“I don’t think wanting to see a rapist convicted of his crime makes me a feminist,” says Paige. “But believing in equal opportunities and not wanting to be treated any differently because I’m a woman probably makes me one.”
“So, you’re not a fan of being called darling or being whistled at in the street?” asks Ali.
“Who is?” replies Paige. “Anyone who condones that kind of behavior is doing a real disservice to the rest of the female population.”
“You work at the Old Bailey, right?” asks Ali.
Paige nods. “Sometimes.”
“So, do you feel you have to work extra hard to prove yourself? To prove that you’re just as good at your job as your male counterparts?”
“I’ve worked hard to get to where I am,” says Paige. “But I’ve no doubt I’d be even further on if I was a man.”
“Doesn’t that piss you off?” asks Ali, as if trying to get a rise out of Paige.
“Yes, but it’s the way of the world and, although it’s slowly changing, we’ll never truly be equals. But it would really help the cause if we could all unite and present a stronger force, so that men know they can’t take any of us for fools.”
“I think the tide is turning,” says Ali.
“Do you?” says Paige, seemingly taken aback. “How can it be, when there are still some women who continually play up to it? Who feel that the only way to get a man’s attention is to play the damsel in distress?”
Rachel sinks further into the sofa cushions as Paige’s sharp tone reverberates around the group. She knows her well enough to know that if any one topic is going to get her stoked, feminism is it, and with the new information on Ali, it feels like a firecracker is about to go off.
“God, I hate women like that,” says Ali, without any trace of irony. “I’ve met a few of them in my time.”
“Anyway, how’s the new job going?” asks Rachel, desperate to change the subject.
Ali laughs. “I’ve been there over a year now, so it doesn’t feel like a new job anymore.”
“Gosh,” says Rachel, looking at Jack with raised eyebrows. “Has it really been that long?”
“Mmm,” he mutters. “Time flies.”
Rachel remembers being introduced to Ali as if it were yesterday. She’d gone to meet Jack in the pub after work and Ali was there waxing lyrical about how nice he was and how he’d taken her under his wing.
“Seriously, he’s gone way over and above to help me settle in,” she’d said.
“That’s Jack for you,” Rachel had said as the pair of them stood there watching him order a round of drinks at the end of the bar.
“But he doesn’t have to,” said Ali. “He could easily offload me onto someone less senior, but he seems really invested in my success. I’ve learned so much from him already.”
Rachel had raised her eyebrows in surprise because, if the truth be known, that didn’t actually sound like Jack at all. For the past month, all he’d done was complain that he couldn’t leave the office much before nine at night. He’d said the company was in the middle of a merger and he’d been working flat-out on supplying all the data and information that was required before the deadline. Which, much to his annoyance, had superseded his day job of finding new musical talent to produce and promote. So, if his workload was that full-on, Rachel had wondered, where was he finding the time to mentor a new recruit?
Despite herself, Rachel hadn’t been able to help but reevaluate the woman standing in front of her as she silently weighed up the risk factor. Not that her marriage was prime for sabotage—she and Jack were as tight as any couple she knew—but she defied any woman in her position not to at least make an unspoken checklist.
To start with, Ali was blonde, and Rachel had never known Jack to veer away from brunette. She had almost laughed out loud, unable to believe her mind was even taking her down this road, but still she couldn’t stop herself from taking in Ali’s curves, impossibly tiny waist, and full rosebud lips, that she imagined were the stuff of men’s dreams.
Rachel had felt like an ungainly giant standing next to her, but she’d refused to quite literally bow to the pressure of making herself seem smaller, more petite. Yet she couldn’t help but wish that she’d worn her long brown hair down, instead of it being in a messy bun on top of her head, and that she’d applied a smidge of lipstick to make herself feel as if she was at least a contender in the race.