An Error Of Judgement

AN ERROR OF JUDGEMENT

You’ve seen it all before.

Two young men, full of beer-fuelled rage, are squaring up to one another in the middle of the road. They pull off their shirts and begin scrapping. A third youth circles the pair, a self-appointed referee; in this kind of contest there is an unwritten code, and keeping to it is as important as the outcome.

The fight has attracted two or three dozen other spectators. Like you, they have little else to do but watch the spectacle reach its predictably inconclusive denouement. The last buses have gone and taxi drivers know better than to cruise for business in this part of town at closing time on a Bank Holiday Monday.

But not everyone is obsessed with the action. A group of scantily clad girls are talking in low voices, casting furtive glances in the direction of someone they recognise. You catch one or two of their words; they leave you in no doubt that this individual is a shady, sordid character, a wrongdoer, an undesirable.

Yes, you’ve seen it all before.

But this time there’s a difference.

The person they’re whispering about is you.

Slinking away through unlit back streets, your shame clings to you like a bad smell. It’s no consolation to know that your conscience is clear, that you committed no crime. You took a risk, and now your reputation is in ruins. The responsibility for that lies with no one but yourself.

It takes you an hour to walk home. A rolling news channel plays inside your head, the topic under discussion the events of three weeks ago. Voices you fear may never leave you, each one changing your life for ever.

An allegation which, if substantiated, we would have to regard as gross misconduct.

You are strongly advised to have a solicitor present during the interview.

That guy they mentioned in last night’s paper…was it you?

I don’t care whether you want to talk about it or not, your mother’s stood next to me in tears…

And it’s all down to an error of judgement. You thought that it was okay to show the boy sympathy, to tell him you felt the same way, to put an arm around his shoulder and assure him that there was nothing wrong with having those desires.

Well, it wasn’t. He took it the wrong way. You would have done the same at his age. Of course you would.

You try to look on the bright side. You haven’t been arrested. You’ve been told that you’re unlikely to be charged with an offence. Your family and friends have stuck by you.

It doesn’t work. You’ve lost too much.

Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. You weren’t happy, you know that. Could this be the moment you’ve been waiting for?

A new town, a new job?

A new name?

But when you imagine writing that letter of resignation, knowing every word will be seen as an admission of guilt…

You’ll see this through. Face it, you haven’t got the guts for a completely fresh start.

Or the figure to wear that dress you’ve kept in the wardrobe for more than a year.

You walk on, every step taking you closer to the biggest mistake you’ll ever make.



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