Chapter 9
9
After a restless night plagued by unsettling dreams, I call Alasdair.
‘Hiya. What happened to you?’ he asks when he picks up. ‘One minute you were there, talking to whatshername, and then I turned around and you’d gone.’
‘I got a better offer,’ I tell him. ‘Anyway, what are you up to this morning?’
‘Usual. I’ve got a stack of emails that need answering. You?’
‘Same, but I wondered whether you could spare me a couple of hours. I need some of your wisdom.’
‘Is that what we’re calling it now?’
‘Behave. I’ll buy you breakfast.’
‘I’m on my way.’
‘So, what’s up?’ he asks, a little over an hour later. We’re settled in a café about ten minutes’ walk from my house, sipping our coffees. He’s taken full advantage of the fact that I’m paying the bill by ordering a full English breakfast with all the extras, while I’ve gone for a more figure-friendly avocado on sourdough toast with poached eggs.
‘I think I’m just feeling a bit unsettled,’ I tell him. ‘The combination of the memorial service and my subsequent conversation with Rebecca and Alice.’
‘What was wrong with the memorial? It was practically a state funeral. If I get something half as grand when I snuff it, I’ll be pleased.’
‘Would you though? Let me ask you a question. Of the people who turned out yesterday, how many do you think were there because they genuinely cared about John?’
‘I don’t know. Does it matter?’
‘Let me ask it a different way. Why did you go?’
‘Because it was expected. Martin wanted a good turnout from the firm.’
‘And that’s my point. We were all there because we’d been instructed to go, not because we wanted to pay our respects to a much-loved friend and colleague. All those bigwigs were probably there for the same reason. And, if you think we disliked him, that’s nothing compared to the loathing his wife and mistress felt for him. The whole thing was a charade.’
‘It was still spectacular though. What’s your point?’
‘I had a dream last night. I was in a cemetery, watching a burial. It was pouring with rain, you know, like it always is in films. There was a priest there saying some words, and the undertakers, but no mourners. Not one. Even my father had a better turnout than that. It made me sad to think that someone could die and nobody cared enough to attend their funeral. So I moved closer for a better look.’
‘Right,’ he says, looking baffled.
‘I glanced down at the coffin. There was a brass plaque on it with the name of the deceased. It was my name.’
‘But this was just a dream, Thea.’
‘Yes, but it got me thinking about a phrase, and in the end I had to get up and google it. It turned out to be Charles Darwin, who said “a man’s friendships are one of the best measures of his worth”. I’d change it for gender-neutral language, of course, but he’s got a point, don’t you think? None of the people at John’s memorial would probably have referred to him as a friend, and I found myself asking who my friends were.’
‘I’m your friend.’
‘You’re probably my best friend, and you’re the only person at Morton Lansdowne I’ve told about my father, but how much do you really know about me?’
‘I know lots about you.’
‘Go on then. What’s my mum’s name? What was my favourite TV show when I was growing up?’
‘Umm…’
‘Let’s start with an easier one. What’s my sister’s name?’
‘Ah, I can do that one. It’s a herb. Rosemary?’
‘Not bad, but it’s a spice. Saffron.’
‘That’s not a measure of friendship though. Friends are there when you need them, like I was this morning.’
I laugh. ‘You’re all heart. Free breakfast and the possibility of a shag didn’t influence your thinking at all.’
‘That’s a bit harsh, Thea.’
‘Sorry. You’re right. I’m not myself this morning. Ignore me.’
We’re interrupted by the arrival of our food, and the conversation pauses while Alasdair sets about his breakfast with the kind of enthusiasm you’d expect from someone who hasn’t had a square meal in ages.
‘Why did you go into law?’ I ask him as I cut a small piece of sourdough and spear it with my fork.
‘You know why. I come from a family of lawyers,’ he replies between mouthfuls. ‘My father is a lawyer, as was his father. My mother was a solicitor but gave it up when she had children. My brother is a barrister. It’s what we do. And you went in because it was hard and you’re some sort of weird masochist.’
‘Did I tell you I wanted to become a criminal barrister originally? Fighting for justice, pleading my client’s case in court, all of that.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because I quickly realised that I’d either spend a lot of my time defending people who were undoubtedly guilty, or prosecuting people who were probably innocent. Justice might be blind, but there was no way I’d be able to sleep well at night if, for example, I managed to get a rapist acquitted on a technicality. How would I face the victims? And yet, that’s exactly what I would have been expected to do.’
‘I get that.’
‘If I wasn’t going to fight for justice then I wanted to be the best of the best, nothing to do with masochism. Everyone kept saying how tough corporate law was, how fiercely competitive, how difficult it was to break into. So, naturally, I set my sights not only on corporate law, but the most competitive of the corporate law firms. And, once I was in, I was 100 per cent focused on getting an associateship, then a senior associateship, and then becoming the youngest ever female partner.’
‘And you’ve achieved all of that.’
I sigh, remembering my dream. ‘Yes, but at what cost ? I’ve spent my whole life chasing success to prove I’m not like my dad, but what if I’ve used the wrong yardstick? According to Darwin’s quote, I’m an abject failure. Don’t get me wrong, you are my friend and I love you to bits, but would we be friends in the outside world if we weren’t joined by our profession? What other friends do I have? I’ve been so totally focused on material success and financial security that I’m scared I’ve lost sight of everything else that matters. If I died tomorrow, nobody would miss me.’
‘Nonsense. I’d miss you, and it sounds like Alice and Rebecca could become friends too,’ he offers.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure. Do you know what they said? “The fewer lawyers you have in your life, the happier it is.” Pretty damning, don’t you think?’
‘Yeah, but that’s based on their experiences with one particular lawyer, who was a nasty piece of work. It doesn’t extrapolate to all of us.’
‘Doesn’t it? Name me a happy occasion that has lawyers attached to it.’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Buying a home.’
‘Uh-uh. If you did a survey of a hundred home buyers and asked them to rate whether the impact of the solicitor on the process was positive or negative, I don’t think you’d get a ringing endorsement. Try again.’
‘OK, us then.’
‘What’s so great about us?’
‘We oil the wheels of commerce. We make sure that, whatever companies do, it’s fair and legal in the jurisdiction where they do it. We hold them accountable.’
I laugh. ‘And they show their appreciation by shouting at us, continually complaining about how fucking expensive we are, and generally treating us like slaves.’
‘Where are you going with this?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Nowhere, probably. I’m just having a wobble. I’ve been so focused on career progression and being the best I can be that I’ve never stopped to think whether this is what I actually want. I think, if I’m going to get all psychoanalytical about it, which I certainly was at half past four this morning, it’s never been about me.’
‘What is it about, then? Your father?’
‘Partly, yes.’
‘But you’re nothing like him, Thea. He was, to be blunt, a waster. Nobody could ever call you that. You’re young, idiotically bright and deservedly successful. You’ve made your point where he’s concerned, surely. What else is it about?’
‘I don’t know if I’ll ever completely feel that I’ve made my point where he’s concerned, but thank you. I also wonder whether I’ve subconsciously been competing with my sister. No, bear with me,’ I urge as I can see he’s about to snort in disbelief. ‘Mum has tried to treat us equally, but Saffy has always been the favourite really. Even when we were small, she got extra privileges because she was older, and she used that to lord it over me. It felt unjust; she may be older, but that doesn’t make her a better person. So how do I reverse that?’
‘By being the best.’
‘Exactly, but it’s all meaningless, because I may be more successful than her on paper, be the youngest female partner and all that stuff, but it doesn’t matter because it hasn’t changed anything. Mum still prefers her because she understands her.’
‘You think she doesn’t understand you?’
‘Oh, she tries to make the right noises, but when I was made partner, it was clear Mum didn’t have a clue what that meant, so she just retreated into her comfort zone, which was to talk about Saffy.’
‘Have you talked to her about it?’
‘Of course not! I’d just come across as whiny and needy. But it does make me wonder if that’s another part of the reason why I’ve driven myself so hard. There’s another quote I had to look up in the small hours. It turned out to come from an American Trappist monk by the name of Thomas Merton, who said: “People may spend their whole lives climbing the ladder of success only to find, once they reach the top, that the ladder is leaning against the wrong wall.” And that’s the big question, isn’t it? Is my ladder leaning against the wrong wall? I’ve realised I don’t want to end up like John Curbishley, where people only come to my memorial out of duty. I want to die surrounded by people I love, and who love me in return. At the moment, I can’t see how a career at Morton Lansdowne is going to give me that. I may have proved that I’m not a waster like Dad financially, but I feel like I’ve clambered to the top of a mountain, only to realise that nobody apart from me cares because I’m completely alone.’
Alasdair studies me for a long time without speaking. I push my half-eaten breakfast to one side, no longer hungry, and sip my coffee, letting my thoughts run wild.
‘When was the last time you had a holiday?’ he asks eventually.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘I just wondered if time away from the office would do you good, help you to get some perspective. Are you finishing that?’ He indicates my plate, which he slides over to his side of the table when I shake my head.
‘I had a week at an all-inclusive in St Lucia last January. I thought I’d give myself a treat before the partnership application process kicked off in earnest.’
‘That sounds nice. Was it?’
‘No idea. I spent pretty much the whole time in the business centre. Mergers and Acquisitions don’t stop just because you’re not in the office. I was basically working remotely.’
‘But you’re a partner now. That gives you more control.’
‘It gives me more responsibility. And where do I go from here? Senior partner in X years and then what?’
He sighs. ‘You have got it bad, haven’t you? Do you need to speak to someone, do you think?’
‘I’m talking to you.’
‘I meant someone qualified. A counsellor. I’m pretty sure there’s something in the company wellbeing policy about them arranging therapy if you need it.’
‘And what signal would that give off? I’ll tell you. I might as well fix a red flashing light to my head with a sign that says “Look out. Thea’s not coping.” I’d be downgraded and sidelined faster than you could say “Told you she wasn’t up to it.” This isn’t about whether I’m coping or not.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘No. It’s about whether I want to cope.’
‘OK, I get you. Final question from me.’
‘Go on.’
‘Let’s say you decide your ladder’s against the wrong wall, as you put it, and you chuck it all in. What else would you do?’
‘That’s the biggest kicker of all,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve no idea. But I suspect I’d still need to be the best at it.’
‘You’re a talented lawyer, Thea. That’s why they made you partner. Don’t underestimate that, and don’t let the events of one day derail you. The junior associates have a nickname for you, did you know that?’
‘No. Do I want to?’
‘I think you do, because it sums you up nicely. They call you Thearless. Get it? It’s the word fearless, but they’ve substituted in your name. People didn’t like John because he was an arse, not because he was a lawyer. People like and respect you, and I’m sure they’ll come to your funeral in droves because of that, OK? If it helps, I’ll even throw myself on your coffin and wail.’
I smile. ‘I’m not sure it does, but thank you.’
‘Like you said, this is just a wobble. We all have them from time to time. The trick is to recognise it for what it is, and not make potentially catastrophic career decisions based on it. So, here’s Dr Alasdair’s prescription. First, I’m going to take you home and use my magical sexual powers to flood you with good mood endorphins. Then, you’re going to take the whole of the rest of the weekend off.’
‘Your magical sexual powers? Is that what we’re calling them now?’
‘A guy can hope.’
‘The sex sounds fun, but I can’t take the weekend off.’
‘You can and you must. Go for walks, have a look at the world out there, think about what you want. Maybe even have a chat with your mum. Don’t look at your emails; they’ll all still be there on Monday morning. Try to imagine what life would be like without the cut and thrust of Morton Lansdowne. I guarantee you’ll be in the office champing at the bit come Monday morning, just like you were when they made you partner in the first place.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For listening to my demented ramblings, I guess.’
He smiles. ‘What are friends for?’