Perfect on Paper by Gillian Harvey (top 20 books to read txt) 📕

she was the kind of person who couldn’t leave things.

And they were the kind of people who’d become used to leaving things for someone else to do.

It was a killer combination.

Chapter Nine

Clare was still sitting up sipping a much-needed glass of red when Toby’s car purred into the drive that night. The front door lock clicked and her husband slithered into the hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible. As well he might: it was past midnight.

‘It’s all right, I’m up,’ she said.

‘Oh.’ He poked a tousled head around the door and grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry. Another late one.’

‘Yep.’ She looked at her dishevelled husband and wondered how, despite the blob of yellow on his tie, despite the fact he had clearly been chewing a pen and given himself a kind of blue lip liner effect; despite even the fact that his hair was sticking up in the style of a plastic troll, he still managed to look cute and rumpled rather than scruffy and revolting.

Damn that handsome face.

‘Come and sit?’ she said, patting the crumpled mess next to her on the sofa invitingly.

‘It went well,’ he said, ignoring her, his eyes wide; face animated. ‘Apparently hundreds of residential street lights across London have been broken, and the Government’s renewal initiative isn’t responding quickly enough – but I’m pretty sure my report will get the mayor’s attention,’ he added, importantly.

‘That’s great. Look, Toby … today—’

‘And, well …’ her husband sat down beside her heavily, not seeming to realise he was interrupting her. ‘I wasn’t going to say anything tonight, but … well, Hatty has asked if you and I … could pop over for dinner this Friday?’

‘Us?’

‘Yes.’

‘To Hatty Bluebottle’s house?’

‘Yes.’

‘You and me?’

‘Yes.’

She imagined herself sitting at a table with Hatty. It would feel like being interviewed on live TV.

‘Maybe.’ Another sip of wine. ‘I’m just not sure …’

‘She’s not as fearsome as they say, you know. And her husband, Bill, he’s got a normal job – I think she said he’s in plastics. Plastic surgeon I think.’

‘Right. You don’t think … maybe we could go to a restaurant or something? Might be a bit less, well, pressured.’

‘Yeah, but Hatty can’t really. She gets too much attention.’

‘Oh, right.’ Of course; even though her breakdown had been years ago, the celeb mags loved to dig out pictures of some of their favourite targets looking ropey. No doubt she couldn’t enter a room without everyone getting their phone out. Poor Hatty, Clare thought, resolving never to pick up another of the celeb mags. The opposite of being invisible didn’t sound too appealing either.

‘And, you know … I think … I think I might be being groomed, Clare.’

‘Groomed?’ Her mind went to Hayley again.

‘Yes!’ he said, excitedly. ‘I mean I’ve been trying my damnedest to fit in. The suits? And, you know, going to the bar and stuff after work. And Hatty and I … well, we’ve – we’ve kind of become friends.’

‘Oh!’

‘I know, I know,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘Rumours and that. The mad lady of ITV. But the breakdown, that bit in the papers. It was all overblown. She’s a good advocate to have. And, well, a lot of people avoid her but … She … well, she has quite a lot of say in how the programmes are run.’

‘She does?’ Clare thought of the dishevelled woman who graced the cover of gossip mags, underneath headlines such as: ‘Has Hatty Had it?’ and ‘Out of Control: Hatty arrested for D & D’.

‘Thank you!’ He patted her knee happily. ‘Thank you, Clare.’

Had she agreed? She looked at his pleading face. Damn those puppy dog eyes. ‘It’s OK,’ she said. She could hardly say no, after all. Plus, she was all about saying yes these days – embracing difficult situations. It would be terrifying to meet with Hatty and Bill in the flesh, but kind of exciting too.

‘So, how was your day?’ he said at last, leaning forward and grabbing half a bottle of red and his stained glass from the previous evening.

‘Oh, you know. Blew off work. Went on an adventure.’

‘Yeah, right,’ he said, patting her knee affectionately. ‘Sure you did.’ He chuckled, shaking his head at her humour.

She looked back; she simply didn’t have the energy to tell him now. And he didn’t seem to be in the frame of mind to listen.

She tried a different tack: ‘I am thinking, though,’ she took a breath. ‘I am thinking about maybe doing something with my poems?’

‘Your poems?’

‘You know, ah, my … the poems I write. Maybe getting them bound up or something? Or, I don’t know, maybe published.’

‘Uh huh,’ he replied, eyes on the TV. ‘Great. And did the kids leave any shepherd’s pie at all?’

‘It’s in the fridge,’ she said, feeling herself tense up. ‘So you think it’s a good idea?’

‘Yeah, always loved shepherd’s pie.’

‘No, the …’ but she stopped.

‘And how do I heat it?’ He looked at her imploringly.

‘Useless!’ she said, half-joking half-infuriated. She stood up, plonking down her glass of wine and made her way to the kitchen. It was easier to heat up his food herself than witness him fiddling with the microwave, and either burning it to a crisp or undercooking it and spending the rest of the week on the toilet.

In the kitchen, she thought back to that moment in front of the two judges. How they’d nodded and said afterwards they might be in touch. How she knew, really, that it was a rejection. But how she’d stepped out of her comfort zone today – and, like Toby’s shepherd’s pie on the microwave plate – her world was still turning.

Chapter Ten

Clare had set her alarm for 6 a.m., keen to go in and sort out any backlog from her day off yesterday, but her body had other ideas and instead had woken her up before it at 5 a.m., her heart racing. Still, she thought as she climbed out of bed and crept past the snoring lump of husband next to her, she