The Tall Girl from Somerset 24 Anne. The dark side again.

Anne

The dark side again.

Anne battled on. 'Work helps.  It helps a lot.' But then it was precisely when she was at work that her thoughts let her down. It seemed that her mind knew that the job in hand was important and so distracted her just when she needed to concentrate most.  She remembered a really important case from last March.  It was one that she had desperately wanted to win. 

It was a blustery day and the constant wind dried the fields and tired everyone who worked outdoors. Just before entering the courthouse she parked very near the car in the next space.  She was in a hurry because she wanted to check a couple of facts before the case began. She parked quickly in the last space (thank goodness there was one left), but this gave very little room for the person in the next car to get in through the driver’s door.  She quickly looked to see that he (She never thought of “she”.  It was always ‘he’ in the court, and it was always ‘he’ in the car park.) had room to open the door on the passenger side, and then she dashed into the courthouse.  It stayed in her head, though, this question of the car, this question of the space.  Had she parked too near the other car? Would he, whoever he was, be able to open his door and get back in?

 'Come on, Anne.  He can use the passenger door. It doesn’t matter anyway.  It doesn’t matter.'

She did her best to persuade herself of this, but the question 'Can he get in his car?' came back to her again and again throughout the morning. Just when she needed to concentrate most on her work was when the thought attacked her hardest.  'But this shows it’s just nerves or whatever. This shows it.  It’s precisely when I need to think most clearly, that something stops me.'

But she still had to think about it, to sort it out. 

'Ah well, if it hadn’t been the car, it would have been something else.  If I were doing something easy, like watching a film or going for a walk, it wouldn’t get at me.

OK, just make some excuse, and go outside, and move the damn car!

No, that’s giving in to it. That´s giving it importance.  You have to resolve this in your mind.'

All this was going through her head as her turn to speak was approaching. She finally resorted to her usual strategy. 

'Finish the morning’s work, and deal with the car thing later.'

From this moment, this postponement of her worry, she could concentrate on her arguments, on her client and on the trial, and work 100% for the next two hours.

'What a relief to be able to work, to be able to devote myself to what I have to do!'

'If only I could be like Percy,' she thought, as at the end of the morning she walked to her car, which was now splendidly on its own in the car park, with yards of space around it.  'He doesn’t worry about car doors; he doesn’t worry about anything.  He just concentrates on what he has to do, and then he goes off to the pub and has a beer.'  'How easy life is for him,' she thought, as she drove out of the car park towards the Anchor Head, where she hoped for a quiet corner table, where there would be no lawyers who would want to talk to her and who would break in on her rest after the morning’s struggle.

Percy Hamilton Greaves was well-established in Anne’s chambers and was over ten years older than her.  From the first he had helped her with advice whenever she had needed it, and had given her a lot of support and encouragement with her first cases.  He was relaxed, cheerful, and clever.  Words came easily to him, and he never seemed pressed for time.  All day he seemed to walk about on that plateau that Anne had to climb up to by arguing herself into readiness.  In chambers, as an advocate, he was regarded with great respect, partly because of his results but mainly because he managed his results so effortlessly. He walked into court in the morning with a relaxed amble, exchanged pleasantries with the judge, was effortlessly witty through the case and generally appeared to have an easy life.  This only goes to show how misleading appearances can be, as Anne found out many years later, one afternoon, over a beer with him at the end of a long and difficult day, when he confided in her, but that is another story, as so many things are.

She lost her case in the end, and then she worried that she had lost it because of her worrying.  Would she have lost it anyway?  She thought so, beyond reasonable doubt, but she couldn't be sure. Beyond reasonable doubt!  'Reasonable!' ('Aye there’s the rub.')

 'Keep within the bounds of reason, Anne and leave it at that.'

She tried, but for the rest of the day she had the nagging feeling that she had failed her client.  She went home, exhausted and angry with herself.  Was this life?