This was what I’d been dreaming of for the last two weeks.
To be in an office full of adults whose clothes were not covered in food stains. Nine whole uninterrupted hours in which to calmly and methodically make my way through my pile of work.
So now that I was actually here, why was I calling Carla every hour and spending the rest of the time wondering when I could next call without offending her?
I knew I was being ridiculous. Jack and Carla had been great friends by the time I’d collected him after the trial run the week before and when we’d arrived that morning he’d disappeared in search of her cat without a backward glance.
‘Right, well I’ll be going then,’ I’d said with a touch of embarrassment. Despite my plans to include fifteen minutes to make sure Jack would be comfortable without me, I was already running late.
Since the first morning he’d crawled into bed with me reading had become a ritual.
It had been surprisingly difficult to pull myself away this morning and I had succumbed to three more ‘one last stories’ before I’d managed it. So as I headed to Carla’s front door, I told myself it was a good thing he clearly didn’t need me to stay.
I’d decided the best plan was to drive across town to Carla’s place in Paddington, park there and catch a bus into town. The whole trip had taken more than an hour, almost four times my normal commute time. But, I reminded myself, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Even walking to the bus stop by myself had seemed odd and I was finding it hard to relax now I was at work. Having been with Jack almost constantly for the last two weeks, it was strange not to know what he was doing.
I forced my eyes back to my foot-high in-tray. The morning had started with a procession of colleagues returning the files they’d been looking after for me while I was away. When someone else was babysitting your file, only problems that couldn’t wait were dealt with. Which meant that most of them now urgently needed my attention. There was also a stack of phone messages I needed to deal with.
But instead of accomplishing anything, I’d spent the last two hours making lists and flicking from one problematic email to another. All I’d succeeded in doing was making myself feel sick at the amount I had to do and how little time I had to do it. Previously a huge workload could always be dealt with by working longer hours. Late nights and weekends came with the territory, and a whole weekend away from the office seemed like a holiday. But suddenly my available time had been slashed and all I seemed to be able to do was panic about it.
The telephone rang and I picked it up reluctantly, hoping it wasn’t a client wanting to talk about something I hadn’t yet glanced at.
‘Julia, it’s Mark. I’m in conference room two with a new client. Would you mind coming in for a while?’
‘Sure. I’ll be straight in.’
Excellent, I thought automatically. A new client and Mark was bringing me in at the start. That was good.
Before I’d even completed the thought, I changed my mind. That was not good – it was bad. Very bad. When in God’s name would I get a chance to do anything on another matter? And if it was a new client it would have to be done straightaway. Get a grip, I thought fiercely. More work meant more hours I’d be charging which was exactly what I needed to have any chance of being made a partner.
I grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair where I’d slung it earlier. Doing up the buttons, I stopped when I reached the bottom. The jacket was dark blue, while the skirt was definitely black.
I toyed with, but discarded, the idea of not wearing a jacket. Several years ago a senior partner had seen me returning jacketless from lunch on a baking hot day. He had berated me loudly about the importance of professional standards of dress. As a result, I couldn’t even contemplate walking into the meeting ‘half-naked’, as he’d put it. All I could do was pray that the client was male. After all, twenty per cent of men were colourblind.
I knocked briefly on the conference room door and opened it. Mark stood up, as did our new female client.
‘Ah, Julia. This is Sandra Stewart. She’s the managing director of First Gen. They want to retain us to deal with the fallout from their incident.’
I paused in case more information was forthcoming. Nope. I nodded in what I hoped was an intelligent manner, despite the fact I had not the faintest idea what First Gen was, let alone what incident Mark was referring to.
Before Jack’s arrival I’d spent half an hour a day reading two daily newspapers and a folder full of relevant clippings compiled by a media scanning company. These days I was lucky if I managed to catch the six o’clock news and wouldn’t have been particularly surprised if another world war had broken out without my knowledge. My reading material consisted exclusively of Diggers and Dumpers and, at a push, Hairy Maclary. And given that First Gen’s incident hadn’t featured in the last edition of Babies and Toddlers, I had not a clue what was going on.
Despite the fact that to all outward appearances I was a successful female professional, I always felt outclassed in the presence of women like Sandra. Her hair fell to her shoulders in soft waves and I was sure she’d never decided that ten more minutes in bed was worth a day of greasy hair. Her fingernails were beautifully manicured and her expensive fountain pen rested on a leather-backed notepad. I hid my hands behind my foolscap block and plastic pen. Of course, underneath the confident attractive exterior, she was desperately unhappy, I decided with little conviction. Anyone who was that perfectly turned out must have issues – at least I hoped she did.
Act confident when you feel the least so. It had always been my standard tactic when I felt out of my depth and I saw no reason not to employ it now. It wasn’t like I had a lot of options.
‘Hello, Sandra.’ I held my decidedly unmanicured fingers out to her. ‘It’s very nice to meet you. I’m pleased to hear we’ll be acting for you.’
I flicked open the business card holder which I’d taken from my handbag. Slipping out a card, I handed it across to her.
Her forehead creased and I looked down. The top of the business card was fringed in a soft pulp. I could clearly make out the bite marks across its length and I suddenly remembered handing the holder to Jack when we were in the car last week. It seemed that having been unable to remove the tightly wedged cards, he’d decided to wreak as much havoc as was possible given the limitations he had to work with.
‘Oh dear,’ I laughed hollowly. ‘I forgot this lot went through the wash last week. Sorry about that.’
‘As you’ll understand, things are pretty stressful at First Gen right now.’
Mark was speaking to me and I nodded sagely. ‘Mmm,’ I added as an afterthought, frantically running the possibilities through my mind. First Generator, First Generation, First Gender . . . Even if I didn’t know what had happened last week, I should have at least had some glimmer of recognition of the name.
Thankfully Mark spoke again. ‘I’ve told Sandra that I’d like to bring you in to help me with this matter.’
‘Of course.’ I had absolutely no doubt that Sandra had noticed the mismatched outfit the second I entered the room and was wondering just what value someone who was incapable of dressing herself could bring to the case.
Determined to show her how wrong she was, I pushed to the back of my mind the fact that my life was in chaos and I was hardly capable of changing the sheets on my bed.
In for a penny in for a pound, I decided. ‘I understand that you feel it is important that you act immediately. But in my experience it is often better to take the time to work out the best course of action.’ That sounded generic yet wise, I thought.
They both looked at me strangely. ‘Yes . . .’ Mark said. ‘Except that when you have fifteen miners stuck in a mine shaft, sooner is often better than later.’
‘Ah yes, the miners.’ I wondered if I should just hand in my notice now and be done with it. ‘Of course – that goes without saying.’ I tried to sound impatient about having to go over ground I had already taken as a given. ‘But once the ground crew have done their job, we need to be ready to deal with the strategic aspects of the case.’
To my amazement Sandra nodded. ‘That was exactly what I was saying before you came in. Because First Gen was only spun off a month ago, the first that most people have heard of us is that we have a mine disaster. The rescue efforts are going excellently and we’re confident we’ll have everyone out safely very soon. So we need to be prepared to deal with an inquiry as soon and cleanly as we can.’
Mining. Spin off. The words jogged a faint memory. My mind whirred as I tried to pull the picture together. With a blinding flash I had it. First Gen was the coal-mining company which had recently been sold off by a large Australian company. From the sound of it, I’d missed the blanket media coverage that would have surrounded a mining disaster.
I started making notes, trying not to picture my already overflowing in-tray.
By six o’clock my to-do list had reached the end of the second page. The only good news was that given the high profile of the First Gen matter, Mark had decided to handle things by himself for the moment.
But I’d told Carla I’d pick Jack up by six-thirty, so I resolutely shut down my computer, ignoring the fact that I was the first to leave. Law firms hadn’t exactly switched on to the idea of paperless offices and I shoved five huge files into two supermarket bags.
The bus was late and the traffic horrific, so it was well after six-thirty by the time my plastic bags and I arrived at Carla’s.
Great effort, Julia, I fumed. I couldn’t even get here on time on the first day. Carla would probably throw Jack at me and withdraw all offers of help.
The shop was still open and Carla greeted me with a smile, waving away my apologies. Jack was sitting on the floor in his pyjamas, scrawling with a crayon on a large piece of butcher’s paper.
‘Hello Jack.’
I was faintly apprehensive about what his reaction would be upon seeing me. Screams at the thought of being taken away from the lovely Carla by nasty Julia weren’t what I needed at this point in my life.
He looked up at me without expression.
The fact that he wasn’t screaming was a good thing, I told myself in an attempt to be positive.
He pulled his feet under him and stood up without using his hands, a manoeuvre I admired each time I saw it. His pyjamas were half a size too big and stretched past his knees and I could see his little chest above the top button on the shirt.
He walked towards me and stopped only centimetres from my leg. Tilting his head back, he looked up at me and extended his hand. Gently I closed my fingers across his palm and allowed myself to be led to the kitchen.
‘Wow, a cat! That’s great,’ I enthused as he pointed at it, his cherubic face serious. I tightened my grip on his little hand. It was a start.