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

quite managed to keep the on-head quiff straight; it leaned slightly to the right like an uncertain politician.

Last night, Toby had come home late from a conference of some sort, and she’d been asleep in the dark by the time he’d come to bed. And as she’d showered when she’d arrived home – still itching from the haircut – any changes had been tucked under a towel when she’d seen the kids in the kitchen yesterday evening. This was the first time any of them would see her new look, and she was both excited and nervous about the reaction she might provoke.

She’d chosen one of the more modest of her new outfits, but it was still a complete change from her usual office garb – black, fitted trousers; a silk blouse and a jacket that cinched in her waist in just the right place. It was harder to breathe than usual, but otherwise she felt if not a million dollars then at least a couple of hundred quid.

She entered and clipped casually over to the kettle. ‘Anyone want a tea?’ she said, as if nothing was different about her at all, waiting for the flood of amazed and reverent compliments.

‘No, just had one,’ Toby said, holding up his empty mug as evidence, eyes still fixed on the politics section of the paper.

‘Coffee?’ she said. ‘Croissant?’ Surely, if she kept talking he’d have to take his eyes off the paper for a moment and LOOK AT HER?

‘Better not.’

‘Weetabix?’ she said, a little desperately. ‘Shredded Wheat? Last night’s pizza?’

‘No, thanks,’ he murmured.

‘How about a dead cat’s eyeball?’ she said, not changing her tone. ‘Or, if you like, I could whip you up a dog-shit sandwich?’ She felt a small tear well up in the corner of her eye and flicked it away. As usual, he wasn’t listening.

‘No, thanks, gotta run,’ Toby said, getting up from the table and somehow giving her a crumb-laced post-toast kiss on the cheek without making proper eye contact. ‘See you later.’

The kids, intent on their phones, hadn’t even looked up.

Sod the lot of them, she thought.

She set off in plenty of time for the bus and managed to put her foot firmly inside the vehicle as she waited to board. The same driver looked at her briefly as she paid for her ticket and she gave him what she hoped was a withering look. ‘You know you left me at the stop yesterday morning?’

‘Pardon, luv?’ He pulled one seemingly sticky earpiece from his left ear and leaned closer.

‘Yesterday. You left me at the stop. I banged on the glass.’

He shrugged. ‘Youz not meant to bang on it, you nah,’ he added. ‘Regulations, innit?’

‘But really, that isn’t the point. I was …’

‘You nah, I should really report ya.’

‘What? You, report me?!’ She could feel virtual steam ready to billow from her ears. ‘You …’

But his attention had been taken by the man in the mac who today was at least wearing trousers under his grubby coat, albeit ones that looked to be three inches too short. ‘Awight mate,’ the driver said to him, and Clare was forgotten.

When she arrived at the office she nipped into the loos to make sure her hair and clothes were arranged just so, then strode into the open-plan area where the PAs and juniors sat together.

‘Hello, sir,’ she said pointedly to Nigel as she passed him at Will’s desk.

He looked at her briefly. ‘Good morning, Clare,’ he said. ‘I mean, Carol.’

Ann, at least, noticed that something was different. ‘Ooh, love the new look – very Emma Willis!’ she said. ‘And your trousers look great!’

‘Thanks, you’re the first person who’s actually noticed.’ Clare resisted the urge to give her friend a massive squeeze. It was just a haircut, after all. But she’d begun to think that nobody paid any attention to her at all.

She slipped behind her desk and soon forgot about hairstyles and nipped-in waists (she’d opened the top button on her trousers for breathing purposes). Instead she began to deal with the initial morning admin – the letters and emails and phone calls that came her way each day – and felt herself unwind. Immersing herself in the everyday always relaxed her. Sure it was boring, but it was predictable; it had a shape to it. Subsidence, surveyors’ reports, fixtures and fittings lists, rights of way – however big the problem, she could handle it. If only real life was as simple.

Between files, she thought back to her euphoria yesterday, about her new look. Rather than making her feel better it had brought home to her just how little she seemed to matter to everyone else. Nobody had to like it. She didn’t expect to be scouted by a modelling agency or swept up by a Hollywood film star. But she had thought she might at least get a grunt of acknowledgement from Toby. As it was, he had glanced at her briefly, his eyes glazed, looking through her rather than at her. As if she was a ghost, not a living, breathing wife with pretty frickin’ amazing hair!

She thought again of the mythical Hayley – the PA with all the answers. I bet he notices her, she thought despondently.

In spite of herself, she felt slightly teary. Leaning back in her chair, she dialled the number of the person she knew would make her feel better.

‘So basically you’re fed up that you cut your hair and no one noticed, right?’ Her sister’s voice on the phone was slightly incredulous. In the background, Clare could hear her six-month-old nephew, Wilbur, snuffling against his mum’s shoulders.

‘No, it’s not that, Steph. Not really. I mean, that’s part of it …’ Clare squeezed the point at the top of her nose to hopefully avoid what felt like an impending headache. ‘It’s everyone. No one seems to see me. Toby’s so preoccupied with whether he’ll get his face on TV he never notices me. He disappears at the crack of dawn – or sometimes before –