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

Clare had seen a flicker of something behind Hatty’s smile.

‘You don’t really think that, though?’ she’d said. ‘I mean, you were great. I used to love your bulletins.’

‘Ah, but you’re not the target demographic, you see,’ Hatty had replied, making little quotation marks with her fingers. ‘They told me they’d recognised my talent and thought it would be better used off-screen. But I knew what they really meant.’

‘Oh. Didn’t you say anything?’

‘No, I suppose I quite fancied the chance of producing. Thought I’ll show them! And I do like it. It’s going well. Just – well, unfortunately no matter how good the ratings are, they’re always quick to praise someone else for them.’

Toby had shifted uncomfortably.

‘You’ll have noticed?’ Hatty had said, turning to him. ‘It’s always “Good job, Piers” or “The figures are great, we must feature more animals!” They don’t seem to take into account the mug who chooses the segments or selects the topic.’

‘Oh,’ Toby had said, looking at Hatty as if for the first time. ‘I didn’t realise you felt …’

Hatty had sipped her wine. ‘Sorry,’ she’d said. ‘Had too much of this. You’ll have heard, though. They call me Batty Hatty at work – like I’m some mad lady who ought to be confined to the attic.’

‘Yes, but you know, I don’t think you are batty at all. In fact, I’ve always admired you for being so ordinary,’ Toby had declared clumsily.

‘Really?’ Hatty had raised an eyebrow at Clare over the table, and she’d shrugged embarrassedly and poked Toby firmly in the ribs.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he’d said, looking at his wife and entirely missing the point. ‘You’re both ordinary. Both of you.’

Later, after yet another little ‘palette cleanser’, he’d begun to talk to Bill, and Clare had relaxed a little. Hatty had started to regale her with stories of the old days when she’d read the news. ‘The guy I read with’s still on screen, of course,’ she’d said.

‘That’s so unfair,’ Clare had said. ‘You know, I know how it feels to be overlooked …’

She’d been about to confide in Hatty in a way she hadn’t even with Toby, when she’d overheard a snippet of Toby and Bill’s conversation.

‘Do you think,’ Toby had been saying, ‘I should get my bags done?’

‘Your bags?’

‘Yes, you know. I’m trying to get more … screen time. And just wondering …’ Toby had shifted his head around to give Bill a better view of his face, helpfully pulling the skin under his eyes taut.

‘Oh dear,’ Bill had said, his intelligent, sober eyes alighting on Clare for an amused moment before turning his attention back to Toby. ‘Well, I’m probably not the best person to advise …’

‘Have some wine, Clare?’ Hatty had asked, a bottle teetering over Clare’s empty glass.

‘No, no. I’m fine,’ she’d said. ‘Definitely the designated driver tonight.’

The two women had exchanged a look of mutual sympathy. ‘Yes, sorry. I didn’t realise that cherry liqueur was so strong,’ Hatty had said.

‘And I’ve heard that more and more men are getting their lips done,’ Toby had continued, pursing his into an exaggerated kiss shape and looking quizzically at Bill. ‘What do you think? Is less more? Or is more more? Too sexy? Or just sexy enough?’

There had been a silence, before Bill coughed into his hand and said, rather quietly. ‘I’m sure, it might be … only it’s not quite my specialism you see.’

‘Oh, sorry,’ Toby had blushed. ‘Sorry, I thought Hatty said you worked in plastics.’

‘Ah, well … not quite.’

‘What … what is your medical specialism out of interest?’

‘Classics,’ Bill had replied, chuckling slightly. ‘My qualification isn’t so much medical as literary. I’ve got a doctorate in classical literature.’

‘Oh, classics … I thought …’

‘Which bit do you remember?’ Clare asked now, carefully watching Toby’s face.

‘The … did I … I mean, I didn’t mention, you know, procedures?’ he asked, lowering his voice as if by saying the word quietly he could make it go away. ‘I’ve been thinking about …’

‘Well, yes. But I’m sure Bill …’ she trailed off. There was no way she could make this sound any better.

‘But did I say something about getting my lips done? About … being sexy?’ he asked. ‘I was reading about the procedure yesterday … but maybe … did I dream that bit?’ he said, hopefully.

Clare toyed with the idea of telling him a lie. Who would it hurt, after all? But then, he had to be prepared for whatever comments or humorous anecdotes Hatty was going to regale everyone with in the Monday meeting.

‘It’s probably best not to think about it,’ she said at last, watching him bury his head in his hands again.

It was kinder not to mention the things he didn’t remember about the night, she decided, sipping her hot black beverage. The fact that he’d shared his idea for doing a piece about alien abductions; the moment he’d lifted his shirt and asked them whether they thought he had a paunch, and when he’d tried to show off his non-existent limbo skills by attempting to slither under the breakfast bar, putting his back out in the process.

This morning, Katie was already in the kitchen, plugged into her phone and lost in a world where YouTubers with enormous eyebrows shared their ‘style secrets’. Clare looked at Katie, so unaware of her own natural beauty and completely taken in by these women with faces so full of poison they were probably toxic.

‘Hey,’ she said, tapping her daughter on the shoulder. ‘You know you don’t need any of that stuff, right?’

Before Katie had time to answer, or even scowl, Toby burst into the kitchen in his boxer shorts. ‘Seriously Clare, though,’ he said. ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Dad!’ cried Katie, horrified. ‘You’re in your pants!’

‘Just call her. Apologise.’

‘Put some trousers on!’

‘What? Speak to her?’

‘Or a dressing gown, at least!’

‘Yes! Give her a call.’

‘Oh, I give up!’ Katie flounced out of the kitchen in disgust.

‘On … on the phone?’

‘Yes! Tell her you’re sorry, that you