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

‘Yep. Pretty sure.’

‘Oh.’ She thought back to Hatty’s tears, her desire to be in front of, rather than behind, the camera. ‘Have you tried talking to her?’

‘I’m not sure she’d listen at the moment.’

‘Look, Toby. I said … I promised I wouldn’t say anything, but Hatty doesn’t feel quite right in her job either.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. She’d rather be presenting … I think she was rather hoping that Woman’s World would be her gig.’

‘Really? But she recommended me! Why would she do that?’

Clare shook her head. ‘I think she just hoped … But she thinks, well, it’s an age thing. You know – women of a certain age, getting overlooked.’

‘But Hatty was a brilliant presenter. And she’s an ace producer!’

‘I know. But maybe that’s not how everyone sees it.’

Toby began to chew a nail thoughtfully, before checking himself. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Poor Hatty.’

‘Yeah. But look, it’s not your fault. I’ve seen you present and you’re brilliant. I mean, you deserve that job.’

‘Do you think? Even if I’m man?’

‘Even if that’s the case,’ she grinned.

He laughed. ‘You know what I mean,’ he said, giving her an affectionate dig in the ribs.

‘Ha,’ she said, giving him a dig back.

‘Anyway, I’m hoping as far as these protests go, the Martha interview might help.’

‘I hope so,’ she said, gently. She felt loyal to Martha, to her cause. Toby would have to play his cards right in the interview.

‘Yeah, I want to show women that I am on their side. Despite … well, despite having a penis.’ He looked at her then. ‘I love you, you know Clare.’

It had been a long time, she realised, since either of them had said that.

‘You too,’ she said, ‘although I’ll love you even more if you get me a biscuit.’

Chapter Forty

‘I’m Martha B. – remember my name!’

It was the first time they’d rehearsed for a few days and as she dropped into her final pose, Clare could feel each and every muscle straining.

‘Great, great!’ Dan said, jogging to the front of the group, hardly affected at all by the fact that he’d just carried out an incredible demo for the boys, in which he’d backflipped four times and landed directly on his crotch. ‘Except …’ he said, looking at Clare apologetically. ‘Could you try to, well, smile a bit?’

‘Sorry, it’s just I’m concentrating.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just I think it’ll look a bit weird if the boys are all dancing around behind you and you’ve got that … that look on your face.’

‘Sorry,’ she said again, feeling a bit like a child being told off. ‘I am trying.’

‘I know. Maybe a bit too hard,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Just feel the music. Let it flow through you. You’re overthinking it.’

She’d always liked music. As long as someone else was performing it. As a child, she’d taken piano lessons for a bit. But that was as far as it went. Of course, she’d had the odd dance in public – she’d done a bit of clubbing in her time, but that was when she’d had a few too many vodkas and nobody was really watching.

The performer in her came from somewhere else. Something natural that flowed through her when she lost herself. She couldn’t let her inner critical perfectionist override this, or she’d end up getting it all wrong.

‘And you think the rap will be ready in time?’ he said.

She’d used her old lyrics for the rehearsal – she’d had a bit of block, so she’d told Dan she was just tuning things up and wasn’t ready to reveal her latest lines.

‘Yeah, I’ll bring it along next time.’

‘Good,’ he said, slapping his hands together like a teacher. ‘So, what do you reckon guys? One more time from the top.’

‘Yeah,’ they replied, so scarily in unison that for a moment she wondered whether they might be an army of tiny clones.

She dialled Steph from her hands-free car phone on the way home. ‘Attention to the road,’ the car reminded her helpfully. ‘Avoid distracting calls.’

‘Hello?’

‘Hi, Steph, it’s Clare.’

‘Oh, hi, how you doing?’ In the background Clare could hear the relentless chirping of cartoons. She recognised a theme tune from years ago.

‘That’s Teletubbies, right?’

‘Yup. I can’t imagine he knows what he’s watching. But it seems to keep him quiet,’ Steph replied.

‘John or Wilbur?’

‘Very funny.’

‘Anyway, just thought I’d … well, I need some advice really,’ Clare went on. ‘I’m in a bit of a situation, I suppose.’

‘Again?’

‘Well, you’ll laugh, but Toby’s arranged some sort of televised interview with Martha B. He’s hoping, I think, that meeting her, me, her will help him with all the protests. But I’m not sure I can go through with it. I mean, it’s not as if I’m wearing a rubber mask. Will he really not recognise me, in the flesh, despite the wig and shades?’

‘Crikey – you do know how to make a drama into a crisis!’

‘Yep, that’s me! But, seriously, what shall I do?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if I pull out of the interview, Toby will be gutted, and might struggle with the whole movement business. But if I tell him who I am he might not want to go through with it – because it will look staged, won’t it? And I can’t pull out of the talent show thing – those boys are depending on me. But what I really want to do is go into hiding, to crawl under the duvet and pretend it isn’t happening!’

‘I can understand that.’

‘But I also kind of … don’t.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘Well, I don’t know. I kind of … like rapping. I’m even starting to like dancing!’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh, and I’m thinking of setting up my own firm, but it’s really scary – I don’t know whether to hand in my notice and then try to do something from home, or go all in and hire offices.’

‘Wow.’

‘Or really go for it with the Martha B. act, you know? See where it might take me.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. No idea what I’m thinking, what I want!’ Clare said, her head spinning with it