Perfect on Paper

by Gillian Harvey

  ‘Almost there?’ Clare panted. ‘I thought I’d nailed it!’ In all honesty, she’d nearly missed tonight’s rehearsal. Surely if they’d just successfully performed on TV, they’d easily ace their imminent performance. And she felt pretty shaken after Camberwaddle’s collapse. But Dan was a perfectionist. And for some reason she struggled to say no to him.

  ‘We can’t let up now,’ he’d told her on the phone. ‘This is our chance to be great – truly great.’

  ‘I just feel …’

  ‘I know,’ he’d conceded. ‘It must have been awful. But you know, endorphins.’

  She’d known he’d get her on the endorphins. He was obsessed with them. Although he was right – a bit of movement was probably just what she needed.

  He looked at her now, worried. ‘Well, it wasn’t bad,’ he conceded at last.

  ‘Surely it would be better if I just stood there and rapped and just danced a tiny bit, like last night.’

  ‘But you heard what the guy at the studio said yesterday after the show, they thought the bits when we were more – I dunno – together were really cool. We’ve got to take it on board.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, looking at his hopeful face. ‘Look, Dan. You do know that you lot will probably still make it now, don’t you? After the TV thing? You’ve already had that agent on the phone. You’ve had the exposure you need.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ he said, his eyes full of yearning, ‘but just imagine what might happen if we won the competition.’

  ‘We kind of already did,’ she said. ‘I mean, we were on national TV. It’s pretty much like having the prize already.’

  ‘Yeah, but winning, getting on TV again … it’s the start of something,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a music producer in touch too – just someone local, but he reckons we ought to lay down a track.’

  She had the now familiar sensation of going over a speed bump too fast.

  ‘Just … just don’t get your hopes up too much,’ she said. ‘It’s great, but I’m not sure. I still haven’t decided if I want to carry on. Even if there is interest in us after the comp.’

  ‘I know,’ he conceded. ‘But then I always think – what’s wrong with having some hope? Even if it turns out badly, it’s better to have believed in it for a while, isn’t it?’

  Carpe diem. Seizing the day. Making the most of opportunities.

  She thought about her conversation with Stefan’s wife, Dawn, the day before. ‘He’s collapsed; they’ve taken him to hospital,’ she’d said.

  ‘That stupid man.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I told him,’ Dawn had said, her voice thick with angry tears. ‘I told him to take it easy; but he wouldn’t listen would he? You’d think after building up a multi-million property business he’d have taken a bit of time to enjoy his success. But no. It’s an addiction.’

  Later, Dawn had rung her back from the hospital. ‘He’s OK,’ she’d said. ‘But his heart … well, it was a close thing apparently.’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Clare had said, not really knowing what she was supposed to say.

  ‘And me too. Sorry that I was a bit weird when you rang and told me. It was just … I suppose I’ve been waiting for that call for the last five years. Waiting for him to burn himself out – it does something to you.’

  ‘I completely understand,’ Clare had said. And she had. She could imagine exactly how frustrating it must have been to watch someone you love continue down a damaging route and not be able to get them to stop. Like Toby, she thought, suddenly. Steph was right – he had been looking peaky. And the weight loss, sure it was healthy that he’d got rid of his emerging gut, but maybe there was more to it?

  ‘Stefan said you were nice,’ Dawn said, before they ended the call. ‘It’s good to finally talk to you.’

  Was she nice, though? She thought about the mountains of rubbish she’d had to wade through this morning just to exit the house. The fact that Katie’s homework book had had ketchup stains on it when they’d finally found it on the kitchen counter. The fact that her husband – on the day he was recording his first show – had been forced to go to work wearing her underwear because she’d refused to wash anything that hadn’t made it into the wash basket.

  ‘It’ll be good for you,’ she’d giggled as he’d squeezed into her lacy knickers. ‘Really putting yourself in a woman’s position.’

  ‘You know,’ he’d said, turning this way and that in front of the mirror. ‘These don’t actually look too bad on me.’

  Half an hour later, she and Dan had both had enough of her attempts at dancing. ‘Suppose you’re not a dancer anyway,’ he’d admitted grudgingly, ‘I mean, the rap’s the thing, right?’

  ‘We can only hope.’

  ‘But you will practice?’

  ‘I will,’ she said. She meant it, too.

  He’d kissed her then, on the cheek.

  ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Oh, you know,’ he’d said. ‘Just thanks for everything I suppose.’

  Driving home, she’d found it hard to stop thinking about it. Why did Dan like her? He was only a few years younger than her, but it seemed as if he was from a different generation. He was so fit, so full of fun and dreams.

  She reached briefly and touched the cheek where he’d kissed her. It was just a friendly thing, she told herself. She was overthinking things as usual.

  Arriving home, the last person in for once, she picked up the coats from the hallway and hung them up; instantly feeling a little bit better. Walking through to the living room, she found Toby, sitting on a sofa that had been half cleared – evidently he was learning to troubleshoot enough to find somewhere to rest his bottom.

  It wasn’t much, but she clocked it up as progress anyway.

  ‘Where’re the kids?’ she asked.

  ‘Upstairs doing homework,’ he replied. ‘Or that’s what they said, at least.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘We cooked a pizza,’ he said, looking at her as if for approval.

  ‘That’s … that’s great.’

  ‘There’s a slice for you through there.’

  ‘Oh! Thank you!’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He shifted slightly in his seat. ‘How was your meeting?’

  ‘Oh, OK.’

  ‘And that Camberwaddle guy – still in hospital?’

  ‘Yeah, but he’s going to be OK, I think.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Are you OK?’ she asked, noticing his downbeat tone.

  ‘Yeah. Well, kind of. It’s not been the best day,’ he replied.

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. Let’s just say there was an incident in the loos.’

  ‘Knickers?’

  ‘Knickers.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yeah, and then when we went into the studio, Hatty saw the top of them poking out of my trousers and decided to, um, ping my elastic.’

  ‘She didn’t!’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to say. She’s kind of my boss; I guess I’m going to have to put up with some of it.’

  ‘You shouldn’t …’

  ‘Anyway,’ he said, ‘that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. After work I was walking to my car and, well, I’d taken my jacket off, and there were paparazzi …’

  ‘Right?’

  ‘And, you know. I bent to get in and … well, the knickers. Cameras.’

  She nodded. ‘Online?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, ‘I daren’t even go on social media right now.’

  ‘Oh, Toby. But how about you make a joke of it – face up to it? It could make for a fun discussion? Gender roles, that kind of thing.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘You know,’ he said as if astonished, ‘that�
�s actually not a bad idea.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And you’re OK, you know – physically?’ she prompted.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know – I guess you’ve been looking a bit pale recently. I thought maybe you were overdoing it or I don’t know, a bit too stressed?’

  ‘I suppose I am, a bit,’ he said.

  ‘Work stuff?’

  ‘No. Well, yes that. But also … it’s us.’

  ‘Us?’ She felt suddenly afraid. ‘I mean I know things haven’t been ideal, but …?’

  ‘I just wondered – is there something you want to tell me?’

  She felt slightly sick. Had he recognised her on TV? She thought frantically of her Martha B. outfit, crammed into a carrier bag in her wardrobe. Maybe he’d found it. Maybe he’d put two and two together. She was going to have a lot of explaining to do.

  ‘You just … well, you’re late again. And I know you left work on time, I rang in and you’d already gone.’

  ‘Oh!’ She felt herself relax. He was worried she was having an affair. Not starring in her own rap group.

  ‘Is there … is there something I need to know about?’

  This was a difficult question to answer honestly. There was something she probably ought to tell him. But it wouldn’t be what he expected. ‘No, not really.’

  ‘What do you mean, not really?’ he paled.

  ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘Seriously, nothing like that. I’m not having an affair.’ She sat down next to him, the sofa crinkling with plastic packets. ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘Oh. So, what?’

  ‘I’m not sure if I’m ready to tell you yet.’

  He looked at her alarmed. ‘Are you … are you ill or something?’

  It was time. ‘Look, I wasn’t going to say anything – I suppose I sort of wondered whether you’d put two and two together after the TV thing. But I’m Martha.’

  He looked at her with complete confusion.

  ‘What?’

  She couldn’t do it, she realised. Not until she knew what she wanted to do about it. He’d think she was completely mad.

  ‘I mean … I’m like Martha – you know, Martha B. I want to … I’m just trying to do something for myself. Something … well, different.’

  ‘And you can’t tell me about it?’

  ‘Not yet. I will. It’s just …’

  ‘And you’re not having an affair?’

  ‘I am absolutely not having an affair,’ she said, her mind suddenly darting to a picture of Dan, his lips pressed to her cheek.

  ‘Then I guess I’ll have to trust you,’ Toby said, kissing her gently.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now, let’s get this sofa cleared off shall we? I think I got a paper cut on my arse from that empty Pringle packet.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘So you’re sure you can’t make the quiz tonight?’ Ann asked as they sat together on a bench munching a lunch of shop-bought sandwiches.

  One benefit – if there could be such a thing – of having a cupboard office that stank to high heaven was that she was breaking the habit of eating her lunch over her computer, Clare thought. Instead, she’d been out twice for a proper lunch this week, and today – to celebrate a rare moment of sun – she had chosen to hit the park with Ann.

  ‘Not this time,’ she said, her cheeks reddening. She wondered why she hadn’t told Ann the truth about her busy evening. It wasn’t as if her friend would misjudge her or laugh at her – hopefully. And she wasn’t exactly going to ring up the clients and spill the beans.

  ‘And you’re sure everything’s OK?’

  Clare nodded, then said, ‘Look, I can trust you right?’

  ‘Of course!’ Ann’s brow furrowed with concern. ‘I knew … I mean, I felt there was something up. Is it the office stuff? You’re not feeling depressed? Look,’ she reached and grabbed Clare’s hand, ‘whatever it is, we’re in it together, OK?’

  ‘Oh God, it’s nothing … I mean, you don’t have to worry about me,’ Clare said, quickly. ‘There’s … I’m perfectly well, all things considered.’ She felt a pang of guilt – had her economy with the truth made her friend worried? ‘I … well, you know a few weeks ago, I took the day off sick?’

  ‘Oh, the underpants day!’ Ann grinned.

  ‘That’s the one! Well, I wasn’t … it wasn’t strictly true, I didn’t have a sickness bug; I was so fed up with it all … and then I found myself …’

  Ann nodded, her face full of sympathy and concern.

  ‘Auditioning for You’ve Got Talent – the local round.’

  ‘What?’ Ann looked as if she thought she’d possibly misheard. ‘An audition?’

  ‘Well, yeah …’

  ‘What … why … Why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘Oh, I hadn’t realised I was going to do it until I sort of found myself doing it …’

  ‘How does that even happen?’

  Clare explained about the bus. About getting on it almost on a whim.

  ‘But … no offence, but what talent?’ Ann said, her brow still furrowed. ‘You don’t play an instrument do you, or dance, I don’t think?’

  ‘You know my poems?’

  ‘Well, sort of. You never let me read them, remember?’

  ‘Yeah, well, I find it … it’s just embarrassing, isn’t it? The window into my soul and all that.’

  ‘OK?’ Ann was looking at her with a different kind of concern.

  ‘It was … I mean, it wasn’t planned. I just – the bus turned up at my usual stop, taking people to the auditions and I got on. I had my notebook and I thought, what the hell!’

  ‘Good for you!’ Ann said, her face splitting in an unexpected smile.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, it’s private isn’t it – like asking to read someone’s diary? But I always felt curious about your writing, like it was a piece of you that you were ashamed of or something … so yeah. Good for you!’

  ‘It didn’t go as planned!’

  It was a good thing, Clare thought later, that Ann had known her for a long time. Because coming out as an undercover internet rap sensation was not for the faint-hearted. When she’d brought up the YouTube footage on her phone to show Ann, her friend had been amazed.

  ‘I saw that and thought how great it was,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t recognise you at all! But it’s obviously you – I can see it now!’

  ‘Don’t worry, nobody else has made the connection, thank goodness,’ Clare said. ‘You don’t expect it do you?’

  ‘You can say that again. I’ve always thought you were quite … well, shy really?’

  ‘Shy?’

  ‘Well, you know. You’re great at your job, and confident – although maybe not corporately sexy,’ quipped Ann, ‘but when you’ve been to the quiz, or we’ve been out, you’re always quite reserved, aren’t you?’

  Clare had always felt a little awkward – a remnant from her chronically shy schooldays. But she hadn’t realised it was noticeable to anyone else.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, don’t get me wrong, it’s not a bad thing,’ Ann said. ‘Better than being like Will and letting it all hang out.’

  ‘Well, there is that. No Lycra unitards here!’

  The pair of them grinned.

  ‘I honestly didn’t think you had it in you,’ Ann said. ‘Wow.’

  ‘I don’t think I do have it in me really. I’m sort of forcing myself to do it. You know, giving the boys their chance. It’s nice – it’s nice being up there when you’re in the moment. And it’s thrilling getting my words out there, I suppose. But it’s not something I’m going to go forwards with afterwards.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Wel
l, who’d give up living this dream?’ Clare said, brandishing her cheese and pickle sandwich. ‘Corner office, great career, cheese-and-pickle for lunch.’

  ‘You’ve got a point,’ Ann smiled.

  ‘And you don’t think I’m weird?’

  ‘I think,’ her friend said, ‘you are absolutely brilliant.’

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Clare had driven to the theatre straight after work to meet up with Dan, get changed, and have a quick run through before they took part in the televised auditions. To the public it would be round one, but in reality they’d already been through two auditions to get this far. She’d never look at reality shows in the same way.

  As she put the final touches to her stage make-up – ensuring she really looked nothing like Martha B.’s shy alter ego Clare, she noticed she’d had two missed calls from Toby. Poor Toby. She’d told him she had to go to some sort of lecture this evening but he hadn’t looked too convinced.

  She couldn’t ring him back now – they were due to go on in ten minutes and everyone seemed to be almost rigid with stress about timings. A man with a clipboard called out the time every thirty seconds or so, and each time he did, different people went scurrying here and there in order to fulfil their various roles.

  ‘I’m not feeling too confident,’ she whispered to Dan.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t back out now.’

  ‘Want a bet?’

  But he was right. Adrenaline pumped through her veins and she’d give almost anything to rush out into the street and get home in double-quick time. But she’d never forgive herself if she did.

  Eezee Troupe were dressed in black trousers and white T-shirts with an ‘E’ emblazoned on them in a bright yellow. Nadia had spent the last week printing out and ironing on special labels for the occasion.

  The outfit she’d finally settled on for Clare – who, it seemed, didn’t get a lot of say in it any more – was a pair of bright yellow jeans with a matching T-shirt. She’d stand out on the stage like a beacon. ‘But no one will know it’s you,’ Nadia had reassured her, expertly applying make-up and helping her to fit her new blonde wig. ‘So it doesn’t matter, right?’