Talk to my lawyer

Kind friends articulate concern for me.

They are anxious that I am living on this farm – which is being torn apart by looters where it hasn’t already fallen apart – on my own with the children.

I try to reassure them, ‘Really, I’m fine’, I say, (if you discount washing machine hiccup and row with son which made me cry).

‘But if you’re not, I mean if something were to happen, you would just come, wouldn’t you’, they persist worriedly.

What? In the middle of the night. With three children (two of them bigger than me and likely bigger than potential hostess); two dogs, two cats (that hate each, something they are hissily vociferous about) and three geese. No. I don’t think that no matter how very well-meant such invitations are, I don’t think anybody – with possible exception of absent, distant husband – wants to see me and menagerie in the middle of the night.

Which is why I want to reassure them all. I’m ok, really, I am.

I’m not sure what they’re worried about. My only concern is that ex employers might try to turf kids and I (and dogs, cats, geese) out of this house.

Which would be unfair given that they owe us a fortune in unpaid salary.

I am, therefore, consulting with a lawyer. It seemed prudent.

Edward was the lawyer who represented Anthony in recent case. So he seemed as good a place as any to start. Given that no lawyer is trustworthy, no matter where they practice. (consider all that ‘shake a lawyer by the hand and count your fingers’ stuff). He is young, hungry and very, very expensive. But on a Friday afternoon, as it was then, you’ll take what you can get to keep your husband out of the clink. That meant Edward. Who means to be a high roller judging by his fee.

So last week I went to see Edward again. I think he was rather hoping he’d seen the last of us. I think he sensed – by the looks on our faces when he told us what he was charging/by state of my car/age of my phone – that we didn’t have the cash to bank roll his rising career. No matter. I went anyway, largely because I was so incensed at press coverage and wanted his advice.

Before I sat down I reminded him this was a ‘courtesy call’, lest he whack me with another $2,000 bill like last time. But then cannily (and it was canny, outwitting a lawyer is no mean feat) I brought up my various grievances against ex employers: fact we haven’t been paid and are owed enough to put a down-payment on a house; fact that – as a result of their foul play – my husband’s name has been dragged through the mud; fact that my children had to witness their dad being hauled off by the cops. I could have gone on and on but Edward stopped me and told that at some point I needed to learn to move on.

Move on! Move on?

But that’s precisely the point, I thought as I slunk off feeling frustrated. I’m not prepared to move on. Not yet. Not when we don’t have a home to go to. No. I can’t do that.

So I rang Edward later and told him to please consider my position again. And I’d consider finding the necessary towards a deposit for his fee.

He has agreed. Which means that if ex employers get nasty I can retort with a pleasing, ‘Talk to my lawyer’.

Meantime, I promise you, we’re OK.

2 Responses to “Talk to my lawyer”

  1. Gorilla Bananas Says:

    I know a blogging lawyer. His name is Randall Sherman and he’s a pukka gentleman whom you could trust with the keys to your Ferrari. But he lives and works in the USA rather than Tanzania.

    I’ll encourage him to pay you a visit. I’m sure he’ll forgive you for your low opinion of his profession.

  2. reluctantmemsahib Says:

    Thanks GB. And my very sincere apologies to Mr Sherman. Law and the Press – the same – you’re going to get alot of s***s in both professions who sadly soil the reputations of the few gems: I know, I’m a journalist!

    Sadly if I gave anybody my car keys to anybody, they’d give them back.

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