Perfect on Paper

Home > Other > Perfect on Paper > Page 13
Perfect on Paper Page 13

by Gillian Harvey


  At the time, she’d doubted she’d manage to squeeze it in on the way home. After all, Nigel’s training meetings were renowned for going on at least an hour longer than they needed to.

  But high on the euphoria of playing hooky, she and Ann had raced to the car park and driven off at top speed. And as soon as she’d put some distance between herself and a Lycra-clad staffroom, she’d dialled to tell him the good news.

  Driving to the hall, she realised she was smiling. Had it been Dan’s enthusiasm that had made her feel good? His almost ridiculous gratefulness? Or was it actually that she was looking forward to seeing him? It was hard to know.

  Clare pulled up outside the hall, hearing the now familiar beat bursting forth from the tiny building. Stepping inside, she watched the troupe flip and jump the final bars of the track and then clapped, her notebook tucked under her arm.

  ‘Hey, Clare!’ they said, almost in unison.

  ‘Hey, yourselves,’ she replied, grinning.

  ‘Is that a new rap you’ve got under your arm?’ Dan said.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘kind of. You know, for the audition.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ he said as she gave it to him. There was an awkward silence as he read the lines, his lips moving unconsciously as his eyes scanned the words.

  After a moment’s pause, she could hardly bear it. ‘Is it OK?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re … well, I’m blown away,’ he said at last.

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Of course, seriously! Look, you’ve got to get over this.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, this feeling you’re not good enough. You obviously are good enough,’ he said, looking at the paper again. ‘Wow!’

  ‘I don’t know …’

  ‘But you do though,’ he said, pulling out his mobile and putting up the footage again. ‘Or at least, Martha does.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘That woman,’ he said, gesturing to the flickering figure on his phone. ‘She knows she’s got what it takes.’

  Clare watched again as the stranger that was really her danced and rapped on the tiny screen. Martha looked confident, full of something she never felt she had these days.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I guess she does. I guess I do.’

  ‘And you’re good. You’re like really good.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘If you don’t believe me, let me post it online. No one will recognise you,’ he said, his thumb already poised for action.

  ‘I dunno.’ She made a face.

  ‘There you go again. Look, they talk about the X factor, right? Star quality or whatever.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. And you’ve got it. When you perform, you change. Something comes out – it’s like you’re free, you know? Like something’s being released.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So, I’ll put it up?’

  ‘OK,’ she said, only half sure. ‘As long as you don’t think …’

  ‘No, no one’s gonna know it’s you.’ Dan rolled his eyes.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The face?’ She rolled her eyes back at him and he grinned.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t know it was that obvious. I suppose it’s that if it was me, I’d want people to see it. I’d want them to know it was me.’

  Clare nodded. She understood. But it was going to take a lot more for her to come out of the rap star closet.

  Dan pressed upload before she was absolutely sure she’d agreed, and then it was gone. Lost in cyberspace to be judged by the masses.

  The rehearsal was a bit shaky at times – she’d barely memorised the new lyrics, so her performance was a little off base. Once or twice she’d had to stop and pull the paper from her pocket to check something. Otherwise, though, she had to admit they were getting pretty good. It had felt good, too.

  Maybe Dan was right. Maybe Martha B. had been there all along.

  ‘Already one hundred and twenty likes,’ Dan said, waving his phone at her when they were packing up to leave.

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘And mostly good comments.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘See, Martha B. You’re gonna hit the big time in no time.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Clare woke up, feeling the flickers of white winter sunshine on her skin, and opened her eyes. ‘What’s up with you?’ said a voice. Toby.

  She squinted at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re smiling!’

  She was, she realised. ‘And that’s OK, I presume?’ she said, in a mock-haughty voice.

  ‘Of course, m’lady,’ he said, grinning and doffing an imaginary cap. ‘It’s just nice to see you happy.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Not saying you’re usually miserable or anything,’ he added hastily. ‘But … well, you know.’

  She nodded. She knew.

  Their eyes locked for a second. He was standing by the chest of drawers, trousers on but not buttoned, holding a T-shirt he was in the process of slipping on. His stomach was flatter than it had been for years. He was no Dan, she found herself thinking, but he was looking pretty hot. Catching her gaze, Toby dropped the T-shirt suddenly and walked over to her.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’d like me to help keep that smile there,’ he said, leaning towards her.

  ‘Oh, and how do you intend to do that?’ she grinned, holding her arms up to receive his embrace.

  ‘I have my little ways,’ he smiled, bringing his lips closer to hers for a kiss. He tasted of toothpaste and she was aware that having only just woken up she probably tasted slightly less than minty fresh.

  ‘Let me just …’ she said, trying to wriggle out of his embrace.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Pretty sure I stink.’

  ‘You smell just fine to me,’ he said, kissing her again.

  ‘If you insist …’

  Later, when she was filling in new client forms and logging phone calls on her time sheet, Clare found she was still smiling. She hadn’t realised how long it had been and had all but forgotten how nice sex with Toby actually could be. They’d lain there afterwards for a while, like a cliché in a romance film, her leaning up on his chest, his arm around her back.

  She was thinking about it again when her phone pinged into life: Good news! said the text from Dan. We’re trending!

  Trending?

  What do you mean? she replied.

  Take a look! It’s all over Twitter!

  She’d got an account on Twitter but was more of an Instagram person really. As a result, she only had about ten followers – at least two of whom were bots. She logged into her account anyway and clicked the list of hashtag trends for mentions of Eezee Troupe or Martha B. There was nothing.

  Perhaps Dan hadn’t meant genuinely trending – after all that would mean thousands of people were retweeting the video. Perhaps he just meant they had a few likes.

  Can’t see it? she texted Dan.

  Look on my profile @Dan_The_Man, he replied.

  And her blood ran cold. There was a little video playing, with her face, luckily too out-of-focus to be properly recognised, but her rap was loud and clear.

  And the reason she hadn’t noticed a hashtag trending was because it wasn’t Eezee Troupe or even Martha B., or You’ve Got Talent that had been picked up, but a word from her rap.

  This is brilliant! You’re right girl – I feel #Meh a lot of the time.

  I agree with her – fed up with being judged for my looks #Meh!

  Me too. #MehToo

  Too right I feel #MehToo

  About time someone spoke up for women like me #MehToo

  Martha B. is the nuts! #MehToo

  Looking at
the hashtag as it gathered pace, Clare put her hands to her face. What on earth was happening?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Driving to the office, the following morning, Clare felt herself relax. Although people would probably think she was weird if she admitted it, she found work – the sheer routine of it – soothing. She was at the top of her game and things rarely floored her once she was in her element. She didn’t have to think about dirty plates, dinner times, distracted husbands or the fact she’d become something of an internet sensation.

  She felt less positive when she thought about how her lovely office with its muted green walls and solid wooden bookshelves was no longer hers. Entering her new room, she could still smell the ghost of trainers past. She could hardly fit herself around the corner to get to her seat and, as she sank into the tattered office chair and felt its habitual wobble, she was reminded again that down the hall in her old office Will was enjoying the delights of her specially purchased, leather swivel chair.

  ‘It goes with the desk, though?’ he’d said when she’d asked whether she could swap it back. ‘The other one’s too small.’

  ‘So, swap the desks too?’ she said. ‘I’ve been using that one for years.’

  ‘Ah, Nige reckons it wouldn’t fit in the cupbo … your office.’ He’d smiled, apologetically and she’d had to retreat to her office sharpish before she’d given in to the urge to grab the chair from under him and roll it off down the corridor.

  Martha B. would never put up with this shit, she thought darkly.

  Other than having to take regular breaks to remind herself that she didn’t live underground, the rest of her day at work went OK. She stopped briefly on the way home to run through a couple of new moves in the now familiar church hall and promised faithfully to practice them herself at home.

  As she got home and unlocked the front door her phone began to ring. She put it to her ear and, kicking an empty crisp packet out of the way, began to speak. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Martha B.’ The voice was husky, unrecognisable.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Pfft, it’s Steph, you idiot!’ replied her sister, this time using her normal voice.

  ‘God’s sake, Steph – you scared the life out of me then!’ she said, placing her keys gently on the hall table before slipping off her coat and carefully hanging it on the empty hooks. Everyone else’s coats, she noticed – even Toby’s – had been flung towards the hooks, missed, and were left on the floor for her to pick up.

  Feigning obliviousness, she walked across them towards the kitchen.

  ‘Sorry. Viral star!’

  ‘Oh, don’t. You saw it?’ Clare could feel herself getting hot.

  ‘You bet I saw it! I even tweeted about it!’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘Why not? I loved it – that whole “meh” thing. You may have started a whole new feminist movement!’

  ‘You’re not going to tell anyone, though, are you?’ Clare said, wondering if she might have to bribe her sister to avoid being outed on social media.

  ‘Why not? You were actually great!’

  ‘Yeah, but work …’

  ‘Come on, those old fuddy duddies at work need shaking up – you could teach them some proper moves instead of that … what was it – corporately slutty stuff?’

  ‘Corporately sexy. And you’d better be joking.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Martha. Your secret is safe with me. Although to be honest, I doubt anyone would believe me anyway. I showed John the footage and he said he thought he’d seen you on TV before sometime, but that was it.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yeah, he said something like “Hasn’t she been on EastEnders or something?”’ Steph said in a remarkably accurate impression of her husband.

  ‘Probably thought I was Dot Cotton.’

  ‘More like Phil Mitchell.’

  ‘Thanks a lot! So, you’re feeling better?’

  ‘Same as usual, I guess.’ Steph’s voice wavered slightly. ‘You know. Knackered, wondering what the point of it all is.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Oh, ignore me. I’m OK. Hormones.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can come over, you know.’

  ‘I know. Thanks sis. I just … I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Seriously? You’re not feeling, well, too low?’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Steph replied, sounding more normal. ‘I’m just moaning. It’s therapeutic to let it all out, so they say.’

  The idea of letting it all hang out brought a vivid picture of Nigel into Clare’s mind and she shuddered slightly. ‘It’ll get easier you know,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t explain it, but it just does.’

  ‘So you say.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Anyway, don’t go changing the subject, rap star!’

  ‘Oh, stop it.’

  ‘Have you thought what you’re going to do when your family see it properly?’ Steph said then. ‘I mean, are they seriously not going to recognise you?’

  ‘I’m trying not to think about it.’

  ‘Just tell them.’

  ‘I tried,’ Clare explained. ‘Toby thought I was joking.’

  ‘Well, it’s understandable.’

  ‘And I was going to sit him down and really explain. But then I thought, well, maybe this can just be something for me, for now. The boys, Dan, they really love me, you know? It’s like I’m in this little secret club and for once I’m the most important member.’

  ‘Dan, eh? The one with those come-to-bed eyes?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing like that,’ Clare said, perhaps a little too quickly. ‘I can’t explain it. It’s like I can be a whole different me when I’m there. A me who maybe hasn’t been able to take the reins much in my life so far.’ She may have mentioned to Steph that Dan was attractive, and seemed to see her. But she didn’t feel anything for him, not like that. Not really.

  ‘Crazy you?’

  ‘Fun me.’

  ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘Ha.’

  ‘Actually,’ her sister said, sounding more serious. ‘I do get it, you know. Sometimes having a bit of an escape, it just – well, it’s stress relieving isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s it. And, don’t say anything to anyone, but Dan reckons I’m actually good at it. And I sort of don’t want that bubble to burst. I don’t want people to laugh at me or say I’m ridiculous or whatever.’

  ‘You’re waiting until you’re on TV for that?’

  ‘That probably won’t happen,’ Clare swallowed. ‘I’m … I don’t know … If it does, I … Maybe people will like it.’

  ‘Course they will. You’re a Twitter sensation! Already a hashtag.’

  ‘Thanks, sis.’

  Steph sighed. ‘I’d better go anyway, Wilbur’s grizzling. Guess he wants to drain my poor boobs again.’

  ‘Ouch, poor you.’

  ‘Yep. Still, keeps John off them I suppose!’

  ‘Steph!’

  ‘Yes, Martha?’

  ‘See you soon?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  After the usual chaos of dinner time, Clare walked through to the living room with her coffee, half amazed and half aghast at how much debris had accumulated there over the last couple of days. Had she really been clearing up after her family to this extent all the time? And, if so, why hadn’t anyone mentioned the change, or thought to clear a bit of the mess themselves?

  Rather than sit looking at it, or getting into an argument with Toby, who seemed intent on watching the news to see if his segment on remote controlled Zimmer frames had made it, she decided to go upstairs. ‘I’ll do a bit of reading in the bedroom,’ she said to Toby. ‘See you in a bit?’

  ‘Night love.’

  ‘Bloody family,’ she said to
the cat, who was sitting on her duvet licking its arse. ‘At least you clean up after yourself, puss. Even if it does involve doing that.’

  The cat jumped off the bed before regarding her haughtily and snaking around the half-open door onto the landing.

  Settling onto her bed, Clare allowed herself a bit of social media time to unwind. She’d have a little scroll, read a bit of news – nothing political – then go to bed. It was either that, commit murder, or give in and do the washing-up – and she was determined not to fall for either temptation, at least for now.

  Her news feed had helpfully provided her with a selection of random articles from different publications chosen through an algorithm based on her Google history. ‘Anti-ageing secrets of the over 40s!’, ‘Five diet tricks for losing weight!’, ‘Celeb Fashion Fails!’ and ‘People living in Hatfield are going wild for this new pizza recipe!’

  Scrolling down, she stopped on an article towards the bottom of the page. ‘Why Britain’s Women Need Martha B.’ It had been written by Felicity Bradshaw, who penned a column for one of the broadsheets once a week.

  Feeling sick, Clare clicked on the link and there in high resolution was a photo of her leering into the camera, brows furrowed, mouth in a snarl, shades thankfully obscuring any identifying features.

  ‘A new sensation leapt to our attention this week in the form of Martha B. – a middle-aged rapper on a mission to change the view of women of a certain age,’ the article began.

  Backed by a dance troupe, Martha, forty-seven, bewitched the YouTube audience with her rap about the plight of the older woman.

  But what is it about this slightly ordinary-looking woman that has captured viewers’ hearts? Is it her dance moves? (Probably not.) Her rapping? (Possibly.) Or is it simply that women up and down the land can see a little of themselves in Martha?

  Who says that rappers have to be current and cool? Or that women have to quietly blend into the background at a certain age?

  With her rap, which encourages listeners to see the ‘book’ rather than its ‘cover’, Martha has set down a challenge to the people of the UK – don’t write others off because of their age. And never, ever, underestimate a middle-aged woman.

 

‹ Prev