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

… spaced out. Then, my heart was racing at night, sweating, sick, that kind of thing. I couldn’t concentrate – couldn’t think. I’d look at you and my eyes – I couldn’t focus them.’

Was that why he’d seemed so oblivious to her?

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I guess I felt stupid … I didn’t know what to say. And I was scared. I stopped taking them after a little while and recently things have started to feel better.’

‘Oh Toby …’ She squeezed his hand and looked at him. ‘Why would you do that to yourself?’

‘Too embarrassed, I suppose. Too scared of failing.’

‘You can’t be embarrassed in front of me!’ she said. ‘Especially now,’ she added, nodding towards the picture of herself on the front of the Sunday Mole.

‘True,’ he grinned, his eyes still glistening.

And suddenly there they were, holding hands and grinning at each other. She felt a connection she hadn’t felt for such a long time. Because he’d finally listened to her, and she’d finally listened to him.

Chapter Forty-Nine

Clare hadn’t planned on a grand opening.

In fact, the whole thing felt rather embarrassing.

Nevertheless, here she was, with a photographer from the local paper, Toby, Ann, the mayor in full regalia and an assortment of vaguely interested bystanders and hardcore Martha B. fans, snipping a ribbon in front of the door into her new office.

This morning, Katie had rushed into her arms before she left the house. ‘I’m so proud of you Mum,’ she’d said. ‘You know that right?’

‘Did Dad put you up to this?’

‘No. Seriously, I am. And we women, we need to celebrate each other, right?’ Her little girl, with her sweet, serious eyes looked up at her.

‘Yes. Yes, we do.’

Even Alfie had wished her good luck, as he brought a pile of last night’s plates down from his room. ‘Hope it goes well,’ he’d said, stacking his crockery in the dishwasher.

‘T-thank you,’ she’d stammered, wondering if she was living in a strange parallel universe where teenage boys actually picked up after themselves. ‘And thanks for doing that.’

‘S’no problem. It’s my crap, isn’t it?’

‘Don’t say crap.’

‘Sorry.’

‘How does it feel to be striking out on your own?’ asked a man in a grey suit now, sticking a recording device in her face.

‘Daunting, but exciting,’ she replied, trying to smile.

‘And is this the end of Martha B.?’ a woman with glossy hair asked her.

‘Oh, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her,’ Clare said, with a wink. In truth, Dan was in discussions about possibly recording a track on iTunes. And if she could come up with a suitable rap – something longer, less novelty – she was thinking about giving it a go.

Looking past the reporters she could see Toby, his eyes fixed firmly on her. A smile on his face. Her Toby. His blood pressure now in check, he seemed more like himself again.

‘I’m so proud of you, you know,’ he’d told her this morning before she’d left.

‘Thank you.’

He’d looked at her steadily.

‘What?’ she’d said, checking her hair was more or less in place.

‘How on earth,’ he’d said, ‘did I get so lucky?’

‘Steady on, I’m only opening a tiny start-up.’

‘Not that, although obviously that’s amazing too. And not the Martha stuff – also amazing – but you. My beautiful, clever wife.’

‘Oh stop it!’ she’d joked, but she’d been pleased.

She smiled at him now and he blew her a kiss of encouragement.

After one last pose for the camera, she walked through the door of her new firm, with Ann at her heels.

‘Gawd, talk about OTT,’ said her new employee. ‘You’d think we were opening some sort of major landmark, rather than a tinpot legal start-up.’ She seemed to think twice about her words after saying them. ‘I mean, it is a great thing – not … you know what I mean.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Clare said. ‘I know exactly what you mean!’ They looked at each other.

‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ Ann asked.

‘No,’ Clare said, firmly. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She wrapped an arm around her friend – ‘no hierarchy in this firm.’

‘And no unitards?’

‘Definitely no unitards.’

After the furore over her ‘big reveal’ had died down, Clare had gone into work where both Will and Nigel suddenly seemed almost too interested in everything she had to do or say. ‘Can’t believe that was you on the TV!’ Will had said, with a reverence that could only have come from someone of his age to whom achievement was almost solely measured in the number of likes and clicks.

‘Yep. That was me!’ she’d said.

‘The phone’s been ringing off the hook!’ Nigel had said, greedily. ‘Lots of new clients wanting to work with you.’

‘Wonderful,’ she’d replied. Feeling a little guilty. But, well, not too guilty. And a little confused about why people would want a rap star to do their conveyancing for them. But whatever brought the business in …

Later that afternoon when she’d handed in her notice, Nigel had begged her to stay. ‘Your department keeps this firm afloat!’ he’d said. ‘It gives me the space to nurture Will’s talent and build the litigation!’

‘Yes,’ she’d said. ‘But, you know, you have other conveyancers who can take on most of my clients,’ (Camberwaddle, she’d been assured, was going to come with her), ‘and while I appreciate all the work you and Will have been doing together, I think it’s time for me to start something new.’

‘But?’

‘Plus, you know, I was never quite “corporately sexy” enough,’ she’d added.

This last sentence had seemed to resonate, and he’d grudgingly wished her luck, after which he and Will had disappeared into his office for what he’d later termed some ‘serious mindmapping’.

Then she’d been free to actually plan the next steps of her new life. Ordering office furniture (well, two desks and a couple of chairs), laptops, commandeering mobile phones for herself and Ann. Thinking about how she wanted to shape her new firm. And even looking through CVs for a junior position she hoped to be able to fill in the near future, provided everything went