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

It was ridiculous. A few hours ago she’d been rapping on stage and now she was scared to speak the truth to her husband.

‘Toby?’ she said, in the darkness.

‘Yes?’

‘I think … I think I’m ready to tell you …’

‘What?’

‘Look,’ she said, feeling his arm snake around her back and pull her in for a spoon. ‘I … well, you know something’s going on, right?’

‘Mmm hmmm,’ he said, sleepily.

‘Well, a few weeks ago, I took a day off work …’ she said.

‘Hmm?’

As she related the story to her husband she could feel the weight of her own subterfuge drifting away. She’d been ridiculous, she thought. She’d been so convinced that Toby didn’t really care what was going on in her life that she’d underestimated him. And here he was, lying silent in the darkness listening to her every word.

‘And guess what?’ she finished. ‘We’re in the live final!’

Silence.

‘Toby?’

Silence.

‘What do you think?’

Her husband, whom she’d assumed had been listening intently all that time, let out a tiny snore in her ear.

‘Toby!’ she said, poking him harder in the ribs than she’d intended. ‘Toby – what do you think?’

‘Mmm?’ he said. ‘It’s OK. Shhh …’

She lay awake for almost an hour, feeling a mixture of disappointment and anger. Because if Toby couldn’t even stay awake when she’d make it obvious she’d be revealing something important, then he didn’t care about her at all.

Chapter Thirty-Five

The phone rang at 9.30 a.m., meaning it was either a sales call, an emergency, or someone without the social grace to realise that it was FAR TOO EARLY to call someone on a Saturday.

Clare padded down the stairs, feeling groggy. Her muscles ached from the enthusiastic dancing last night and she could barely make it to the hallway. ‘Someone had better be dead,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘Or at least seriously injured.’

‘Hello?’ she said, trying to sound bright and upbeat. She sounded more like an eighty-year-old man.

‘Oh, hello, is that Toby?’

It was Hatty.

‘No,’ she cleared her throat. ‘No, it’s Clare.’

‘Ah, sorry didn’t recognise you there!’

‘It’s OK.’

‘Well look, Bill and I have to pop down to Hatfield this morning – his tailor lives there. And I thought it might be fun to meet for coffee. Or even pop round, if that would be OK?’

‘Oh. Of course,’ Clare said, glancing frantically at the mess around her. ‘What … what sort of time?’

‘I think we’ll probably be with you in about an hour. That’s lovely! Toodle pip!’

‘Oh! That’s a bit …’

But the phone was dead.

In her foggy, sleep-addled brain, Clare had assumed Hatty would be suggesting two or three o’clock in the afternoon at the least. Were they seriously going to drop in on them in just an hour?

‘Kids! Toby!’ Clare yelled. ‘Come here!’

To get things anywhere near straight enough, they were going to have to work as a team.

An hour later, exhausted but triumphant, Clare opened the door to Hatty and Bill with a smile. The hall behind her was spotless. The coffee was brewing. The kids were making themselves scarce. And as long as nobody opened the cupboard under the stairs she was pretty sure they could pull off the illusion of being enviably clutter and mess free.

‘I didn’t realise,’ Alfie had panted at one point, ‘how difficult it is to clean up.’

Clare had nodded, although in truth this was a particularly epic tidying up session, bearing in mind nobody had cleaned up properly for about ten days and the rot was definitely setting in.

‘Sorry,’ he’d added. ‘I’m crap, aren’t I?’

‘You’ll learn,’ she’d replied, ruffling his hair and realising that what she’d thought was a messy mop was actually carefully coiffed and covered in product.

‘Hatty! Bill!’ she said, now, taking their coats. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘Oh, just a coffee. Smells lovely.’

‘Ah, Toby!’ Hatty added, as she entered the kitchen. ‘How are you? Awful business yesterday.’

He shrugged.

‘Yesterday?’ Clare asked.

‘Yes, didn’t he tell you? Oh, that’s so like Toby! Not wanting to upset you.’

‘But what happened?’ Clare studied her husband’s face.

‘Oh, just some of these MehToo women. Waving placards during my interview, that sort of thing.’ Toby’s cheeks began to flush slightly.

‘Oh.’

‘And, well … Yelling things about me in the street.’

‘Oh.’

‘And yesterday, well, they flew a blimp outside the window in the studio during filming,’ Toby reddened even further. ‘It was supposed to be me. Wearing high heels, lipstick and knickers – you know, after that photo of me went viral. They’re angry about the Woman’s World thing. It’s all over the internet.’

‘Oh Toby!’ She hadn’t had a chance to watch anything – in fact, she’d avoided the news, not wanting to see any clips of the show that had now – again, according to Dan’s texts – gone viral.

‘But I’ve got it in hand,’ Toby said, slipping an arm around her waist.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, believe it or not, I managed to get through to the woman herself on the phone last night. Martha B.,’ he grinned, his ears reddening.

‘Oh, that’s amazing!’ Hatty said.

‘Yes, she’s agreed to have an interview with me – hopefully this week. I hope we can get a handle on this thing.’

‘Right. How?’ Clare said, a little too sharply.

‘In fact, I was going to speak to you later,’ Toby said, reaching for Clare’s hand and squeezing it earnestly. ‘But I really hope you’ll come with me to the interview. You know, a bit of solidarity, moral support. You can stay in the green room – maybe even meet the woman herself!’

In any other situation, she would have, but this was tricky. ‘Well …’ she began.

‘I think it’ll look good, you know – play out well in the media,’ he added.

‘Well, work’s quite busy … but …’ stammered Clare. ‘I’ll try.’

‘That’s a girl!’ Hatty said, winking.

Clare broached the subject again after Hatty and Bill had left. ‘Toby,’ she said.

‘Yes?’ he looked up from the crossword he was attempting.

‘Do you … did you hear much of what I said last night?’

‘Last night?’

‘Yes. Um … I told you something, in bed?’

‘Oh.’ His cheeks flushed. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s OK.’ She noticed again that