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Chapter 2

𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓹𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓹𝓵𝓪𝔂𝓼

The girl in the mirror looks confident. A simple, black claw clip pins up her dark blonde hair, and two strands have been perfectly left out to fall beside her face. Her eyebrows have been freshly tweezed and the redness is covered by a layer of foundation that could not have been a better match to her silky skin. She smiles. Her teeth are clean and straight, her smile welcoming, but with a hint of pride and superiority. The girl in the mirror knows where she came from, and how to use that to her advantage. A woman walks up behind the girl in the mirror.

''Two minutes.'' She says.
I nod and reach for the sheet of paper lying next to all the make-up products sprawled out on the vanity. On it, neatly typed out, are the questions prepared for my interview with the Member of Parliament. A stodgy, 63-year-old man. Born and raised in Manchester and studied at Cambridge, before declaring his undying love for deceit and false promises, inevitably leading him into politics.

I glance at the vanity one more time before I get up and make my way to the delicately staged room for the interview. My counterpart has not yet arrived, so I take my seat and go over the questions once more. They were carefully drafted by the paper's most eligible writers and thoroughly spoken through by the Members' PR team. Things were scrapped, and things were added... It doesn't really matter, since none of the writers or the PR team knows what I'll really be asking, and it will be way juicier than what motivated you to go into public service?

The man finally comes in, about 10 minutes late, and reaches out his hand to me. It is wrinkled and shiny from sweating, but I shake it nonetheless.
''Welcome,'' I say, smiling. ''I am so glad you managed to make it today.''

The man sits down with a thud and laughs. ''Of course! Happy to work with The Sun.''

His agent quickly whispers something into his ear. ''The Gun, my apologies. All these newspaper names are so alike!''

''Oh, it's no matter. You're not the first to make that mistake, and you won't be the last.'' I say.

''So, my first question for you; could you share some of the recent projects or initiatives you've undertaken, and which one are you most proud of?''

His answer contains all the right words, exactly as his PR team has written. Words like I'm in it for the people and I want to make real change. The fact that he gets to do interviews like this, and get paid very nicely for them, is just a small bonus.
I smile politely at his answer and nod, feigning my interest.

"What a lovely sentiment, sir," I say and he proudly smiles. "How has your new position affected your family?" I ask.

"Oh they love it," he gushes. "My kids see me on the telly and they get so excited, as kids do.""And your wife?" I press further.

"She needed a little time to adjust, but she is very proud of me and what I've already accomplished."

"That is lovely to hear. What about Ms Greene?" I ask. I notice the slightest twitch in his left eye, but he remains his proud statue.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean. Maybe you've brought the wrong interview sheet." He says, smiling at his agent. I don't bite.

"That's strange, because I've got some photographs here of you and Ms. Greene that would indicate you are rather close." I say and gesture to the telly next to us.

On the screen a photo appears of the man across from me with a slender, blonde woman, who appears much younger than the MP, and is definitely not his wife. Yet they're doing things you'd expect of a married couple. On the first photo they're sitting at a café, and the MP has his hand dangerously far up her exposed thigh. In the second photo we see the MP and Ms. Greene kissing in front of an open window- a rather stupid mistake. The third photo is promptly covered by the MP's PR agent. She practically jumps in front of it.