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

Overall, it hadn’t been too bad, though, she thought, changing out of the Martha B. tracksuit then having to climb back into the bottoms after dropping her work trousers in a puddle of wee on the toilet floor. They might well cut the last bit, but she’d got her point across. She was all for Toby having his shot at the limelight, but the fact that Hatty – or another woman – would add something more to the show was undeniable.

Chapter Forty-Two

Clare leaped out of bed and was almost in the shower before she realised it was Saturday and retreated back under the covers. Toby was asleep by her side and she stroked his hair, only to feel the crispy texture of hair gel in his once-soft barnet.

She was just about to relax back for a bit more of a doze when she suddenly realised the significance of the day. If it was Saturday, that meant the audition shows were on TV tonight. She had to think fast or her cover would be well and truly blown.

‘So,’ she said a little later, as Toby sipped the cup of tea she’d brought him in bed. ‘The weekend! I thought we could maybe go out for a meal this evening.’

‘What, like a date?’ he said, eyeing her with a mixture of interest and suspicion.

‘Well, not really, although that sounds lovely, too,’ she said, hurriedly. ‘I thought all of us – you know, the whole family.’

‘On a Saturday night?’

‘Yes, why not?’

‘Do you think the kids will be up for it?’

Clare pondered for a second. ‘Probably not. But you know, maybe we ought to encourage them to come anyway. It’s been so long since we did anything as a family.’ Plus I’m going to be on national TV and don’t want either of them to see me.

They didn’t always watch TV on a Saturday night. Sometimes they went out, sometimes had a takeaway. But there was every chance that if she didn’t remove her family from the house someone might just click on the TV to see the auditions show. On which, she’d been reliably informed, there would be a rather big segment on the heart-warming story of a dance troupe who’d found their way to fame with a mother figure known only as Martha B. The gold buzzer would be activated. They would be the main feature of the show. She had to keep her family away from the TV at all costs.

‘So, what shall I book? Pizza place?’

‘I thought maybe the Rose and Crown? They do a great menu, apparently.’

‘OK, done,’ he grinned. ‘It’ll be nice to all be together.’

He looked so pleased about it that she felt guilty.

Predictably, the children were less than thrilled about going out, especially Katie, who had a long-standing Saturday night date arranged around her best friend Tessa’s house (where the pair of them ate chocolate and – as far as Clare could work out – did each other’s make-up). But Clare insisted – she happened to know that Tessa’s family liked to keep a TV in every room, and there was always something on in the background.

Most likely, on Saturday night, it would be You’ve Got Talent.

After she’d bribed Katie with the promise of a future sleepover to make up for it, she tackled Alfie, who was in his room playing some sort of shoot-and-kill game with a disembodied voice that sounded American and female.

‘What?’ he said, distractedly, when she came in the room. Then, ‘sorry, Mum.’

‘Oh, is that your mommy?’ the American voice responded. ‘That is just soo cute!’

‘Not exactly,’ Alfie said. ‘What?’ he said again.

There was a silence when she momentarily forgot why she’d come in the room in the first place. ‘Oh, yes!’ she said. ‘We’re off out to dinner tonight at the Rose and Crown.’

‘Great,’ he said.

‘Great?’

‘Yeah. Great.’

‘So, you’ll come?’

‘Oh. I didn’t realise you meant … me. But yeah,’ he said with a shrug, ‘count me in.’

‘Aww, a date with your mommy?’ said the voice again.

‘Shut up.’

It was almost too easy.

The Rose and Crown was labelled a family friendly pub, due to its generous playpark and beer garden. None of which was very useful to them on this particular evening with its biting wind and tiny prickles of icy rain.

Inside, the bar was heaving, and by the time they were shown to the small corner table that Clare had booked, she’d already removed two of her outer layers and was debating whether her silver and lace bra would pass as a crop top if things got any warmer.

She decided to keep things decent, after all, this was a family establishment and as Toby’s wife she was a woman in the (semi) public eye – the last thing she wanted was for someone to tweet a picture of her, leading to tabloid outcry and the discussions on morning TV that – by law – have to occur every time a well-known woman appears in public with a questionable outfit choice.

Even though they were there with their children, and even though they’d ridden in near silence in the car, it was actually nice to be out with Toby. They’d used to do date nights once in a while; when had they stopped? She reached down and instinctively grabbed Toby’s hand and to her surprise, he gave hers a little affectionate squeeze.

The big TV in the corner of their annex was showing some sort of football results programme with a bar of scrolling news underneath, and Clare noticed almost instantly that Toby’s eyes were glued to the screen. Which was weird, as he didn’t follow football particularly.

‘Toby,’ Clare said, noticing the waitress hovering at his side. ‘I think she’s waiting to take your drinks order.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he said, smiling at the waitress in such a friendly manner that Clare’s stomach began to knot a little. ‘Just keeping an eye on the news,’ he said. ‘Wondering, well – you know – if there’s been any developments with the …