Facing The Enemy

Post98

I walked across Oak Court to Jeremy’s room one morning and saw Giles Twatte. It was obvious he disliked me and the feeling was mutual. He was openly dismissive and seemed too impressed with himself. And one of us would necessarily have to beat the other in terms of graded legal work, seeing as we were in direct competition with each other. He caught up with me, looking self-assured in his expensive suit.

“Good lord, it looks like Bertie has beaten George already. And I hear you didn’t do too well at Bar School. Rotten luck old boy, I’m going to enjoy beating the likes of you.” He wore a slimy smile.

“You’ve a high opinion of yourself,” I said.

“Chippy, aren’t we?”

I stopped and leant in. “Who the FUCK d’you think you are? Look, you do your thing and I’ll do mine, but…” I drilled my eyes through him. “NEVER speak to me again.”

He walked away and peered over his shoulder, looking a bit less sure of himself. Our mutual dislike had at least hit the surface and my will to succeed was rising. The thing about people like Giles Twatte is they have gone through life being told they are the best, no matter what, and have fully bought into the idea. Whereas I’d been put down for much of my life. But I refused to accept failure and punched my way through anything in the way. As far as I saw it, I had the competitive edge.

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