Page 21 of The Do-Over

‘What,’ he growls, waving the printout of my email, ‘the bloody hell is this?’

‘It’s my resignation.’

‘I can see that. Please tell me this isn’t some kind of hissy fit because Helen shouted at you. You’re made of stronger stuff than that.’

‘It’s not a hissy fit.’

‘What is it then? Someone made you a better offer? I’ll warn you now, they’ll likely retract it as soon as they hear about the little stunt you just pulled in Paris.’

‘Nobody’s made me any offers.’

‘Then I don’t understand.’

‘This isn’t a knee-jerk reaction to my meeting with Helen, I promise. I get that I fucked up and I completely deserved most of what she said. The truth is that I don’t want this, Martin. Not enough, anyway. You’ve always said that a good corporate lawyer has to be hungry for success. I’m not hungry any more. I’m tired, fed up, and losing interest. I fucked up the Paris deal because I was bored, and that’s not good for me or Morton Lansdowne.’

He stares at me for an age, and then sighs.

‘I get it. I’ve seen that look before. Believe it or not, you’re not the first person to do this. There was a guy in my intake, absolutely fabulous lawyer who streaked ahead of the rest of us. He was the youngest senior partner ever appointed and then, one day, quite out of the blue, he just decided he’d had enough.I remember desperately trying to persuade him to change his mind, but he had the same look in his eyes that you have.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He left, bought a house in Dorset and took up beekeeping. He never looked back. I hope this proves to be a similarly serendipitous decision for you, Thea. We’ll miss you.’

‘I haven’t gone yet,’ I tell him. ‘I have three months’ notice to serve.’

‘I don’t think it would be in either of our interests to for you to do that, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be good for general morale. It’s probably best for everyone if we wrap this up quickly. We’ll honour our contractual obligations, naturally. I’ll leave the HR department to take you through all of that.’ He stands and holds out his hand for me to shake. ‘Goodbye, Thea, and good luck.’

11

If you ever want to find out if you’re as indispensable at work as everyone tells you you are, try resigning. As a partner, I certainly expected the process of offboarding me, as the HR department described it, to take a week or two at a bare minimum. I’m therefore more than a little surprised to be handing in my car park pass and nosing the Porsche out of the parking lot for the final time just as most of the workers in the offices around us are heading out for lunch.

By the time I was finished with Martin, an HR representative was already waiting to take me down for my exit interview. As soon as they realised that I wasn’t carrying a grudge or planning to sue, they pretty much lost interest and just took me through the paperwork instead. The only thing that surprised me at that point was that, despite resigning, I’m being put on gardening leave for nine months, during which time I’m not allowed to work for any other law firms. When I queried it, they told me that it was standard practice because I currently have sensitive information that could benefit competitors, so they were protecting themselves. I’m also not allowed to talk to anyone from Morton Lansdowne or any other commerciallaw firm during that time, which is going to be a bit tricky for Alasdair and me. At the end of the gardening leave, I’ll be paid for a further three months in lieu of notice, and the restrictions will be lifted as hopefully any information I have will be out of date by then.

It was a curiously banal process which made me realise that they didn’t actually care about me as a person at all. I came away with the distinct impression that none of us are anything more than payroll numbers as far as HR is concerned; what we actually do or the rank we hold is totally irrelevant to them. I was tempted to point out the lack of humanity in Human Resources, but I think the irony would have been lost on them.

After HR had ‘processed’ me, I had yet another meeting with Helen Armitage. This time, however, she’d also summoned two other junior partners based purely, from what I was able to gather, on the fact that they happened to be in the office today. Laura, the junior associate who’d been in Paris with me, was also there and seemed a little overwhelmed by everything, if the wide-eyed looks she kept giving me were anything to go by. It took just over an hour to hand over the current transaction and then that was it. Janice was summoned to help me clear my office, which took no more than five minutes because I hardly had anything personal in there, and she escorted me down to the parking lot and relieved me of my pass. The most emotional moment came courtesy of Alana, who’d applied and failed to get partner at the same time as me. She marched into my office and delivered an impassioned monologue about how I was a disgrace to feminism and why had I bothered applying for partnership, a role that most people (especially her) would crawl over their dead grandmother’s body for, if I was just going to chuck it in the bin after little more than six months? I would have explained, only, having delivered her message, she promptly turned on herheel and stalked out again, leaving Janice and me staring after her in disbelief.

Janice was her typical efficient self, and I’ve realised that she’s probably the only person at Morton Lansdowne that I’m actually going to miss. Apart from Alasdair, of course. I wonder how he’ll take the news? He’s in Ireland at the moment, so I imagine it will take a while for word to reach him. I would have liked to be able to tell him myself, but the gardening leave ban means I can’t. I hope he’ll be OK. I guess we couldn’t have continued as we were forever, so maybe this is for the best where he’s concerned as well.

I did make a vague plan on the way home to knock on Rebecca’s door and see if she was free for lunch, but there’s no sign of her SUV when I pull into the space outside my house. I haven’t seen her properly since we buried the hatchet on the day of John Curbishley’s memorial service, but we’ve waved to each other a few times when I’ve been working in my study over the weekend and she and Rollo have passed my window on their way to or from one of his activities.

As I let myself into the house, I automatically turn left into my study, before I realise that I have no reason to be in here and no laptop to sit down in front of. This is the moment when the enormity of what I’ve done hits me properly, and I suddenly feel a bit wobbly. I make my way carefully into the kitchen, where I pour myself a glass of water, holding it with both hands as I drink so as not to drop it. After refilling the glass, I sink down onto one of the sofas in the living space and lower my head into my hands. I don’t even realise I’m crying until the first fat, salty tear drops off my chin and makes a wet mark on my blouse. I study the stain with fascination; I can’t remember the last time I cried. I’ve been angry plenty of times during my time at Morton Lansdowne, frustrated too, but I’ve never cried. I’m not even sure what I’m crying for. It’s not as if they sacked me or mademe redundant; this was purely my decision. So why the hell am I sobbing like my heart is broken?

My impromptu and unexplained self-pity fest is interrupted by the sound of a key being inserted in the front door. My first thought is that maybe Janice has come to check up on me, but that’s obviously not possible as she returned my front door key before I left. Before I have a chance to come up with any other theories, the door swings open to reveal a wiry man who I guess must be in his mid-forties. He’s whistling a tune I don’t recognise and carrying what looks like a large gym bag. I’ve never seen him in my life before. He’s totally oblivious to me as he closes the front door, but my heart is thumping hard in my chest.Who the hell is he, and why does he have a key to my house?The thought has barely registered before my mind conjures up a more sinister scenario.He’s got some sort of weapon in the bag. He’s going to murder me, put me in the bag and then bury me somewhere in the woods.By the time he finally notices me, I’ve gone into full fight-or-flight mode.

‘Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?’ I demand, springing to my feet and trying to look as imposing as I can which, given that he must be at least a foot taller than me, isn’t very successful.

‘I am Lukasz,’ he replies in a thick Eastern European accent, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. ‘I come to water your plants.’ He points at the hanging baskets and flowerpots on the other side of the bifold doors.

The initial relief that he’s not going to attack me after all is short lived, as I now realise how rude I’ve just been.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell him in a more conciliatory tone. ‘It’s just that I’ve never seen you before, and it was a bit of a surprise.’

He smiles. ‘I have never seen you before either. My boss, he gives me the key of your house and he says, “Lukasz, you must look after the plants for this lady. She has a very important joband is very busy.” So, every few days, I come here and I take care of them for you.’

‘Thank you. They do look amazing.’

He nods to acknowledge the compliment. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but you look sad. Did you receive bad news?’

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