Weaving the Ordinary

Your hands were sometimes buried deep in your pockets, straining the fabric and pulling it tight against your seat. Sometimes you even smiled, you held a presence of confidence and watchfulness. You were investigating a case for wrongful dismissal - we'd been through that before but you had to interview us all again - hear the evidence, decide what seemed true and what didn't.

My interview was fairly short - I only corroborated one incident. I watched you work with the others, around the office, with the complainent. You face was a study in concentration, of sharp listening and thought processing. You flustered the ones who were embelishing the truth, reined in those who strayed from the point at hand. Sometimes you would catch me looking at you and you'd return a brief stare with the very hint of a smile at the corner of your mouth and I'd go back to my work trying to concentrate my face from it's wide smile to studious employee.

They mentioned you in a local Women's magazine - not in relation to this case, but in relation to some well known friends of yours. I couldn't believe they called you by that name too.

I was slightly embarassed you'd been called in on this particular case - it wasn't difficult it was just petty, two strong personalities going head to head and costing a lot of money and court time. I was also joyous that after all this time we were in the same room - trying to play it cool and failing like crazy.

I hoped you had time when you were finished to have a coffee. Or a drink. Or something. With me.