He’d initiated the whispered conversation as they’d sat outside Mr Angus’s office door, gripping CVs and notepads, and rehearsing answers to common interview questions in their heads. Mirren had them all planned. ‘What would you say is your greatest weakness at work?’ ‘Oh well, let’s see’ – pause for effect – ‘I’d have to say it’s not being better at saying no, so I end up taking on too many jobs and working extra hard to get them done, and Idoget them done.’That’s always a good one, Mirren was thinking, as the man in the blue suit leaned closer and she was treated to a whiff of his overpowering, expensive aftershave.
‘James Wallace, pleased to meet you.’
‘Mirren Imrie. Hello.’
‘Feeling hopeful?’
Mirren had sniffed a dismissive laugh. No, she didn’t feel hopeful but she didn’t want to voice her self-doubt moments before walking in to face an interview panel. ‘Quietly confident,’ she’d said, hoping it didn’t sound too cocky.
‘Oh. Well, good for you! So are you a reporter?’
‘Uh-huh, I’m a news-gatherer for my local weekly.’
‘Big circulation?’
‘Not bad.’ There was something in his tone that seemed hopeful for a low number, something she wasn’t prepared to give him, because it was indeed low. Nothing compared to the huge reach of theEdinburgh Broadsheet. ‘You?’ she deflected.
‘I’m at theChronic. Lead reporter.’
Mirren nodded, smiling in recognition at theEast Coast Chronicle’s nickname amongst its reporters, and possibly many of its readers. But it was a big paper, as big as theBroadsheet.
‘Why do you want to leave there, if you’re lead reporter?’
James Wallace shrugged casually. ‘A change is as good as a rest.’ He looked around the corridor, suddenly unwilling to meet Mirren’s eyes.
She’d been told many times that her thoughts showed themselves on her face, and she remembered this unwelcome trait in that moment. He no doubt saw her mind working, wondering what had happened to make him want to apply for an inferior position at a very slightly inferior paper.
‘It’s all right for you girls, you have the upper hand in these situations,’ he said, with a sniff, pulling his suit trousers up at the knees and slouching in the chair. Mirren in contrast was sitting bolt upright, knees together in her black pencil skirt, anticipating the door to the interview room being flung open at any minute.
‘Huh?’ She turned her head sharply to her new acquaintance who scanned the bare wall opposite as he spoke.
‘Well, for a startyoucan wear make-up and that gives you an advantage, doesn’t it?’
‘In interviews?You think?’ Mirren’s neck stiffened.
‘Obviously. Think about it.Ican’t very well slap on loads of lipstick and eyeshadow and swan into an interview looking a million dollars, but all you girls can. And who are they going to hire, me looking… just ordinary, or the woman?’
Mirren suppressed an eye-roll but her tongue was already drawing back ready to unleash its sharp reply. ‘You genuinely believe that?’
He nodded once, still looking away, cautious now they could hear chairs being scraped across the floor and low rumblings of discussion from Mr Angus’s office. The interview panel must almost be ready to begin.
Mirren kept her voice low. ‘Well, first of all, men are more likely than women to exaggerate their skills and experience on job applications so they’re walking into the interview with an automatic advantage. And secondly, I’ve literallyneverbeen interviewed by a woman, not when they’re the boss or in charge of the decision. Sure, there have been women in the room, but they were usually from HR. And I have to overcome that every time. You don’t.’
‘Overcome what? Bosses fancying you and wanting to give you a job? Oh, poor you.’
‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. I have to contend with the fact that men tend to hire men, so even if I’m one of five candidates and the other four are blokes, I have to outshine all of them.’
‘By wearing make-up and making yourself look as good as possible. My point exactly. You really painted yourself into a corner there, Maureen.’
‘Mirren.’
‘What?’
‘It’s Mirren.’
‘What did I say?’ But he didn’t pause for an answer. ‘And it’ssomemen.’
‘What?’
