Perfect on Paper

by Gillian Harvey

‘Yesterday?’ Clare asked.

  ‘Yes, didn’t he tell you? Oh, that’s so like Toby! Not wanting to upset you.’

  ‘But what happened?’ Clare studied her husband’s face.

  ‘Oh, just some of these MehToo women. Waving placards during my interview, that sort of thing.’ Toby’s cheeks began to flush slightly.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And, well … Yelling things about me in the street.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And yesterday, well, they flew a blimp outside the window in the studio during filming,’ Toby reddened even further. ‘It was supposed to be me. Wearing high heels, lipstick and knickers – you know, after that photo of me went viral. They’re angry about the Woman’s World thing. It’s all over the internet.’

  ‘Oh Toby!’ She hadn’t had a chance to watch anything – in fact, she’d avoided the news, not wanting to see any clips of the show that had now – again, according to Dan’s texts – gone viral.

  ‘But I’ve got it in hand,’ Toby said, slipping an arm around her waist.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, believe it or not, I managed to get through to the woman herself on the phone last night. Martha B.,’ he grinned, his ears reddening.

  ‘Oh, that’s amazing!’ Hatty said.

  ‘Yes, she’s agreed to have an interview with me – hopefully this week. I hope we can get a handle on this thing.’

  ‘Right. How?’ Clare said, a little too sharply.

  ‘In fact, I was going to speak to you later,’ Toby said, reaching for Clare’s hand and squeezing it earnestly. ‘But I really hope you’ll come with me to the interview. You know, a bit of solidarity, moral support. You can stay in the green room – maybe even meet the woman herself!’

  In any other situation, she would have, but this was tricky. ‘Well …’ she began.

  ‘I think it’ll look good, you know – play out well in the media,’ he added.

  ‘Well, work’s quite busy … but …’ stammered Clare. ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘That’s a girl!’ Hatty said, winking.

  Clare broached the subject again after Hatty and Bill had left. ‘Toby,’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’ he looked up from the crossword he was attempting.

  ‘Do you … did you hear much of what I said last night?’

  ‘Last night?’

  ‘Yes. Um … I told you something, in bed?’

  ‘Oh.’ His cheeks flushed. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ She noticed again that her husband’s face looked a bit pinched and tired. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m … yeah, I guess.’ He looked awkward and shifted slightly in his chair.

  She’d been angry about his dropping asleep on her, but looking at his face now, she was more concerned. ‘Why do you think you’re so tired?’

  ‘Not sure,’ he shrugged. ‘I guess, irregular hours. They say that’s pretty crap for the constitution.’

  ‘Is the job worth it, Toby?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. ‘If anything, being on Woman’s World should mean that things will get a bit more regular now. No news reports – or very few. Mostly arranging things at more sociable hours.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘And you know, the worries – about the protest and that. I hope … I think I can get on top of things. The Martha B. interview might help. And Hatty’s going to advise me a bit on language.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘So,’ he said, looking at her. ‘Sorry I fell asleep … I’m awake now – I think!’ he smiled sheepishly. ‘What did you want to tell me?’

  She couldn’t do it, she realised. She couldn’t blow her cover – he needed Martha to rescue him first.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Clare let herself into the meeting room cautiously, not quite sure what she’d find behind the door. To her relief, Nigel and Will were – at least at the moment – dressed in their normal office wear. And there wasn’t a leotard in sight.

  A few other staff members were there, including Ann, who’d been waiting for her this morning with a bunch of flowers. ‘You were amazing!’ she’d said.

  ‘I can’t believe you came!’

  ‘Where else would I be!’ her friend had said.

  Clare took her seat next to Ann and they grinned at each other. ‘No live performances tonight then?’ Ann quipped.

  ‘Never can tell.’

  On the whiteboard at the front of the room, someone had scribbled ‘Are you feeling Corporately Sexy?’

  ‘Hi, hello,’ Nigel said, a few minutes later when it was clear that this was the sum total of attendees. ‘How are you feeling today?’

  ‘Fine thanks!’ Clare said, at the same time as everyone else chanted out ‘corporately sexy!’

  Nigel shot her a look. ‘Did you, er, not get the email?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘I haven’t had a chance to check through my inbox this morning.’

  ‘Right,’ Nigel said, disappointedly, shuffling some papers. ‘Well, today’s workshop is about positive mantras. Will?’

  Will stepped forward, clearly in his element. ‘Thanks, Nigel,’ he said, as if he was a TV news reporter receiving a handover from the studio. ‘Well, thank you all for coming today. I think you’ll find this session particularly useful.

  ‘Hans Hankerton writes in chapter thirty of his book Be Your Own Guru, that in order to be corporately sexy, we must embody the concept. We must become one with our business; must allow ourselves to be completely absorbed with becoming the best employee or business manager we can be.

  ‘And this involves mantra recital,’ he continued, scribbling ‘mantra recital’ on the board. ‘Each morning at the start of a workday, I recite the following mantras to myself, so that I truly take on the character of Successful Lawyer Will – a Corporately Sexy Businessman.’

  All this without a hint of irony.

  Will closed his eyes, moved his legs into the widest power stance possible and took a deep breath through his nose, allowing it to gush out of his mouth in a torrent.

  ‘I am sexy, I am sexy, I am sexy!’ he chanted.

  ‘I’m a winner, I’m a winner, I am a winner.

  ‘Will is successful, Will is successful, Will is successful!

  ‘Today, will be a sexy day.’

  He opened his eyes and looked around the room so confidently that they all felt obliged to clap. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Now we all know our strengths and weaknesses. We all know the elements of our work selves we need to address. I spent months working on my mantras, so don’t feel too much pressure to come up with the right words straightaway. But what I want you to do is jot down some phrases that, over time, will become as effective as mine.’

  At that moment, Elaine, the office manager, walked in with a platter of sandwiches, admittedly one of the meeting’s main draws. They’d been ordered from a local delicatessen and were stuffed with smoked salmon, avocado and all things expensive and on trend.

  ‘Not yet, not yet!’ Will admonished, as they all reached forward. ‘Mantras, then sustenance. For as Hans Hankerton says, if we do not nourish the mind, how can the body ever be fed?’

  Clare took a glance at Nigel to see whether he was having second thoughts about the whole mantra thing. She’d known him for almost a decade and until recently he’d hated corporate speak. And he wasn’t the sort of guy who’d usually be taken in by this weird, self-help language.

  To her horror, he was sitting there, gazing at Will practically entranced. She vowed to google Corporate Sexiness later, just to see whether it was linked to some sort of brainwashing cult.

  ‘Work hard,’ Clare jotted idly on her pad. ‘Get paid.’ She glanced over at the others. Half were sitting looking slightly confused, others were scribbling diligently. Ann seemed to have written a couple of lines and was now draw
ing a picture of a sandwich.

  Clare found her mind wandering once again to the weekend; to Hatty and Bill’s surprise visit. It had been nice, actually. Once she’d actually got her breath back from the frantic cleaning.

  At one point, Toby had taken Bill for a look at their garage extension – the only part of the house he’d decorated himself. He was particularly proud of it, and actually it wasn’t bad. Hatty had sipped her coffee and regarded her for a moment over the top of it.

  ‘How are you, you know, with Toby’s promotion?’ she’d asked, suddenly.

  ‘Me? Well, I’m delighted of course,’ Clare had said, automatically.

  ‘Are you sure? I see how busy things are for you and I wonder whether I’ve actually done you a disservice,’ Hatty had continued. ‘I mean, Toby’s very talented – I wouldn’t have put in a good word otherwise. But with two children at home, and his needing to be in London more. Well, it’s obvious who’s going to end up picking up the slack.’

  Clare had grimaced. ‘Well, you know how it is. I mean, I don’t mind. He’s very supportive of my career. And the kids are older now.’

  ‘But it’s hard.’

  ‘It can be.’

  ‘And it’s not as if you have a lot of time on your hands. I imagine you’re up to your neck at work sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, just every day!’ Clare had grinned.

  ‘Well, I really hope I haven’t made things harder.’

  ‘Oh, no. Honestly, it’s not so bad. It’s …’

  ‘It annoys me though,’ Hatty had said, decisively, setting her cup down and accidentally splashing coffee on the kitchen table. ‘Because, well, it’s the assumption of it, isn’t it? The way men can take on more in their jobs and we’re all meant to celebrate. But when we want to, we end up apologising for it.’

  ‘Well … yes.’ Clare had thought of her nights out with Eezee Troupe and how difficult it had been to find the time. Whereas Toby would call to say he’d be late and know that she would cover for him without question.

  ‘I missed my chance, you know,’ Hatty had said, her eyes looking suddenly misty.

  ‘You did? But you’ve got a great career.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s someone else’s great career. Not what I … well, not my first choice.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I loved presenting,’ she’d continued, ‘loved the interaction, the buzz of live TV. And I was good at it, too! Then a few years off raising the kids, a bit of part-time work, the breakdown, which I’m sure you saw splashed in the papers. It was postnatal depression actually, but people weren’t quite as “woke” when it came to mental health a decade ago. And suddenly when I came back, with a few more wrinkles and eye-bags than they preferred, I was shoved to the side. Promoted off people’s screens.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not—’

  ‘Oh, believe me. It was made pretty clear to me when it happened. They appreciated my talent, my eye for a good story. But didn’t want this old bag to deliver it.’

  ‘That’s awful!’

  ‘There was a moment the other day,’ Hatty had said, ‘when I thought … Well, when the director asked me for ideas of who might make a good presenter. And I thought he was asking me in a roundabout way. You know, seeing if I’d be up for the job!’

  ‘Oh, you’d be brilliant at it!’

  ‘Tell them that,’ Hatty had said. ‘Toby’s great. He deserves a break, I really believe that. And I’m pleased for him. But I suppose I hoped they’d give me a shot at it.’

  ‘And you didn’t say?’

  ‘I hinted as much as I dared.’

  At that moment, the men had clattered back into the kitchen. ‘Three coats of emulsion!’ Toby had been saying, as Bill shook his head in apparent amazement.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Bill had said, noticing Hatty’s slightly red eyes.

  ‘Oh yes, don’t worry about me,’ Hatty had said, suddenly back to her old self. ‘Just talking about … well …’

  ‘Women’s problems,’ Clare had interjected, truthfully.

  ‘Ah.’ Both Toby and Bill had looked uncomfortable and for a moment Clare had been tempted to mention uteruses or periods or vaginas just to make them squirm.

  But she wasn’t that petty. Not quite.

  Later, when they’d washed up together before popping out for lunch, Toby had asked her if she’d support him.

  ‘I do support you,’ she’d said, quite affronted.

  ‘No, I mean … next week. With this Martha B. character. She’s agreed to meet me. And to be honest, Clare, I’m terrified.’

  ‘Terrified?’

  ‘Yes, she looks so intimidating, so confident you know? All that colour. That, that hair. All the hashtag business.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, and her music. Her lyrics really speak to people. It’s like meeting Madonna, you know? Or Beyoncé, or, or … Big Narstie.’

  ‘Big Narstie?’

  ‘Yeah, you know. Powerful, right? But kind of … well, sexy at the same time.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So, will you come?’

  ‘I’ll think about it …’ she’d said. Which at least was true. She’d be thinking about it most of the week. What would she say? Would Toby recognise her close-up? And could she get out of it somehow?

  ‘Sandwich?’ Will asked now, appearing at her side and interrupting her reverie. ‘Looks like you’ve made a good start.’ He nodded at the desk.

  She looked down at the pad on which she’d been doodling subconsciously and saw the words.

  Go to work. Get paid. Powerful, but sexy.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  ‘Hello, Stefan, how are you?’ Clare asked nervously after Ann put the call from Camberwaddle through.

  ‘Not too bad, thank you,’ he replied in a voice that didn’t quite sound as robust as usual. ‘Still in the hospital, of course. Having the pipes flushed out this afternoon, apparently.’

  ‘Oh, I see …’

  ‘Arteries, I mean. Bypass apparently.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Too much good living, my wife says, heh.’ He tried to laugh but was stalled by a coughing fit.

  ‘Gosh,’ she said. ‘Well, we’ll all be thinking of you here. But should you really be on the phone? I’m sure your assistant said—’

  ‘Yes, yes, I know the conveyancing’s all under control,’ he said, ‘but I was going to ask you about your litigation team.’

  ‘Right?’

  ‘Yes, I mean, I’m not a litigious man, per se. But this whole brush with death business has left me, not angry as such, but well, indignant as a consumer.’

  ‘You want to sue the hospital?’

  ‘Oh, no. They’ve been marvellous. Got the ticker restarted, all that. I mean the bastards who got me in this shape in the first place.’

  ‘Who are …?’

  ‘It’s more of a question of who it isn’t than who it is. Crisp manufacturers, oil producers, chocolate makers, bakeries, pizza restaurants, that clown chap – you know – Ronald … the list is extensive!’

  ‘But … what would you be suing them for?’

  ‘For clogging up my arteries of course. And do you know the beauty of it, Clare?’

  ‘The beauty?’

  ‘It’s a limitless suit. Imagine when I win how many other suits we can line up. It’ll be the ultimate class action. We can set up phone lines, take the bastards down.’

  ‘The crisp manufacturers?’ she said, a little faintly.

  ‘All of them.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, hastily, ‘I realise you’re not a litigator, but I have reason to believe your firm has quite the litigation department. My last piece of litigation, well, it didn’t work out. And I’d rather have all the legal stuff done under
one roof, so to speak. Anyway, I was wondering if you could introduce me to William Spence?’

  ‘Will? Of course …’ she said. ‘Shall I put you through to him now?’

  ‘Oh, do you think he’ll take my call? I’m sure he must be very busy,’ replied the man who had once phoned her at three in the morning to talk about garage access. ‘Wouldn’t like to disturb.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be delighted,’ Clare replied through gritted teeth.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. I must say, I’m impressed with his work.’

  ‘His work?’ Was there a chipped-tooth class action being filed that she hadn’t yet heard of?

  ‘Yes, well, the way he’s really there for clients – in their time of need so to speak. I was resuscitated, you know. They’ve probably told you. Anyway, my only lasting memory of the whole process was looking up at those defibrillator things and reading the words “Tell someone who cares” – and the details of Mr Spence at your firm. It was like a message from God – a higher power showing me the way forward!’

  ‘Right …’ she said.

  Will poked his head in her office an hour later grinning from ear to ear. She squinted as the light bounced off his bared teeth and straight into her eye. ‘Thanks for the recommendation,’ he said. ‘Do you know, he’s already offered me a retainer. Nigel’s put the champagne on ice!’

  ‘That’s great,’ she said, trying to smile.

  ‘Look, it’s nearly finishing time. Do you fancy nipping out for a drink?’

  ‘Oh, I’d better not.’

  He looked suddenly crestfallen. ‘Look, I hope you don’t mind me saying. But I feel as if we’ve never really … well, connected. I hope … I mean, have I upset you in some way?’

  She looked at him, his little gelled quiff and designer suit. His even white smile. His manicured nails. ‘No, of course not.’ Because he hadn’t, had he? It wasn’t his fault that Nigel had marked him out for future greatness on account of his killer combination of penis and litigious tendencies. It wasn’t even his fault she was stuck in a cupboard while he rested his buttocks on the most comfortable chair she’d ever had the pleasure to sit in.

  ‘So, how about it? Quick gin and tonic? My treat.’