‘Oh. But … I …’
‘She wants to talk about women’s stuff,’ she’d added darkly, to put to bed any idea he might have about coming with her.
Now, standing on the gravel outside the little hall, she wondered whether she should have just told the truth. He might be wrapped up in his work at the moment, but as far as she knew he hadn’t started lying to her.
She hadn’t meant to lie, really. He’d have probably had a bit of a laugh when he’d found out what she’d got herself into. But he would have been supportive. Either that or completely oblivious. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d have asked her not to go, or anything like that.
It was part of a bad habit, she realised. Her ridiculous self-consciousness about her writing, her poetry. She’d never felt comfortable with Toby, or anyone, reading it. Somehow it would be easier to read it (or rap it) in front of strangers than her own husband. Less personal, sort of.
She felt a flutter of nerves as she looked at the hall and thought about going in. It was odd, because she didn’t feel at all worried these days when she was meeting clients. Going to meetings. She’d switch on her professional persona and breeze through them. So why the butterflies now? Could it be that this was the first time she’d stepped outside her comfort zone in a while? Or was it that, somewhere deep down, this actually mattered to her?
She got out of the car, locking it and making sure the alarm was on. The road was busy, but the group of kids who’d been hanging about last time were nowhere to be seen.
Music was already pumping and she felt a bit like a parent coming to pick her kid up from a school disco. Here’s mum to spoil the fun, she thought – noticing that the trainers she was sporting were grubby and scuffed.
The minute she walked into the room, Dan rushed over and gave her an enormous hug. ‘Oh thank god,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’
He squeezed her to him, and she inhaled his scent – a clean, freshly showered, soapy smell. Hopefully she didn’t smell too strongly of the chicken she’d cooked for lunch – cooking smells had a habit of clinging to her clothes. His arms felt strong around her back and as he released her, she stumbled slightly.
‘But I said I’d come!’ she said.
‘People say stuff,’ he said darkly, ‘but they don’t always do it.’
The rest of the troupe gathered round her like eager puppies. Dan introduced them and she desperately tried to remember their names: Eric, the nine-year-old with glasses who’d joined the dance club after he was bullied at school. Gav, who at thirteen was the oldest of the group. James who lived next door to Gav’s aunt. The names swirled around her head. She’d do her best.
‘All right?’ they said, one by one. And ‘’sup?’
‘Great thanks,’ she said, feeling more like a teacher than a potential rapper. She’d definitely need to change her image if she was going to perform with this little gang.
‘So you’ve brought the … rap?’ Dan asked.
‘Yes.’ She pulled the paper out of her pocket, torn from her notebook.
His eyes scanned the page. ‘This is actually really sick!’
‘Thanks.’ She felt weirdly proud as if she’d been endorsed by one of the cool kids at school.
‘Well we’ve got a track laid down that will probably fit this. If we run through things you can find your rhythm,’ he said.
Her stomach turned over. Rhythm. Did she have any rhythm left in her to find? Or had she shed it with motherhood, together with the ability to bounce on a trampoline or read a book uninterrupted or have a normal-looking belly button. ‘I’ll try,’ she said.
The beat started and the boys’ heads began to move in time.
‘Right gang,’ Dan said. ‘As we rehearsed. One … two … three.’
Clare turned her back on the troupe – who after all would be dancing behind her at their audition – and began to mouth the words from the paper. She began to see how she could shape them and gradually raised her voice, so she could be heard, just slightly, above the backing track.
‘Right,’ Dan said, when they’d run through a couple of times like that. ‘Do you want to go for it, for real?’ He handed her a wireless mic. ‘The kids need to be able to hear you properly.’
It was now or never.
Part of her would have preferred never. But then she thought back to how she’d been feeling recently. Feeling as if nothing in her life was ever going to change and that things were going to be miserably predictable and disappointing for ever.
And here she was. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was doing, but at least it was an adventure.
‘OK,’ she said, hearing her voice amplified alarmingly in the little space. ‘Let’s do this.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘Hello,’ Steph said, three hours later, standing on the doorstep with Wilbur under one arm and an enormous playseat under the other. ‘Is the lady of the house in?’
‘No, she’s bloody not. It’s me or no one,’ giggled Clare.
‘What a disappointment. I suppose you’ll have to do.’
‘Do you want some help? That looks enormous.’
‘Thanks.’ Steph shoved Wilbur into Clare’s arms and he clung to her, his breath hot and quick against her neck.
‘I actually meant the playseat, but I suppose I’ll have to carry the kid instead,’ joked Clare.
‘Honestly, it’s just nice to have something in my arms that will survive if I drop it – I am so knackered.’
‘Oh, Steph, I should have come to yours.’
‘No, honestly, I had to get out of the house. I’d forget how to drive if I didn’t get out sometimes. Plus you have the fancier coffee maker.’
‘Well, that’s true.’
‘Anyway,’ Steph said, once Wilbur had been placed safely in his seat and was playing with what looked like an enormous walrus on a string. ‘You wanted my advice on something. What’s Toby done now?’
Clare had called Steph on her way back from the church hall and asked if she could pop in. Steph had suggested she came over instead. ‘I’ll bring cake,’ she said. ‘And I promise to change Wilbur’s nappy first.’
‘You’re on.’
Now, with crumb-covered plates between them, and nursing their half-drunk coffees, it was time to get the advice of one of the people she trusted most in the world. Alfie was out playing football; Toby was cleaning his shoes in the utility room; Katie was in her room.
‘I … well, I don’t know how to start really,’ Clare said, realising she was blushing. She shifted in her chair slightly, feeling her legs ache from yesterday’s unaccustomed dancing.
‘Toby? Don’t tell me, he’s run off with his secretary,’ Steph laughed.
Clare smiled, but found it hard to join in. Once that would have seemed like a ridiculous joke. These days, she wasn’t sure exactly where she and Toby were. She’d noticed how often he’d drop Hayley’s name into conversations. ‘Hayley says orange is the new magenta.’ Or ‘Hayley says these are bang on trend.’ She pushed the thoughts away.
‘Actually, it’s me,’ she said.
‘You?’
‘Yeah. I’ve got myself in a bit of a weird situation, let’s say.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’
The sisters smiled at each other. Then Clare took a deep breath.
‘The other day,’ she said, ‘I took a day off work …’
‘Wow. Wonders will never cease. Did you cope OK away from the daily grind?’
‘Ha, ha. Look, I know it sounds weird, but I auditioned for “You’ve Got Talent”!’
‘What?’ Steph put her coffee down on the table, slopping a little onto the wood.
‘Hey, don’t be so surprised. I’ve got some talent you know.’
‘Yes, but yours is more of the … well, paperwork variety.’
>
‘Thanks a lot.’
‘No, no, it’s a good thing. Much more lucrative than my rusty tap-dancing skills.’ Steph had been mad on tap dancing when they were kids, taking exams – even performing in a show or two. Clare, who had two left feet, had taken piano lessons for a while, then simply dropped out and concentrated on her homework.
‘Maybe,’ Clare continued.
‘Anyway, seriously – this happened?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re going to have to take me back a step.’
Clare explained about Mr Flasher. About her overwhelming desire to make a difference to her day, to her life. ‘I was just so fed up,’ she said. ‘I wanted to do something different. Then suddenly I thought, why not? I had my little book of scribbles with me. I just wanted to make myself feel alive, shake things up a bit.’
‘You realise that most people would have bought themselves a new pair of shoes or got a haircut?’ Steph said, incredulously. ‘Usually when I want to perk myself up, I buy a new lipstick. Or, I don’t know, stuff some chocolate in my face. Most people don’t relieve the boredom of everyday life by auditioning for a national talent show.’
‘No, I realise it’s a bit … well, unusual. I can’t really explain it – I just, it just sort of happened,’ Clare said, looking at her sister over the top of her mug and shrugging as if it was no big deal. ‘Anyway, I think I could dye my hair blue and no one would notice.’
Steph looked incredulous. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, really. I know it sounds odd. Even odder, I actually enjoyed it!’
‘Well you’re a braver woman than me. Anyway, how did it go?’
‘Well, pretty much as you’d imagine. I think they felt sorry for me actually.’
‘Oh, sis. So you didn’t get through to the grand final, or whatever?’
‘Actually …’
Clare explained that she’d been asked to go back as a rapper. And how her automatic ‘no’ had faltered when she’d realised how much it had meant to the group of dancing boys. ‘I’ve been rehearsing with them this afternoon,’ she admitted. ‘I told Toby I needed to pick something up from work.’
‘Oh my god!’ Steph giggled. ‘This would only happen to you, wouldn’t it? How do you get yourself into these situations?’
‘These situations?’
‘Oh, you know. When we were kids. You were always the one who ended up pushing yourself forward, volunteering for things. Remember when you decided to be mascot for the school football team? Dressing up as that giant bird?’
Yes. She’d forgotten about that.
‘And that time when you auditioned for a background role in the school play and ended up getting one of the main parts.’
It was true, she’d only joined to fit in with her friends.
Perhaps she had form after all. Where had that version of herself gone in the intervening years, she wondered – the part of her who was unpredictable, spontaneous and even occasionally fun?
‘Anyway,’ Clare continued, changing the subject a bit, ‘I’m just not sure what I should do!’
‘What you should do?’
‘Yeah, do I go through with it – they’re talking about a possible TV appearance if we’re chosen. It could get really embarrassing.’
‘Possibly …’
‘And, can you imagine? I’m not sure it would go down very well at work, if I make myself a laughing stock.’
‘But would you be one? Lots of people have hidden talents. Yours is, well, unexpected. But pretty cool. And they’d probably do a back-story on you. You know, about your poems and how it all came about. I don’t think anyone would be laughing.’
‘Maybe. But is it worth the risk? I just don’t know.’
‘God, you’re full of surprises,’ Steph said, shaking her head. ‘I thought you were going to ask me something about the kids, or Toby, or – you know – something normal.’
‘It’s a ridiculous problem to have,’ Clare agreed. ‘But it is a problem. I don’t feel like I can back out. But what if I’m making a huge mistake?’
‘What was the rap about, anyway?’
‘The rap?’
‘Yeah, you and your mates hitting the clubs? Your take on the youf culture of today? The fact that you like big butts?’
Clare laughed. ‘No, it was about … well, how I feel. You know, being a bit “meh” – invisible. Like we spoke about the other day.’
‘A rap about being middle aged?!’
‘I wish people would stop describing me as middle aged!’
‘Sorry. Anyway, what does Toby think?’
‘Toby? He doesn’t know anything about it.’
‘You haven’t told him?’ Steph raised a surprised eyebrow.
‘Well, I sort of tried, but he wasn’t really listening,’ Clare said, shrugging her shoulders.
Steph was silent for a minute, stirring her coffee and absent-mindedly adding another sugar to the already oversweet brew. ‘But surely you should tell him now?’
Clare shrugged. ‘I might,’ she said. ‘But I just feel a bit embarrassed about it all. I don’t know why. And Toby’s so busy …’
Steph nodded. ‘Still, he’d want to know,’ she said.
Clare wasn’t so sure. ‘I suppose … But you know, Toby aside. Do you think I should do it?’
‘Seriously, you reckon these boys deserve a chance?’
‘Yep.’
‘And they think – you can do it in some sort of disguise, right?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Then I think,’ Steph said, looking directly at her with her intense, blue eyes. ‘I think you’re kind of stuck with it, aren’t you?’
‘That’s what I thought.’
Toby walked into the kitchen at that point, and they fell into a sudden silence. ‘Oops,’ he said, grinning at them from under his uncharacteristically messy fringe. ‘Hope I haven’t interrupted anything.’
‘No, don’t worry.’
‘Talking about me, by any chance?’ he grinned, half-serious.
‘Nah,’ Clare said, winking at Steph. ‘We’re just talking about whether I should enter a talent show with a rap about what it’s like to be a neglected wife.’
Toby snorted. ‘You two, when you get together,’ he said, fondly. ‘Completely and utterly mad.’
‘How’s life in the TV fast lane, anyway?’ Steph asked. ‘I hear you’re quite the dinner party hit?’
Toby blushed. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Don’t worry, Toby, I haven’t told her everything about the other night,’ Clare said.
‘Thank god for that.’
‘Although I’d love it if you could show me your limbo moves later!’ Steph quipped.
Toby blushed and Clare felt suddenly sorry for him. ‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t that bad.’
He leaned down and kissed her cheek, for the first time in ages. ‘Thanks, love.’ Then, straightened. ‘Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it,’ he said. ‘See you soon, Steph. Bye little nephew!’ he added, tickling Wilbur under the chin.
Wilbur laughed, a river of drool running stickily from his mouth, as he bounced enthusiastically.
‘Poor Toby,’ Clare said. ‘I’ve been a bit hard on him. He’s really stressed with the new job.’
‘Actually he looks a bit … well, thin – “peaky”, as mum used to say,’ Steph said, nodding.
Does he? ‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Clare said. ‘I mean, I know he’s stressed, but … I think he’s OK.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Steph replied with a grin. ‘You’re a rap star now – you can’t get too hung up worrying about the little people.’
‘Ha! Yes. Check me out!’
‘So, let’s see this rap,’ Steph said, genuinely interested.
‘Really? Wh
at about you? You’ve hardly told me anything about what you’ve been up to recently.’
‘You forget, I spend all my time with a six-month-old. I have to live vicariously through your life, or I wouldn’t be living at all.’ There was a catch in Steph’s voice as she said it.
‘You all right Steph?’
‘Yeah, never better.’
Clare reached over the table and squeezed her sister’s hand. ‘OK, if you’re sure.’
‘Course I am. Come on, let’s see you perform. I need cheering up!’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Seat belt,’ said ‘Claudia’s’ automated voice, rather impatiently, when Clare got in the car on Monday morning. ‘Seat belt, seat belt, seat belt.’
‘OK, OK, Claudia!’ she snapped, clicking the belt into place. ‘Stop nagging.’
Great, now she was talking to the car.
‘Seat belt engaged,’ Claudia replied. ‘Seat belt engaged, seat belt engaged.’ Clare didn’t remember this happening before. Had Claudia gone into some sort of hyper-vigilance mode?
‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘you can shut up now.’
‘Searching for shut up online,’ the car replied.
‘No, no. Don’t search for it,’ she said. ‘Um. Stop search.’
Claudia silenced, Clare began to drive, admiring the smooth steering and easy acceleration. Perhaps the car hadn’t been such a bad choice after all.
‘YOU ARE EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT!’ Claudia suddenly barked at her, when she rounded the corner and headed towards the town centre. ‘YOU ARE EXCEEDING THE SPEED LIMIT!’
Clare looked at the dial. She was doing twenty-four in a twenty miles per hour zone. The car couldn’t really do twenty without stalling. She tried lifting her foot even further from the pedal and was rewarded by a series of bucks and starts. A light flashed on the dashboard – a little car with an ‘x’ through it. That couldn’t be good.
Instead, she accelerated again, wound her windows up and tried to cover the sound of her on-board computer having a near-breakdown with the radio. By the time she parked the car, she had a headache and had treated half of Hatfield to the delights of a nineties pop compilation.
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