Paige clears her throat. “I was at a rally and an over-zealous police officer decided to make an example of me.”
“That’s brilliant!” says Ali, clapping her hands together. “What were you protesting against?”
“Erm, it was a women’s rights march in London,” says Paige. “A judge had let off a rapist because he said the victim was too drunk to know whether she consented or not.”
“No way,” says Ali, without a modicum of conviction. “That sucks.”
“Indeed it does,” says Paige tightly.
“So, do you consider yourself a feminist?” asks Ali.
“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.
The race for what? she’d asked herself as she looked at Jack. I’ve already won.
“Where were you working before?” she’d asked Ali, by way of making small talk, even though she wasn’t really interested in the answer.
“I was at Maverick Promotions,” said Ali. “And my boss there was a total dickhead.”
Rachel had looked at her through narrowed eyes, surprised by her indiscretion.
“How so?” she said.
“He crossed the line,” said Ali. “He thought because I’m the way I am, that he could take advantage of me.”
“The way you are?” asked Rachel, keen to establish exactly what she meant and the threat it might present.
“That I’m outgoing and friendly,” said Ali.
Rachel waited for her to add “and because I look like every man’s fantasy,” but she didn’t.
“So, what happened?” Rachel asked, when no more information was forthcoming.
Ali looked up, her piercing blue eyes staring straight through her. “He took me for a fool,” she said. “He thought I was just some blonde bimbo who he could silence, due to his position of power, but he was wrong.” The tone of Ali’s voice as she said those last four words troubled Rachel, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on whether it was because he’d treated her badly or because she’d made sure he hadn’t got away with it.
“Well, I’m glad that you made a stand,” she said, part of her wanting to ask more questions, but equally not wanting to get into it. “Men like him need to know that we won’t accept that kind of behavior. We need to push back against these predators.”
“Yes, girl!” Ali had declared, before pulling Rachel into a sudden embrace. As Rachel extricated herself, making excuses that she needed to go and help Jack, Ali started making her way toward a circle of men who were becoming rowdier by the minute.
“She’s quite a force,” Rachel had commented to Jack as he handed her a glass of white wine.
“Mmm, I wonder if she’s too much so.”
Rachel had cocked her head to one side. “Meaning?”
“Well, look at her,” said Jack, taking a sip of his pint of lager and licking the white-foam residue from his lip.
As Rachel had watched Ali coil her arm around the neck of the most handsome of the bunch, pleading with him to dance to Whitney Houston’s “How Will I Know,” she wondered if Jack might have a point.
“Hey!” said Will, coming up behind her at the bar and squeezing her waist.
“Hi!” Rachel squealed, excitedly pulling him into her for a hug. “You’re back! Ooh it’s so lovely to see you—it’s been far too long.” He flashed her a smile through his thick beard.
“Hey, bro,” he said as he leaned in to Jack and they did that macho shoulder nudge thing that men who like to be cool do nowadays.
“Come here,” said Jack, thinking better of it and pulling his younger brother in for a proper embrace. “How you doing?”
“Knackered,” said Will.
Jack laughed. “How can you be knackered when you’ve spent the last two months in Vietnam, doing sweet FA?”