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

Want to be a good mum and look after my kids yeah,

There’s nothing more important, let them know that I care, yeah.

I used to be invisible so meh, yeah “mehtoo”,

But I’m bringing light to women with whatever I do.

I gotta leave you now, but remember this thought,

That everybody matters, now, I’ll see you in court!’

With that, she took off her wig, hurled it into the audience and dropped into her first ever set of splits.

Chapter Forty-Eight

The headache asserted itself the minute Clare opened her eyes and let the tiniest bit of light filter in. She was wrapped in the duvet. The sheets were soft. She closed her eyes to let her spinning head settle then tried to open them again.

And jumped. There was a face – a giant, grinning face – looming over her. Her vision cleared and suddenly she realised who she was looking at. ‘Toby?’

‘Cup of coffee?’ he said. ‘Just how you like it?!’

She shuffled up slightly against the pillows. ‘Thanks,’ she said, reaching for the mug he was holding. She sipped the contents. Black, strong, lukewarm. But two out of three wasn’t bad.

She tried to remember the last time that Toby had brought her a coffee. Normally he was up hours before her and racing out of the house before she’d had time to take her first pee of the day. So, it had been a while.

And the smile? Something was up. She remembered him drinking a fair bit last night – usually he’d be curled up in a ball of vomity regret.

‘You OK?’ she asked, sipping the coffee and feeling her senses gradually start to return. ‘Everything all right?’ She squinted against the light and his features gradually came into focus.

‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ he said, sitting on the bed and squashing her toes with his bottom. ‘That was quite some champagne you put away last night.’

She remembered it now. The private club. Champagne. The first time she’d drunk more than three glasses in years.

Eezee Troupe taking to the dance floor and putting the clientele to shame. That man with the black hair trying to get her to sign a contract.

‘Have you seen the papers?’ Toby asked, (ridiculously, as he knew, didn’t he, that she hadn’t been conscious for the last ten hours or so).

‘No? Why?’ she played along.

He gently placed a wodge of papers on her lap. The Sunday Mole was on top. ‘MC Bailey STEALS THE SHOW!’ it screamed in capitals. Underneath was a picture of her flinging her wig into the audience. Her hair underneath was a complete and utter mess. She hadn’t considered that bit.

Her memory of last night started to come back in the form of brief snapshots. Standing on the stage. The look of baffled surprise on Toby’s face when the wig hit him in the chops. Hatty standing up and screaming ‘Go Clare!’ The rest of the crowd cheering or yelling – had they been pleased? Or appalled?

The minute the competition had ended, Toby had rushed to meet her backstage. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he’d said. ‘How … how did I not know?’

‘Maybe we both need to notice each other a bit more,’ she’d shrugged, as he pulled her in for a kiss – despite Katie’s embarrassment.

When she’d been changing, Hatty had appeared in her dressing room. ‘I wanted to say thank you,’ she’d said, sounding less confident than usual.

‘Thank you? For what?’

‘Well, don’t tell Toby. But they’ve decided to try Woman’s World as a two-presenter show. And guess who’s been given a chance to be in front of the cameras again!’

‘Oh, Hatty!’ Clare had stood and given her a hug. ‘That’s such good news.’

‘Yes, but it was you wasn’t it? That interview with Martha. I mean, I know they didn’t broadcast your criticism of the show. But you got them thinking … I can’t thank you enough.’

‘Hatty, it had nothing to do with me,’ Clare had said. ‘I wasn’t doing you a favour – it was genuinely what I thought. And I only suggested a female presenter … no names were named. You got this because you’re great.’

She’d watched with pleasure as Hatty beamed and went red.

‘I’m still buzzing from last night,’ Toby said now.

‘Yeah,’ she said, sipping her coffee.

‘It’s … well, it’s surreal.’

Backstage as they waited for the results, Dan had been very unsure about their chances: ‘We can’t compete with that magician,’ he’d said. ‘I mean, imagine keeping a pigeon in your pants backstage.’

When their names had been called, he’d grabbed her and swung her around as if she weighed nothing.

Clare looked at Toby’s happy, hopeful face now and felt a pang of guilt. She’d been worried that he might be angry at her deception; possibly even embarrassed by the fact that his ‘professional’ wife was suddenly performing on a TV talent show. How it would look in the papers, whether he’d be derided. She should have just talked to him. Properly.

‘But the rap,’ he said, his face switching to serious. ‘Am I one of them?’

‘What, a rapper?’

‘No! No. Am I one of those men who aren’t listening … aren’t seeing you?’

‘Well, maybe a bit. Or you were. Things are … they’re getting better now though, aren’t they?’

He brushed his fringe out of his eyes. ‘Clare, it might not seem like it, but I do love you, you know? I think I’ve just been so worried about trying to fit in. It’s weird, starting something so new, something you just want to get right.’

‘True …’

‘And suddenly there I was, with my own section to present. All this back-patting, but Hatty, well, she was the only person who ever seemed to want to talk to me …’

‘Honestly, I understand.’

‘But there’s more.’ He looked away from her, towards the blank wall and she realised he was trying to hold back tears. ‘I … well, I started taking these diet pills – you know, to shift a few pounds. It’s so competitive … and …’

‘Diet pills?’

‘Yeah. But they kind of made me