Felix looked reluctant to leave though. 'Just one more thing,' he said. 'Apologies, but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation. I just wanted to add, if I may?' He looked earnestly at Nick and the clerk.
No one said anything, so he kept going: 'We don't say pussy in China. In Mandarin - if we are being vulgar - we may say bywhich means "abalone".'
'Abalone?' asked the clerk.
          'You know, like an oyster or a mussel,' said Felix. 'But if we are being more poetic we might say thu?yu which translates to "garden of peach blossoms".'
Nick's eyes flared: 'Ok, what's your point?'
'My point is that I don't think it has anything to do with sexiness,' said Felix.
'He's right,' said Ed. 'The Portuguese call it a rata - a rat. Sexiness has nothing to do with it. Why peach blossoms though?' he asked, turning to Felix.
'I'm not sure,' he replied. 'One of our female gods serves peaches that make her guests immortal. That would be my guess...'
'But a cat is a sexy animal!' protested Nick.
          Ed shook his head. 'I don't think you get it, Nick, but regardless: don't you think we should talk about something else?'
          'You started it,' said Nick.
          'Yes, I did, didn't I,'  said Ed, exhaling. 
          The clerk looked up at the clock on the wall, 'I don't know what's taking so long.' 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.
          Ed didn't bother responding..
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. When he heard the word "accidental" he allowed himself a brief moment of optimism. If they agreed it was accidental, they weren't going to strike him off, but he wasn't out of the woods entirely.
          '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.'
          She removed a paper from a manila folder, and put on some glasses:
          '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.
          '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 and plane tree pollen. He stepped forward and almost bumped into someone rushing to get their lunch, stepped backwards and nearly collided with two women going the other direction. He negotiated his way into a vacant doorway. Nick stepped in beside him.
          'Well, it could have been worse,' Nick said.
          'Could I please have a moment to feel sorry for myself before you start brightsiding me?' 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 to my landlord!'
          'Ok, but...'
          'I admit, 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's over and done with, I feel like a load has been lifted from my shoulders. I know I can turn things around! It's time to sort my life out. Let's go to the office and...'
          'Stop! Please stop! I need to say something,' interrupted Nick. 'I'm just going to rip the bandaid off: I need your keys and building pass.'
          The words took a beat to sink into Ed's brain.
          'Are you 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. 'Way to kick a man when he's down!'
          'Don't be like that! You know the deal! You don't get a farewell party when you're being fired for gross misconduct.'
          'Gross misconduct?' said Ed indignantly. 'I was mildly negligent at worst!'
          'No, you were grossly negligent! You knew about the register! You should have just filled it in like all the normal people!'
          'Oh, c'mon! You and I both know that nobody fills it in! The firm would be in a lot more trouble if me and everybody else declared every "gift" we got.'
          'That doesn't change the fact that you're a very senior member of staff and you just got suspended from the roll! 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. He tapped his forehead and closed his eyes. 'You, know the thing that's been driving me nuts all this time is how the fuck did this get brought to their attention in the first place? Who complained about me?'
          Nick considered for a moment: 'I don't know anything about that.'
          'The only thing that makes sense is that someone snitched on me!'
          Ed looked into Nick's eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up into the summer sky. Tears filled his eyes. 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 down the lens grimly.
'Felix, give me a break, please!' said Ed.
'Sorry,' he said. 'Just doing my job. Care to comment?
          'No, I don't.'
Felix gave a polite nod, put his camera into his pocket and went back inside the building. As he 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.
'Listen,  I've got  a meeting I need to go to now,' said Nick. 'But after that, let me buy you one last lunch on the company. Then we can go and have a few drinks. Let's get shitfaced, yeah?'
'Sure,' said Ed.
          Nick answered a phone call and walked off towards Temple. Ed thrust his hands deep in his pockets, and wandered off in the other direction.
3
          Ed met his uncle, Frank, at The George Pub in Chancery Lane. 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 pull on his Guinness, 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. I mean, I could panic, but who would that help?'
          Frank shook his head sadly. 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 and swallowed. 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.'
          Ed watched Frank chew. His big jaw ground sideways like a cow. It didn't seem to sink in this time either.
          '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?' asked Ed.
          Frank took a big gulp of Guinness 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.'
          'Do people still do that?'
'Not so much these days, but it's not unheard of. It's an expensive way to find out.'
          'Sounds depressing.'
          'The husband came to see me. He's got plenty of money. Seems like a highly strung kind of guy. He's very 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 shovelled down the last of his mashed potato. He raised an eyebrow and sat back in his chair: 'Of course it's his business - it's his wife!'
          Ed looked unconvinced: 'You know what they say: Marriage is the one prison people are trying to break into. This potential client of yours should mind his own business, save himself the money and heartache. I mean, what difference does it really make if his wife needs a little something on the side to spice her life up?'
          Frank held up his steak knife and pointed it at Ed: 'You know why I'm still happily married and you're not? You always have a smart-arse response for everything - never an honest one.' He put down the knife and pushed his plate away.
          Ed looked into his uncle's icy-blue eyes. 'Okay,' he said, not really thinking about what Frank meant.
          Frank pulled out a manila envelope from his jacket pocket and held it in his big hand.
          'Look, the job is straightforward enough. Do you want it or not?'
          Ed had a sense of pride, but it wasn't going to pay the bills. He wanted to say yes, but he couldn't - yet. Of all the people in the world, he was probably closer to Frank than anyone else, but most of their conversations were like this: a stulted, passive-aggressive, back-and-forth until one of them lost their temper or wore the other one down.
          'Can I think about it?' asked Ed.
          Frank groaned.
          'Well, I mean, you're not really selling it to me, Frank.'
          'Oh? You have options? You have other irons in the fire right now you haven't told me about?'
          'No, I haven't got any irons in the fire. I have no irons. I have no fire.'
          'So what is there to think about?'
          'Well, you're essentially asking me to spy on a woman because her husband has some paranoid cuckold fantasy that he wants to play out. Sounds to me like he might just desperately want to get off by watching his wife fuck another guy, and I don't really feel like being his jizz swab, to be honest!'
          'I don't care about any of that - I just want the money,' pleaded Frank.
          'What's the scenario: Is he old and gross; she's young and hot?'
          Frank opened the envelope and handed him a photograph of a middle-aged East asian woman. She looked very normal. Ed considered her for a moment and handed the photo back to Frank. 
          'So are you going to do it or not?' asked his uncle.
          'Have you asked anyone else?'
          'Not yet.'
          'Can I think about it?'
          Frank threw up his hands in exasperation: 'Just fucking do it!'
          'I've had a shit day, Frank. I've had a shit six months, actually. I'd like to think about it.'
          'Best I can do is give you twenty-four hours. I'm going to the club tomorrow at eleven. You can meet me there if you want to do it. If not, I'll find someone else.'
          'Ok,' said Ed, standing up from the table and checking his phone. 'I might see you tomorrow then.'