Rowan
When I see Paul walk into my office with a folder under his arm, a coffee and a paper bag, I know this day will not go as smoothly as planned.
“What do you need?” I ask him as he sets the coffee down on my desk.
“Always so suspicious?” Paul retorts, his tone laced with sarcasm as he pushes the paper bag towards me.
“I can count the times you showed up with something to offer on the fingers of one hand.”
“That’s not true.”
“And when you do, it’s only because you’re trying to get something in return, but I’m warning you, a coffee and…” I take the bag and open it. “A multigrain muffin. That won’t get you far.”
Paul laughs, then leans back in his chair and slowly adjusts his tie, a sign that he is thinking about how to handle this.
“At least last time you turned up with two tickets for the Six Nations final.”
“Well, I was short of time and had to make do. So I figured my best friend and the most reliable colleague one could ask for might just be easily corruptible this once.”
“I am not corruptible.”
“You know what I mean.”
“And you know not to use that word in my presence.”
Paul is still laughing. My tone or my threats do not intimidate him. He has a face that you never want to stop punching and the smile of someone who is always okay, even when he messes up because his best friend is there to fix it.
We’ve been friends since we were kids. I owe him everything. That’s why I work with him, and I’ve put up with his face and nonsense for twenty years.
Paul was my only friend for a long time—maybe he still is. When I was a puny, scared little boy, he took me under his wing, defended me, and protected me until I could do it myself.
Some things you never forget.
I sip my coffee and lean back in the chair, waiting for Paul to decide whether to speak.
“You know we take on cases from time to time… How do you say…”
“Desperate?”
“Just like that. I think I have one that suits us.”
“By ‘us’, do you mean ‘me’?”
I roll my eyes before taking my muffin out of the bag. This morning, I only had a smoothie after my usual morning workout. I wasn’t planning on eating anything until lunch, but I think the hot potato Paul’s about to drop on yours truly deserves a break.
“What’s it about?” I take a bite of the muffin and chew slowly.
“Child custody.”
“Mmm…” Now I understand the need for the muffin.
“A sensitive case.”
I take another bite, then more coffee. I usually avoid cases involving minors like the plague. And Paul knows that. And he also knows not to bring them to my desk, except in the most exceptional cases.
“If it’s a difficult divorce…”
“No divorce.” He slides the folder across my desk. “It’s about a single father.”
