Chapter 3

Through the living room wall Toby could hear the lock being turned and the bathroom door slide open for the final time. The same way he did every morning as he waited patiently for people to finish their morning routine before finally taking his turn, praying there would be some hot water left. This was another of those unwritten rules which presumably applied to dossers all over London. He raised himself to seating position and clambered his way out of the space between the back of the sofa and the wall, an ingenious design he had come up with one night when he was cleaning. For the past few weeks he had been sleeping on the floor between the hall and the kitchen as he waited for a room to come up. Sleeping exposed on the living room floor between the hall and the kitchen he never really relaxed, spending half his time worried that someone might stumble over him in the night on route for a slice of toast of glass of water. Now, thanks to his cleaning discovery, he could sleep safe and sound in his foot wide cocoon.

Having left his mobile in the kitchen, Toby stumbled out of the front door for the second and fiddled with the lock which never wanted to release his keys. As he started descending the steps the number 94 raced past. Toby looked limply in the direction of the driver, hoping he might somehow recognise Toby out of the thousands who rode his bus on a daily basis but he didn’t. Toby looked hopefully down Goldhawk road in the vague hope that another bus was following closely in procession as busses tended to do, dragged along in each others slipstream, taking turns to pick up passengers and overtake each other and leaving a large unscheduled time delay in their wake. But waiting was worse than walking. Toby started off in the direction of the closest tube stop, an annoying distance which was close enough to walk but far enough to justify a bus ride when one was on offer. Halfway to the next bus stop another 94 raced past.

As Goldhawk Road drew to an end, Toby cut across Shepherds Bush green, a park which had never lived up to it's architectural drawings, it's tattered grass uninviting to anything other than discarded fried food packaging, endless piles of dog shit and a small community of dedicated drinkers, camped perpetually around the rows of benches which dissected the park from corner to corner, occasionally hurling abuse in the direction of a passer-by, clinging hopefully to their cans of Tennins.

Inside the station a queue of twenty or so people waited at the one attended ticket window, cursing the ticket machine which refused to accept their wrinkled notes. Toby forced through a reluctant gap in the cue and slipped through the turnstiles and down to the platform which was thick with passengers standing as close to the platform edge as they dared, one eye suspiciously guarding their shoulders and hoping that the doors of the carriage would come to a final stop in front of where they stood. All this so that they could squeeze in to someone’s armpit for the twenty or so minutes it would take them to reach their destination.

Time wasn't Toby's biggest concern. Once he set off for work he tried like everybody else to get the misery out of the way as quickly as possible but he certainly didn't have to be at work at any fixed time, regardless of what his contract said. Nothing would fall apart if Toby was late. In fact Toby seriously wondered whether anyone would notice particularly should he fail to turn up at all. This was the problem with being a paralegal, an uncomfortable cross between a secretary and a lawyer, the master of no trades, employed to carry out the work which had to be done in any office, but which any self respecting Lawyer refused to do.

It was precisely this lack of direction and responsibility which had led Toby to arrange a meeting with his point of support in the group, Max Willis, a perennially polite junior Partner who was responsible for the general emotional welfare and support of paralegals and trainees within the firm. Every time Toby heard the question ‘So what do you do?’ he winced. Toby winced a lot. It was very difficult to up-sell the merits of a job with so few. What was worse is that this insecurity flowed out of him in the form of insecure mumblings about how he had actually been to Law School and how he was waiting for a training contract to come up and how he was involved in some interesting projects right now. All of this sounded as feeble to Toby as he said it as it did to whoever regretted asking him.

Toby paced down the corridor towards his work-station, his headphones providing a final few moments reprieve. His work station amongst the secretaries in the middle of the hallway. A physical reminder of his place in the world. The secretaries were particularly suspicious of Toby. He was hard to figure out. He was one of them but not one of them. Neither was he a Lawyer in their eyes. Far from it. Toby could see the look of disdain he was greeted with on the rare occasions he was forced to ask for work to be done on some matter. He had learned early on the importance of stressing that the work was for someone important, and not the personal request of a mere paralegal.

Hanging up his jacket and firing up his computer, Toby checked his watch before setting off down the hall, armed with pen and paper, more props than tools of trade, taken to occupy his hands which tended to fidget whenever he was nervous. Knocking gingerly on the glass door Toby wandered in to Max’s room.

‘Oh Hello Toby, do come in and take a seat. How are you old chap.’ Max always appeared enthusiastic to Toby. Whether he felt that way or had developed the image of the years Toby was yet to figure out. Sitting uncomfortably in the chair Toby switched his thoughts to the matter at hand. He had rehearsed his little spiel over and over with an heir of indifferent confidence, but now, sitting in front of Max the confidence was gone. Instead Toby said nothing, waiting in awkward silence. Max, a seasoned professional at one to ones didn’t let that last for long.

‘Now tell me Toby, how I can help you. I’ve had a quick look over your email but if you’d like to talk me through what’s on your mind perhaps we can do something for you eh?´

‘Well Max I was hoping you might be able to help me in terms of the work I am doing.’ Toby shuffled nervously in the chair which seemed a little too low making him feel like a school boy visiting the head master.

‘Well I can certainly try Toby, what seems to be the problem. Working you too hard are they?’ he said with a smile and nervous laugh. Feel the futility of his own cause Toby continued nonetheless.

‘It’s not so much that Max. It’s more that I don’t feel that I’m working to my full potential at the moment. I’m getting a little frustrated. I would really like to be involved in deals at a more significant level. At the moment I seem to be doing the work that no one else wants to do. I do feel that it's a bit of a waste of my time. I appreciate that I’m not a Trainee or a Lawyer but I’m hoping to get a training contract soon and I just don't think that this kind of work is doing me any real favours in terms of either motivation or real skills.’ This was the understatement of a life time. In fact he was bored shitless. His days passed by in a long drawn out exercise in procrastination and avoidance. He had perfected the art of appearing to be busy where in actual fact he spent the vast majority of his time doing absolutely nothing.

Max sat perfectly still, his facing fixed in a peaceful expression, his head nodding understandingly as he had no doubt learned to do in a ‘how to be a constructive listener’ seminar. Suddenly realising that Toby’s speech had come to an end he coughed nervously and sat bolt upright.

‘Now listen old chap, I understand entirely what you are saying. But I must tell you, we've all been there you know. I didn't walk straight into this office on day one. I worked hard and eventually I got to where I am today. You know when I started there was no such thing as a paralegal Toby. They are a modern invention you know. It was we trainees who had to do everything. You're a great fellow Toby and I’ve been hearing some excellent things about your work. Now I'd love to give you some better work but the difficulty is there are so many different people in this firm that unfortunately the reality is that Paralegals do tend to get lumped with much of the, how can I put it, less attractive work. Now that's not to say it's not important work Toby. It most certainly is. In fact, and this is between you and me, but I believe that in many cases, present company certainly included Toby, Paralegals are far more competent that than their Trainee cousins. I always make a point of telling my Trainees that Paralegals are absolutely essential to the successful running of a law firm. As is the mail room for that manner; the secretaries. We are all a great team trying to provide the best possible service for our clients, don't you agree

‘Yes I suppose I do’ Toby said, realising that this was going to get him absolutely nowhere. Every time he bought this conversation up he received a lovely pep talk about the inner workings of the law firm and a firm assurance that Paralegals were great people but nothing more.
‘Excellent’, Max said, genuinely convinced he had solved the day’s great issue. ‘Now keep working away at it Toby. You're and excellent fellow and I’m sure you'll get a training contract in no time. Now is there anything else I can help with?’

Toby walked out of the office and staggered back to his desk demoralised. Another year down and still a paralegal. He collapsed into his swivel chair, and then, thinking better of it, seized his cup and retreated to the coffee room, a place where at its best one could conveniently pass long periods of time undetected. At its worst, when his sojourn coincided with someone else’s, Toby was forced into small talk, another of the items on his list of least favourite things. Small talk was an art which Toby had never fully mastered. This was probably due to the fact that any mention of paralegal tended to paralyse a conversation. During his times in the coffee room Toby had overheard some absolute masters in the art. ‘Oh I'm splendid thanks Tim’ they would say excitedly. ‘And how are the renovations going.’ Toby often fantasised about telling the absolute truth when faced with the ‘hello old chap, everything well question.’ ‘I'm terrible actually’ he dreamed of beginning. ‘Can you imagine, no I suppose you can't, but I actually sleep on the floor of our living room between the back of the sofa and the wall. Yeah that’s right behind the sofa. It’s a great way of making sure no-one trips over you in the night.’ Of course this was just fantasy. On the occasions when Toby did find himself having to endure an entire boiling kettle babbling niceties with someone he didn't know and for whom he held very little interest he replied with his stock phrase, ‘I’m very well, and you’ before turning towards the window, willing the kettle on and cursing himself for having overfilled it.

As he staggered back down the his work station, his dangerously overfilled cup leaving a small trail of coffee on the floor on his wrist and the dull carpet behind him, Toby saw the pampered figure of Selia Simpson-Brown leaning ambitiously over his work station, a large brown box in front of her.
Lowering himself into his chair and positioning his coffee on a pair of post-it notes which thirstily soaked up a circle of coffee Toby looked up at Selia with a forced grin and inhaled.. ‘Good morning Seals, what a pleasant surprise. Nice weekend then?’

Selia didn´t like Toby which was of no great disappointment. Looking up her expressionless face, expensively cut hair and volumous makeup, he might have felt more hostile towards here did he not instead feel a little bit sorry for her. She was a tragedy. She tried so hard to be every bit the successful missed the point entirely. The saddest part was that she was completely unaware of this. She was under the misconception that truly successful, posh people, as she was determined to be or at least appear to be, wouldn't dare fraternise with a member of the support staff such as Toby the Paralegal. But she missed the point. Everyone else in the office bent over backwards to be polite and would rarely request something directly. Rather they tended to waffle along with the ‘if your not terribly busy, terribly sorry, would have done it myself but you know, hope you don't mind’ approach. It was a far more effective way of getting something done than the kind of brute aggression Selia employed.

‘Look Toby’ she snapped like a terrier. ‘My name is Selia, not Seals, ok, now listen I don’t have much time ok, I’m extremely busy. This box of documents is related to Project Pink ok?.’
On hearing the name, Toby cheered up enormously. ‘Project Pink! Which genius came up with that one?’

‘Project Pink is a very serious matter Toby ok. Now listen, all these documents have been mixed together somehow and I need them to be organised, indexed, filed, chronologised and paginated before you leave this evening. Understood?’

During his interview Toby had been asked if he had experience with Chronology. After racking his brain for a few moments he had decided that honesty was the best policy, answering in the negative. Fortunately he had been assured he would pick up the concept of arranging documents in date order in no time.

Deciding to indulge in Selia’s anxiety for a few moments longer Toby skimmed fastidiously through the box, gazing meaningfully at each file with a well manufactured look of concentration before looking up once again a Selia who was not enjoying his time wasting.

‘This looks like some pretty heavy intellectual stuff Selia. Are you sure I’m up to it?’ Selia didn’t get Toby's humour. She didn't seem to get humour at all. Sarcasm was utterly lost on her. Instead she stood motionless in front of Toby, seemingly unsure as to whether Toby really believed that this was a difficult task and why she was still standing talking with this guy.’

‘Relax Selia, you’ll have it by tonight. By the way I love the suit, and that shirt’s a lovely colour on you.’ Unsure how to take this complement, Selia blushed heavily and retreated as quickly as she could away from Toby's work station.