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‘You, Mr Finnegan, are a menace to society.’ The judge peered down at him over the top of her glasses. ‘You’ve endangered lives, destroyed property, and not for the first time. The only reason no one died was due to the fast action of local medical teams, and sheer good luck. With a record like yours, by rights I should refer you for custodial sentencing, with the recommendation that you are locked up and the key is lost!’

‘But you won’t, will you?’ He shot her his most winning smile. The Smile that removed lines at nightclubs, women’s underwear and inhibitions, and any other impediments to the things he wanted. It wasn’t quite award-winning, but it had certainly won him plenty of endorsements over the years.

‘No, I don’t think I will.’ She leaned forward and took off her reading glasses. He crowed inwardly. The Smile — and it deserved the capital letter even in his head — never failed.

‘No,’ the judge continued. ‘I don’t think sending you to an open jail, not dissimilar to the spas and country clubs you’re probably used to, would be of much use. And why should your antics be allowed to cost the taxpayer any more money? I would have considered court-ordered rehab, but I see you’ve had a few stints in treatment before, and it obviously hasn’t made too much of an impression.’

That much was true at least, he had to admit to himself. His parents, and agent, had sent him to rehab before — more for the positive publicity than anything else. His sister had begged him to try, so he’d gone along and played pretend. But it hadn’t worked, because there wasn’t anything for it to “work” on. He didn’t really have a drink problem, he just liked to party. Hard and often. He’d just pay whatever fine the judge was about to hand down. His parents, and agent, might give him a hard time again, and his sister would try to kick his arse, but she was easily ignored. To make it look good, he’d just behave for a few weeks. Then back to normal. It would be fine.

‘You, Mr Finnegan,’ the judge continued, ‘are what I think of as a selfish, immature brat. You’ve never had to grow up, and I don’t think you’ve ever been made to take responsibility for your actions. You’ve got a long list of minor brushes with the law — and there are probably more you’ve paid off or flirted your way out of.’

He tried not to smirk to himself, thinking how little the judge really knew.

‘You’re an adult, for goodness’ sake. I think it’s about time you grew up, and started acting like one, and gave something back to society instead of taking, taking, taking and taking more. So, in the interests of helping you with what I hope will become a new life goal, I’m going to try something a little new.’

The endorsement-winning smile faded as he wondered what was happening. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He shot a nervous look at his long-suffering friend and lawyer, who shrugged his shoulders. Clearly he was none the wiser either.

‘I’m sentencing you to a driving ban, obviously. You were three times over the legal limit to be driving safely. That will last twelve months.’

That was annoying, but not terrible. He’d just pay someone to run him around when his friends got bored of providing favours.

‘Additionally, I find you guilty on the charges of criminal damage by reason of reckless endangerment, and two counts of causing serious injury by dangerous driving. I am handing down a community sentence under payback rules at the sentence of two hundred hours per offence. To run concurrently and be served in the community where you have caused so much damage. I’ll let the local council for Broclington decide how to use you best. Do you have any questions?’

‘Where the hell is Broclington?’ He ignored his friend’s heel grinding down on his toes.

‘Mr Finnegan, the very fact that you can’t remember the name of the village where you drunkenly destroyed a community café, and injured numerous people — hospitalising three of them — evidences that this is the right course of action. After several hundred hours serving the community you have damaged so dramatically, you’ll hopefully be able to remember its name.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yes, indeed, Mr Finnegan.’ The judge leaned forward again. ‘And I’d like to add a personal note at this point. You, Mr Finnegan, are not the first person I’ve seen in my court with a criminal history like yours. People with such histories tend to go one of two ways. They either spiral out of control and end up seriously hurting themselves, or others — or behind bars. Or they seize a lifeline and turn themselves around. This is your last warning, Mr Finnegan. This is your lifeline. I really hope you take it as the opportunity it is, and walk away from this a better person.’

As soon as the judge had left the room, he let his aching head hit the table. ‘Shit, shit, shit. Six hundred hours. Yvette’s going to go spare.’

‘Yeah, probably.’ Josh clapped him on the back, switching from lawyer to friend mode seamlessly as he dragged him upright. ‘So, Rick, where is your delightful other half, anyway? Didn’t she fancy the limelight today?’

‘She decided it would be better if she wasn’t here. That she needed to protect her mental health from the stress of it all.’

‘Riiiight. Because that makes sense. Not like you might have needed some actual support.’

‘Mate, just don’t. Not today. My head hurts.’ He blinked in the too-bright light of the corridor. ‘I can’t believe I’ve got to do six hundred freaking hours of do-goodering in some arse-end of nowhere village. You were supposed to get me a fine.’

‘You’re lucky to not get a custodial sentence. I did warn you about this.’

‘It sounds almost like you’re agreeing with her?’ He lowered his shades enough to glare at his friend.

‘Maybe I do, a bit.’

‘Some fucking friend!’

‘Don’t forget, unlike most of your friends, I know the full list of your legal run-ins and misdemeanours. And I’ve read the police report. And I know about most of the stuff that never makes it into those reports. You do need to sort your shit out.’

‘And this is what I pay you a small fortune for? Advice like that.’

‘One, you don’t pay me. Your agent and accountant handle that, so I doubt you even know what my rates are. Two, when you drag me away from my personal life and make me put on my best court suit to deal with your drunken arse — in the legal sense — then yes, too bloody right I’m taking mate’s rates off the table. And three, yes. This is exactly the advice you pay me for. But if you want it all wrapped up in expensive legalese — your list of previous offences is getting too long to be ignored. You’re becoming a repeat offender. I’m actually relieved you only got community service, and that I’m not still in the courtroom trying to talk time off a custodial sentence.’

‘So I’m supposed to be happy with six hundred hours of enforced volunteering?’

‘Yes — at least they’re not locking you up. Now, smile nicely when we go outside, in case there are any cameras waiting.’