“No.”
“Honestly?” she squeals. “The problem with it, Hannah, is that you should have pushed for the higher end of the bracket. The job advert gave a five-grand window and you undervalued yourself and went for the lowest amount we were offering. We could afford the higher end—that’s why we put it in the bloody advert. Why would you ask for the lower amount?”
“Um…I don’t know. I just…”
“This is your problem. You aren’t forceful enough. Do you know how much Craig was on when he did your job?”
“Er…I think you probably aren’t allowed to tell me.” I give her an out.
“Yeah, that’s right,” she says, shifting in her seat. “I’m not allowed to tell you. Let’s say it was the higher end of that bracket. And let’s say that he’s only got one more year’s experience than you and now, as marketing director, he’s on practically double what you’re on.”
“What the fuck?” I say.
“Honestly, Hannah, I could have screamed at you when you said that in your interview. Trust me. I know how long it takes to claw even another thousand onto your pay packet in this bloody company. Craig’s a forceful sod. The way you’re going, it will be bloody years before you get a salary paying what you’re worth.”
I look into my glass. Day one of the new Hannah is going pretty swiftly downhill. “More wine,” I say, getting up.
“Get a bottle,” Clare orders. “No more of these tiny little glasses.”
A few hours later Clare and I are hammered, staggering out of the pub and sharing an Uber home. I collapse into bed, drunk, the world spinning, determined that day two of the new Hannah is going to have to be the new day one.
—
On my way to work the next morning I check my email and there’s a message from Cindy:
Hannah, Lovely to meet you yesterday.
Will you give me a ring on my mobile when you get a moment?
Regards, Cindy.
Typed underneath is her mobile number.
I look at this cryptic message and can’t work out if this iswork-related or if she wants to impart more advice, which I have now decided I don’t want to receive. I’m not supposed to be thinking about Davey anymore.
I wait until I’ve had a large coffee from the station, ridden the hell of the Underground toward Liverpool Street, and am walking to the office. I sense that if this is a private chat, then I don’t want to be having it at my desk. I walk slowly.
“Hello,” Cindy says as she picks up.
“Hi, it’s Hannah Gallagher, from yesterday. I got your message.”
“Hi, yes. Thanks for ringing. I wanted to have a quick word. We’ve decided not to go with your company’s services.”
“Oh.” Deflation kicks in. Day two is going swimmingly.
“However, it wasn’t anything to do with you.”
“No?”
“No. Craig is a bit…Anyway,” she says. “I liked whatyouhad to say.”
“Right,” I reply.
“Hannah, it would be very unethical of me to offer you a job and what I’m doing is quite borderline, but I just want to point you in the direction of a job that we have available here. We’re a small charity, but our marketing director is moving overseas with her husband. As such, we have an opening. If you’d like to be considered for it, details on how to apply are on our website.”
I stop walking and someone behind me swears, swerves around me, gives me a look, continues.
“Oh. Right,” I say again. “Thanks.”
