Gross Negligence v3

GROSS NEGLIGENCE

He could barely see through the rain. It fell between him and the man like a cold veil. Ed watched his outline move across the cliff edge. The man seemed to lift something and stretch out towards him. Ed squinted, pressed his cheek to the wet stone and held on.
          Then the man jerked forwards and slid, swinging his arms wildly as if he could shake off gravity. He screamed and fell, smashing hard against the cliff face. Shale and pebbles scattered around him. One of his shoes shot off at a right angle as he spun.
          Ed gasped. His breathing was haggard and shallow. He tried to slow it down, but his lungs wouldn't cooperate. An arm reached down and gripped his shoulder. He struggled back up onto the ledge. He was so frigid he could barely think or feel. He was stark naked. She was in her underpants. They were both spattered with mud, and covered in cuts and bruises. Beside them, a torrent of water gushed over the edge of the escarpment.
          'Are you ok?' she asked.
          She put her arm around his waist to steady him. Ed leaned into the rain and looked down. The body was about twenty five metres below, jackknifed against an outcrop. It wasn't moving.
          'No, I am not fucking ok,' he thought. He would have said so, but his teeth just chattered idiotically. Cold, heavy raindrops continued to fall around them.
          She took his hand and led them between the gritstone boulders. They groped their way back along a rough dirt track, and disappeared over a ridgeline into the black heath.
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 knew he was fucked. 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 on his sideboard.
          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 slowly grinding his life into a fine paste.
          Behind him, in the public gallery, there was an energetic looking young man with thick black hair. He was wearing a neat blue shirt and puffer vest, and held a notebook. He leaned towards Ed: 'Excuse me, Mr Offerman. I'm Felix Wei. I work for the Law Gazette. I was wondering - since we're waiting - would you care to comment on your case for us?'
Ed sighed. The Law Gazette was an industry paper. It tended to focus mainly on the failures, indiscretions, and more colourful moments in the day-to-day life of the legal profession. Barely anybody read it, but still, you still didn't want to be one of the prize arseholes who ended up on its front page.
          'Nice to meet you, Felix. But no, no comment right now, sorry.'
'Good luck then!' said Felix.
          'Thanks!'
          A heavy-set man with a shiny, bald head, thick browline glasses and neatly manicured hands entered the room. He sat down beside Ed. He cleared his throat and spoke quietly: 'Hello there!'
          Ed turned. 'Oh, hi... Nick,' he said. 'What are you doing here?'
          'I thought you might need a bit of moral support.' Nick took a moment to survey Ed. He wrinkled his nose: 'What the fuck are you wearing? You look like you're about to catch a Megabus! Why aren't you wearing a suit?'
          Ed looked at Nick's attire. He was wearing a crisp navy suit with pleated trousers. Ed was in an off-white shirt, black jeans and desert boots. He shrugged.
          'The whole charade is almost over,' said Ed. 'I could wear a clown suit for all the difference it would make at this point.' He popped his collar, yanked his tie off, and undid the knot. He rolled it up and then flicked it. It unfurled like a roll of carpet. He started rolling it back up again and 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.'
          'I feel like I'm sitting outside the headmaster's office,' Ed said.
          Nick watched Ed playing with his tie: 'Would you please put that back on?'
          Ed didn't seem to hear him. 'I really hated school,' he said 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.
          She went back to her desk and shuffled some papers. 
          'Look at you, acting like you've never said "pussy" before,' said Nick.
          'Of course I say pussy. But there's a difference between referring to a vagina as a "pussy", and using "pussy" to refer to all those poor women who were misguided enough to fuck you.'
          'Huh?'
          'You said "I got so much pussy", but what you meant was "lots of women - girls in fact - had sex with me". The issue isn't even the word "pussy". Even if you had said "vagina", it would still be a shitty thing to say because you're referring to women by their genitals, as if that is the thing that defines them. It sort of strips them of their humanity, don't you think?'
          'This is literally the first time I have ever thought about it,' said Nick, looking blankly into space. 'Where is this coming from?'
          Ed smoothed his collar down and put his tie in his pocket: 'Since all this hash-tag-me-too stuff hit the papers, it's sort of forced me to have a bit of a think about how I talk and maybe how I've behaved in the past.'
          'Jesus Christ! Were you fucked by Harvey Weinstein?' scoffed Nick. 'Or is it that you should be sitting in the dock of a Crown Courtroom right now?'
          'You can joke and be glib about it if you want, but any man who hasn't had some sort of reckoning with themself after all that is either a saint, a psychopath or a liar!'
          'Which one are you then?'
          'I'm a lawyer, Nick. So are you. We lie about everything.'
          Nick looked at Ed glumly: 'Well, I get it now! It's a relief to know you're just projecting your guilty conscience onto the rest of us. Have you got something specific you want to confess?'
          'Forget I said anything. You talk however you want.'
          The clerk came back over to them: 'You know, I've never quite understood why we use that word. I looked it up. The internet says "pussy" is a slang term that comes from Old Norse puss, meaning pocket or pouch.'
          'What? No! That does not make sense!' said Nick 'It's obvious isn't it: pussies are both soft, warm, furry things.'
          'I think a pocket makes perfect sense,' the clerk said. 'In fact, I know women who refer to their vaginas as pockets.'
          'But the French call it "le chat" too!' said Nick.
          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, seriously! What's sexier: a pocket or a cat?' asked Nick, spreading his arms as though the answer were self-evident.
          'It is indeed interesting,' said Felix, butting in. '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, the shellfish? It's kind of like a cross between an oyster and a mussel,' said Felix.
          Nick's eyes flared: 'Who are you?'
'That's Felix. He's a reporter for the Law Gazette,' said Ed.
'A reporter?' Nick said.
'Yeah, but don't worry! This conversation is strictly off the record,' said Felix.
Nick thought about it for a moment,
          'Ok, so what's your point then?' asked Nick.
          'So my point is just that a vagina metaphor doesn't have to be about sex appeal. To give another example, if we are in a more poetic mood, we might say thu?yu which translates to "garden of peach blossoms".'
'Why peach blossoms?' Ed asked.
'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.
There was a loud knock from the retiring room. The clerk slipped quickly back to her desk. Everyone in the room stood up.
Nick smiled bitterly and whispered to Ed: 'You know, I've never told you this before, but you've got a real bad habit of trying to impress the ladies by throwing your mates under the bus.'
          'Fuck off - I'm not trying to throw anyone under the bus,' whispered Ed. 'I'm just trying to be a bit less of an arsehole.'
          'Well, it's not working.'
          The three members of the tribunal entered. They were very sensible, very serious looking people. They made their way to the bench. Everyone sat down again.
          Ed stared fixedly at the table top in front of him. He suddenly 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.'
          'You genuinely believed 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 did not need to tell your employer about it.'
          She removed some paper from a manila folder, and put on her glasses.
          'Mr Offerman, you have an otherwise unblemished record, and have cooperated with our investigation throughout. Your behaviour 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 solicitors to 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.'
          She took a moment and cleared her throat before concluding:
          'We have 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. This case falls in a bracket in which a period of suspension is appropriate. Accordingly, the agreed outcome is that you 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.'
          She paused for a moment and allowed the information to sink in.
          '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 spores. 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.
          Ed did not know what to do or what to say. Not just now, but perhaps ever again. He ran his fingers down his face.
          'I've got to say: I'm worried about you,' said Nick. 'Are you on meds or something?'
          'What for?'
          'Depression.'
          'I'm not depressed. Or at least I don't think I am.'
          'It's like your attitude has fundamentally changed in some way.'
          'A good way?'
          'No, you've always had a chip on your shoulder. Now you seem actively hostile.'
          Nick sucked some air through his teeth and grimaced: 'Listen, Ed...'
          'I mean, maybe I have been a bit depressed for the last few months. I'm certainly broke. I owe my landlord a lot of money. Now I've got to pull eight grand out of thin air as well!'
          'Ok, but...'
          'I might lose my home! Ever since I've lived there, I've felt really settled. I've been calm. I was finally learning how to live by myself and be happy, and this sort of has derailed everything.' 
          Nick waited for him to finish.
          'But you know what?' Ed continued. 'I think they just did me a favour in there! I'm overdue for a change. I've been a solicitor long enough anyway - too long - in fact. I'm retiring! I always felt like a sellout doing that job anyway.'
          'Well, maybe it's for the best then,' interrupted Nick. 'I need your keys and building pass.'
          The words took a beat 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. 'Way to kick a man when he's down!'
          'What did you expect? Flowers and a card? You're being fired for gross misconduct for god's sake!'
          '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 everybody else!'
          'Oh, c'mon! That's a lie! You and I both know that nobody fills it in! The firm would be in a lot more trouble if we did. There's an awful lot of "gifts" changing hands.'
          'That doesn't change the fact that you're a very senior member of staff and you just got suspended! 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: How the fuck did this get brought to their attention in the first place? Someone must have complained about me!'
          Nick considered for a moment: 'That's just the SRA's job. It's what they do. They go sniffing around looking to find stuff like that. It's just bad luck.'
          'Are you seriously trying to tell me that a couple of investigators took a look around our firm and that's the first breach they found? No, 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 mean, what the fuck? Why me?'
          'I know you've been having a rough time since all this started,' said Nick. 'It's just a bit of a mid-life crisis, Ed. That's all it is. I know you take everything very personally and as though you are the first person in human history to ever experience it, but I assure you, you will - probably - get through it if you don't do anything too stupid.'
          Ed took some deep breaths and 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.
          That abalone-talking reporter, Felix Wei, had followed them outside. He snapped some photos of Ed, who turned and stared down the lens with angry, bleary eyes.
'Felix, would you give me fucking break, please!' said Ed. 'I'm having a moment here!'
'Sorry,' he said. 'Just doing my job. Care to comment yet?
          'Yeah, here's my comment: "Eat shit and die."'
Felix put his camera into his pocket and backed away through the tribunal doors. 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 need to go talk to my uncle about something,' said Ed. 'But after that, I think you owe me a last lunch on the company card, don't you?
'Sure,' said Nick.
'So clear your calendar for the afternoon and we can go and have a few drinks. Get really shitfaced, yeah?'
'There we go!' said Nick, smiling. 'That's the Ed we know and love. Give me a buzz when you're ready.'
Nick 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.' 
          Uncle Frank was his mum's brother. She had died from cancer when Ed was eighteen, leaving Frank as pretty much his only relative. Frank had encouraged Ed to become a cop, but Ed wasn't interested. It was too much like joining the army, which is what his dad had wanted him to do. Of all the people in the world, he was probably closer to Frank than anyone else, but most of their conversations ended up with one of them sulking or losing their temper about something.
          'I must say, you look remarkably calm for a man whose life is falling to pieces,' said Frank.
          '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?' he asked.
          '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: 'How are you doing for money?'
          'I've got money,' Ed lied. 'But I could always use some more. You want to lend me some?'
          '"Charity is a cold, grey, loveless thing."'
          'Everytime you say that, 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, smart guy?'
          'It means charity is no substitute for rich people paying their fair share of taxes.'
          Ed watched Frank chew slowly. 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 good. You have, as always, a healthy 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 let it go. 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 either. It's an expensive endeavour.'
          'And depressing too.'
          'I don't know about depressing. It's a reasonable enough request. The husband came to see me. 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 raised an eyebrow and sat back in his chair: 'Of course it's his business - it's his wife!' He shovelled down the last of his mashed potato. 
          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 just make himself comfortable or get out, save himself the money and heartache.'
          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 eyes. 'Okay,' he said, not really bothering to think about what Frank meant.
          Frank pulled out a manila envelope from his jacket pocket and held it in his big hand: 'Do you want to do it or not?'
          'Can I think about it?' asked Ed.
          'What is there to think about? Do 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?' Frank asked again.
          Ed thought about it. His sense of pride certainly wasn't going to pay the bills.
          'Well, you're essentially asking me to spy on a woman because her husband has some grim cuckold fantasy. Sounds to me like he might just get off watching another guy fuck his wife. I don't really feel like being anyone's jizz swab, to be honest!'
          'Look, I know an opportunity when I see one,' said Frank. 'A paranoid husband with deep, deep pockets. If we play our cards right and just drip feed him enough juicy details to keep his suspicions piqued, we could milk him for weeks. Do you need the cash or not?'
          'That's not like you, Frank. You're normally the one lecturing me about integrity.'
          Frank shook his head sadly: 'Turns out you're not the only one with problems.'
          He folded his hands together and rested his head on them. He took a couple of deep breaths, then looked up at Ed.
          'Don't say anything to anyone, especially not to Sandy,' began Frank. 'You know all that crypto nonsense that's been going on?'
          'Don't fucking tell me!'
          'Yeah, I did. I got sucked in. My accountant said it was easy money. And it was for a while. I was a millionaire for about five minutes! I wiped out half our savings.'
          'And Sandy doesn't know about it?' asked Ed.
          Frank shook his head: 'I'm trying to make the money back as quickly as I can and I don't have a lot of time.'
          Two years before his mother had died, Ed's dad had cleaned out the family bank accounts and pension funds and fucked off to the Costa Del Sol with some tart from Essex. Frank had helped them out plenty back then.
          'What's the scenario?' he asked. 'Is the husband old and gross; she's young and ludicrously fertile?'
          Ed reached out to take the envelope, but Frank held onto it.
          'Let me have it,' said Ed.
          'Don't fuck about! If you're going to do it, do it properly, ok?'
          Ed nodded.
          'Say it!'
          'I won't fuck about. I'm not going to let you down.'
          Frank let go of the envelope. Inside were some photos and notes.  Ed looked carefully at the photos. The wife was a middle-aged East asian woman. She looked very normal, boringly so. She certainly didn't fit the profile he had in his mind.
          'The client has agreed to pay for up to a week - seven days - or until you get some solid evidence of infidelity, whichever comes first,' said Frank.
          'Ok,' Ed thought for a second. 'You couldn't advance me some money, could you?'
          'I thought you said you had money!'
          'I lied. I'm stone broke. The bailiffs are going to be knocking on my door any day now.'
          'Honestly, until I get some more work through the door, I can't.'
          'Fair enough,' said Ed. 'Let's do this then. I'll do my prep this afternoon and start tomorrow.'
          'Pop into the office. Pick up whatever gear you might need.'
          Ed looked at the photo of the woman again.
          'Where's she from?'
          'Apparently the family migrated here from Singapore. The husband seems to be some sort of big shot finance guy. She's a housewife.'
          'What's your guess? Is she fucking about?'
          'I really couldn't care less,' said Frank. 'But remember what I said: drip feed! We want to make the most of this opportunity.'
          Ed nodded.
          Frank hesitated for a moment and then asked: 'Have you tried speaking to your dad?'.
          Frank had never mentioned his dad since he'd run off.
          Ed was taken aback: 'What kind of fucking question is that?'
          'It's been a long time, but he's still your dad.'
          'Which means what precisely?'
          Frank shrugged: 'He might help you out.'
          'Even if he offered to help, I wouldn't take it. The best thing he ever did was fuck off. I'd pitch a tent on the street and eat garbage out of dumpsters before I ever talk to that cunt again.'
          'Ok, ok,' said Frank. 'I was only asking!'
          Ed pulled out his phone and messaged Nick. He desperately needed a drink.