Perfect on Paper

by Gillian Harvey

  ‘Thank you.’

  Clare could feel Dan’s eyes on her as she disappeared into the women’s loos with Nadia for a try-on.

  ‘You know, you’re doing a good thing,’ Nadia said to her softly as Clare tried on a pair of shiny black trousers and grimaced at the result in the mirror. ‘Those boys, they really need this.’

  ‘I know,’ Clare said. ‘I suppose … that’s why I’m doing it.’

  ‘That can’t be the only reason though,’ Nadia said, holding out a blonde wig for her to try. ‘I mean, you’re pretty good you know?’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘I’d buy your track, and I don’t even like rap normally.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Clare felt her cheeks go red at the unexpected praise.

  ‘And you know, your dancing’s not so bad, whatever Dan says.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that!’

  Nadia looked her up and down and nodded. ‘That looks cool,’ she said.

  Clare turned and looked in the small mirror – she could just about see the top of the trousers. The silver top she’d put on was brighter than she’d usually choose – but the colour suited her. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘And the hair?’

  ‘Well, that wig looks OK. I’ve got other ones though. And colour spray … But maybe we should wait till the day itself before experimenting? The stuff doesn’t wear off quickly!’ Nadia said. ‘But don’t worry. No one will know it’s you, once I’ve finished.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘No problem, Martha B.!’

  Clare changed back into her office clothes before exiting the bathroom to find Dan standing outside expectantly. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘I was hoping to see …’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Nadia told him. ‘You’ll love it.’

  Clare felt herself blush.

  Twenty minutes later, after one more run through, Clare left the hall, clutching a bundle of clothes and with a promise to fine-tune her new lyrics. She dumped everything on the passenger seat, before climbing into her car and putting on her seat belt.

  Before she could turn the key, Dan appeared, jogging effortlessly towards the car.

  ‘Everything OK?’ she said, winding down the window.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I just …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I just thought you should know, I think you should ditch the disguise.’

  ‘Oh, but I can’t.’

  ‘Look, I get it. But think about it. It’s not for the boys. I guess it makes no real difference to them. I’m just a bit gutted that you seem to think being who you are is going to stop people liking you, or wanting to work with you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Gutted for you, I mean. That you feel that way about yourself. I reckon it’ll just make people realise that you’re brilliant in a whole other way.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I just wish,’ he said, his face close to hers. ‘I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, really. I just think you’re brilliant. Really brilliant.’ He shrugged, as if it was obvious.

  ‘Oh.’ She looked at him for a minute – was he saying he liked her? It was impossible to imagine.

  He leaned in slightly and she thought for a moment he might kiss her. But then he seemed to check himself. ‘Well, see you, Clare,’ he said, straightening up.

  ‘See you, Dan.’

  Her hands on the wheel felt slightly sweaty. Why? she wondered. Nerves? Excitement? Would she, she wondered … If he had kissed her would she have kissed him back?

  She started the car as Dan walked slowly back to the hall. ‘Seat belt, seat belt, seat belt,’ said Claudia.

  ‘Thanks, car,’ Clare said. Then, ‘Claudia, radio.’

  ‘Radio on.’

  The radio blared out an advert for solid-wood furniture.

  ‘News,’ Clare said.

  And suddenly, when the channel changed, Clare heard a voice she recognised. ‘Claudia, turn up the volume.’

  ‘Turning up volume.’

  ‘ … that giving women a voice is crucial in this day and age,’ the man’s voice was saying. It was Toby! ‘But it’s about finding the right sort of voice. All this hashtag stuff – all the protests – there must be a better way – and that’s where I come in.’

  ‘So, you feel you can represent women, despite being male?’ the newscaster asked, her voice incredulous. ‘What insight do you think you can bring to the role?’

  ‘Well, as a husband and a father to a young girl, I’m more than aware of the difficulties women still face in society,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘My wife, for example, she finds herself incredibly frustrated at work at times.’

  Clare turned up the volume a little more; perhaps Toby was listening to her occasionally after all.

  ‘Of course, we frequently talk about her concerns, and I like to flatter myself that I understand what it’s like to be a working mother.’

  ‘Right,’ the interviewer sounded yet to be convinced. ‘What about your daughter? What’s that dynamic like?’

  ‘We talk – I mean, she’s almost a teenager, so she doesn’t tell me everything, I’m sure! But she does confide in me.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Now that would be telling,’ he said, with a chuckle.

  ‘That all sounds wonderful, Toby,’ the interviewer interjected. ‘But do you really think you can provide the insight that the viewers have come to expect? For example, what’s your take on the chronic dissatisfaction that women seem to be feeling – highlighted by the rise of the MehToo movement?’

  ‘Ah yes,’ Toby replied. ‘Well, MehToo, while an interesting concept, is really a protest about nothing. A bit of fun online, if you like. Women wanting to be noticed by the men in their lives, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Really?’ The newscaster’s tone became a little more clipped.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Toby replied confidently. ‘That’s what women want more than anything.’

  In the driver’s seat, Clare grimaced. It was like watching her husband walking into a lions’ den with absolutely no understanding of the danger he was in.

  ‘But saying that, I would welcome a dialogue – a consultation if you will – with this Maggie character so that we can discuss more positive ways forward.’

  ‘That was Toby Bailey, newly appointed presenter for Woman’s World, speaking earlier about his role,’ a voice-over cut in. ‘Now to the weather …’

  It wasn’t entirely a disaster, Clare thought to herself as she parked the car. ‘Handbrake, handbrake, handbrake,’ Claudia said as she put the gear into neutral.

  ‘Calm down,’ Clare said, clicking up on the brake.

  ‘You are now parked. You are now parked. You are now parked.’

  She unlocked the door to exit the car.

  ‘Press one for alarm. Press one for alarm. Press one for alarm …’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she snapped, pressing the button as she was told. Honestly, was there anything more paranoid than modern technology?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ‘So,’ Clare said, walking into the living room after dinner and sweeping a pile of crisp packets, abandoned jumpers and dirty plates to one side so she could sit down. ‘You must be on top of the world!’

  Because even though it was probably the most ridiculous appointment in the history of TV, it was still impressive that her husband had suddenly risen to prominence, even if partly on a misapprehension about his feminist credentials.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, his brow furrowed.

  She pushed another pile of rubbish to the side to make room for him. ‘What’s wrong? Come and sit down.’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ he said. �
��I couldn’t find a space.’

  ‘You know, you could, maybe, move some things?’ she said, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. Because telling him to tidy up wasn’t part of the plan. He had to realise it for himself. Hopefully before they all contracted salmonella.

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘You know, maybe the house is getting too small for us now, though. I never noticed it before. But the last couple of weeks, things have seemed a bit well … cramped.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘I can’t put my finger on why, but suddenly it’s as if everything’s sort of closing in. Maybe we need to move?’

  ‘Possibly.’ Clare tried to remain calm. If she let the stress get the better of her she’d end up pointing out the obvious, or clearing everything up before he realised that perhaps he ought to start taking his share of the housework. Then it would just lead to an argument, rather than the life lesson she was aiming for.

  It was just … when she started leaving everyone in charge of their own mess, she hadn’t realised it would take more than a week for them to get the message. What would it take, she wondered? Being buried alive under crockery? Some sort of cockroach infestation? Stray dogs wandering around and shitting on the floor?

  ‘Anyway, I mean, I’m stoked about the job, but some of the lads, you know, Tim and Derek, they’ve been laughing at me a bit, you know, on Facebook,’ he said, moving the topic back to himself.

  ‘Laughing?’

  ‘Yeah, about Woman’s World. Like, it’s no job for a man, or whatever.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Is it a bit weird though,’ he said, looking at her. ‘Being a man in a woman’s world? I mean, imagine what it feels like to have lots of people questioning whether I can cope with my job simply because of my sex.’

  ‘Do you know what? I think you’ll survive,’ she said, giving him a nudge. ‘Come on, those two were going to laugh no matter what role you got. It’s just what they do.’

  ‘I suppose,’ he said, looking a little more heartened and chewing distractedly on a shred of fingernail. ‘It’s just … it’s when you work so hard and have no one take you seriously or say, I dunno, well done or whatever. I feel invisible, Clare.’

  ‘I can only imagine …’

  ‘You know, even Hatty was a bit weird today,’ Toby continued, still completely wrapped up in his own crisis.

  ‘As opposed to every other day, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean, she said something a bit odd.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, twiddling a well-oiled strand of hair around his finger. ‘You know she put a good word in for me, right? About this job thing.

  ‘Well, she was talking about my appointment and she told me that she’d had a word with the head honcho about the role.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And she kind of looked like she might have been crying or something.’

  ‘Oh, poor Hatty.’

  ‘Yeah, I mean I know she was happy for me, but …’

  ‘Maybe you should talk to her. Maybe something’s up,’ suggested Clare.

  ‘You think she’d want me to?’

  ‘I know she would.’

  He put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘Anyway, well done!’ she said, again. ‘It’s kind of a dream job, isn’t it!’

  ‘I never thought,’ he said, ‘when I was stuck on regional news … well, I kind of thought maybe that was as good as it would get for me.’

  ‘Oh, Toby. You were always better than that.’ She caught his eye and as they studied each other’s faces she was relieved to feel a flicker of attraction. The Dan thing was a distraction, she told herself. But this man – despite his obsession with coiffing his hair and donning overpriced designer threads – was still her Toby underneath. The person she’d shared so much with. She couldn’t give up on him just yet.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘How shall we celebrate?’ He made a slight shift towards her on the sofa and put a suggestive hand on her knee. She jumped at the unexpected contact.

  But just as she was about to lean in for a kiss, debris fell off one of the cushions onto the floor, setting off a chain reaction which resulted in a cup of festering tea being tipped on its side.

  At this moment, Alfie lolloped into the room, slinging his kit bag onto the carpet and what was left of the moment was finally broken.

  ‘Good footie practice?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Yeah, OK. But my kit was dirty,’ he said, accusingly.

  ‘Dirty?’

  ‘Yeah. Muddy.’

  ‘Oh dear. Well, I wonder why that was?’ she said, feigning incredulity.

  ‘Not washed,’ he said, glowering at her from under his fringe.

  ‘Well, never mind!’ she said, hoping that it wasn’t too late to save her son from a life of complete dependence on others to get his shit together. Had he put his kit in the laundry basket, she’d have gladly washed it. Hopefully he’d work that out for himself by next week or he was going to start losing friends.

  ‘Right,’ he said, looking confused, ‘anyway, what’s for tea?’

  ‘Alfie!’ she said. ‘For goodness sake!’

  ‘Yeah,’ Toby said. ‘Have some consideration, Alfie!’

  Clare looked at Toby. Had he actually realised how she felt?

  ‘We don’t just ask mum what’s for tea,’ Toby said, sternly, ‘we say, what’s for tea, please?’ He looked at Clare expectantly.

  Once she’d put the chicken in the oven, Clare went up to her daughter’s room. Knocking, she went in, to find Katie at her desk doing some science homework.

  ‘Hi, love,’ she said. ‘Going OK?’

  ‘Yeah, thanks.’

  ‘Dinner won’t be long.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Katie?’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’ her daughter replied, with an edge of impatience.

  ‘Do you talk to Dad?’

  ‘What do you mean? Of course I do!’

  ‘No, I mean … talk to him. Tell him stuff … Maybe stuff that you can’t tell me?’

  Katie was silent for a moment. ‘Maybe sometimes,’ she said. ‘Recently, you know, when you’ve been out.’

  ‘Is … what’s going on?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing. I just had a bit of a problem with someone at school, that’s all.’

  ‘What, bullying?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Do you want me to …’

  ‘Don’t worry Mum,’ said Katie. ‘Dad gave me some advice and I think it’s going to be OK.’

  ‘But you know you can always talk to me, right?’

  Her daughter shrugged again. ‘It’s no big deal, Mum. Anyway, it’s hard to talk to you in your car, what with Claudia and that. It’s like … I dunno, you listen to her more than you listen to me.’

  As she closed the door, Clare wondered whether Toby was actually the only bad listener in the family. Perhaps she had some lessons to learn, too.

  Before she had time to think, her phone flashed with Dan’s number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘All OK?’ He sounded worried.

  ‘Yeah, don’t worry. I’ve sorted out that final lyric. I’ll send you a copy later so you can have a look.’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘Look, what I said … I mean, it’s true. I like you, Clare. But I know … I get that you have a whole life and that, well, nothing can happen.’ Dan said at last.

  ‘Uh huh,’ she said, feeling her face get hot. So he had been telling her something?

  ‘I just wanted to say it, you know?’

  ‘Thank you. And, you know, you too,’ she found herself saying. ‘I mean, if things were different …’

  He was silent again for a moment a
nd she felt her heart thundering against her ribs.

  ‘Dan?’ she said.

  ‘Right. I’ve just had the producer on and they said the car will be with us by 2 p.m. – is that going to work out?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s fine. Just … you know. Around the corner from my office if possible.’

  ‘OK – like a secret agent.’

  ‘Ha!’

  ‘You’ll have to get changed in a phone box.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, like Clark Kent.’

  She snorted. ‘Think I’ll find somewhere a bit less … well, covered in windows.’

  ‘Good point. And Clare? Sorry if I’ve been pressuring you about this. I realise you’re doing the best you can.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Clare felt a bit of a fraud when she left the office at one thirty and Ann had wished her a good afternoon. ‘Have fun,’ she’d said, ‘whatever you’re up to!’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She hated lying to her friend. Although she wasn’t lying as such, but simply neglecting to tell her the truth. There was a difference, right?

  The car arrived dead on time outside the corner shop and she dived into it gratefully. The ride was quiet – Dan and the boys had been picked up separately, so she was able to sit and collect her thoughts.

  She was surprised at the enormity of the TV studio, but was eventually shown to the changing room where Nadia met her to help her with her outfit. Now, sitting with the troupe of fidgeting boys, plus Nadia and Dan, in some sort of green room she felt as if she might be sick at any minute.

  She tugged at her silver top. ‘I look ridiculous,’ she said. ‘Are you sure this suits me?’

  ‘You look great,’ Dan said, catching her eye. She’d never noticed how intense his gaze could be and found herself going red.

  ‘Thank you. It’s … it’s a bit different from my usual style.’

  ‘Seriously, take it from me,’ he said, ‘you’re a MILF.’

  ‘A MILF?’

  ‘Dan!’ Nadia said, sharply.

  ‘You know,’ he continued, ‘mother I’d like to … Oh, well, you know. I just mean you’re going to drive the watching dads wild.’

  ‘Good save,’ she said, giving him a nudge.