‘Well, no, not completely. But I think it could be a good move for me,’ she said.
‘I think you should go for it, Mum,’ Katie said, loyally, finally forking her first appropriately doctored bite of potato into her mouth. ‘You can do anything.’
‘Yeah,’ Toby said, sounding less sure. ‘It’s … it’s certainly an interesting idea.’
‘Mum,’ Alfie said, stopping mid-chew.
‘Yes, love?’
‘Is there any more cheese?’
Later, when Alfie was in his room gaming with a mysterious stranger online, and Katie was taking selfies in front of the mirror – both activities that Clare was a little unsure of but equally wasn’t sure how to tackle – she and Toby sat on the miraculously litter-free sofa and turned on the TV.
‘Shall we avoid the news tonight?’ Toby said. ‘Maybe try something else? A film?’
‘We could do both?’ She always liked to at least watch the headlines, just so she could be sure that she wouldn’t come a cropper conversationally at work or with a client.
‘Yeah, but … you know. The news is so much like work for me these days!’ Toby said, his neck starting to develop blotches in such a tell-tale way that she was almost desperate to put the TV on to see what he was trying to avoid.
‘OK, just the headlines,’ she said, pretending to be oblivious to his panic.
The opening credits were just finishing when she finally clicked on the television. ‘But first, women were out in force today protesting at the appointment of popular TV host Toby Bailey as presenter on Woman’s World,’ the newsreader began.
Clare glanced at Toby, who was staring fixedly at the screen. ‘Scores of women pursued Mr Bailey as he made his way to the studio this morning – brandishing placards that suggested he was undermining women and setting back gender equality by decades,’ she continued.
‘Oh, Toby,’ Clare said. Why had she not heard about this? Why hadn’t Toby said anything?
‘One woman even threw a bra onto the windscreen of his car, almost causing the Mercedes to crash into a wall,’ continued the newsreader, as the screen cut to a shot of a woman running alongside the car and flinging a large pink bra onto the windscreen. It caught on the windscreen wipers where it flapped like a flag.
‘Protesters are angry at the appointment of a man into a role that is seen as one that only a woman can fill, in what has already been criticised as a toxically male environment,’ the report continued. ‘But the director of staff at ITV insists that we live in a society where gender should not and will not influence employment policy. The studio also provided the following statement: “While we sympathise with the protesters, we stand by our view that presenting roles should be issued on merit, rather than based on a person’s gender.”
‘Much of the current protest has been attributed to the deep dissatisfaction ignited by the so-called MehToo movement, inspired by popular rap star Martha B., a You’ve Got Talent contestant whose recent appearance on The One Show captured the hearts of the nation,’ continued the report.
The camera then cut to a view of the crowd, with several placard-waving women standing at the front. ‘We’re here for Martha,’ one of the women said. ‘She’s right – women need to tell it like it is and start making real change.’
‘Martha B.! Martha B.! Martha B.!’ the women chanted.
Back in the studio, the newsreader looked into the camera. ‘While fans look forward to Martha B.’s next performance, those in ITV must face the difficult question – has a mistake been made?
‘Mr Bailey was unavailable for comment.’
Clicking off the TV, Clare looked at her husband, who stared dismally at his reflection in the black screen. ‘Oh Toby,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry – I mean, I knew there was … I knew not everyone was thrilled, but this is … Do you know what you’re going to do?’
He shook his head, sadly. ‘The worst thing is,’ he said, ‘Hatty’s completely avoiding me now – ever since … well, you know. She was my guide in there. That place – it’s toxic. And once you’ve got bad press, people don’t want to be associated with you anymore.’
‘Avoiding you?’
‘Yep. Pretty sure.’
‘Oh.’ She thought back to Hatty’s tears, her desire to be in front of, rather than behind, the camera. ‘Have you tried talking to her?’
‘I’m not sure she’d listen at the moment.’
‘Look, Toby. I said … I promised I wouldn’t say anything, but Hatty doesn’t feel quite right in her job either.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. She’d rather be presenting … I think she was rather hoping that Woman’s World would be her gig.’
‘Really? But she recommended me! Why would she do that?’
Clare shook her head. ‘I think she just hoped … But she thinks, well, it’s an age thing. You know – women of a certain age, getting overlooked.’
‘But Hatty was a brilliant presenter. And she’s an ace producer!’
‘I know. But maybe that’s not how everyone sees it.’
Toby began to chew a nail thoughtfully, before checking himself. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Poor Hatty.’
‘Yeah. But look, it’s not your fault. I’ve seen you present and you’re brilliant. I mean, you deserve that job.’
‘Do you think? Even if I’m man?’
‘Even if that’s the case,’ she grinned.
He laughed. ‘You know what I mean,’ he said, giving her an affectionate dig in the ribs.
‘Ha,’ she said, giving him a dig back.
‘Anyway, I’m hoping as far as these protests go, the Martha interview might help.’
‘I hope so,’ she said, gently. She felt loyal to Martha, to her cause. Toby would have to play his cards right in the interview.
‘Yeah, I want to show women that I am on their side. Despite … well, despite having a penis.’ He looked at her then. ‘I love you, you know Clare.’
It had been a long time, she realised, since either of them had said that.
‘You too,’ she said, ‘although I’ll love you even more if you get me a biscuit.’
Chapter Forty
‘I’m Martha B. – remember my name!’
It was the first time they’d rehearsed for a few days and as she dropped into her final pose, Clare could feel each and every muscle straining.
‘Great, great!’ Dan said, jogging to the front of the group, hardly affected at all by the fact that he’d just carried out an incredible demo for the boys, in which he’d backflipped four times and landed directly on his crotch. ‘Except …’ he said, looking at Clare apologetically. ‘Could you try to, well, smile a bit?’
‘Sorry, it’s just I’m concentrating.’
‘I know, I know. It’s just I think it’ll look a bit weird if the boys are all dancing around behind you and you’ve got that … that look on your face.’
‘Sorry,’ she said again, feeling a bit like a child being told off. ‘I am trying.’
‘I know. Maybe a bit too hard,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Just feel the music. Let it flow through you. You’re overthinking it.’
She’d always liked music. As long as someone else was performing it. As a child, she’d taken piano lessons for a bit. But that was as far as it went. Of course, she’d had the odd dance in public – she’d done a bit of clubbing in her time, but that was when she’d had a few too many vodkas and nobody was really watching.
The performer in her came from somewhere else. Something natural that flowed through her when she lost herself. She couldn’t let her inner critical perfectionist override this, or she’d end up getting it all wrong.
‘And you think the rap will be ready in time?’ he said.
She’d used her old lyrics for the rehearsal – she’d had a bit of block, so she’d told Dan she was just tu
ning things up and wasn’t ready to reveal her latest lines.
‘Yeah, I’ll bring it along next time.’
‘Good,’ he said, slapping his hands together like a teacher. ‘So, what do you reckon guys? One more time from the top.’
‘Yeah,’ they replied, so scarily in unison that for a moment she wondered whether they might be an army of tiny clones.
She dialled Steph from her hands-free car phone on the way home. ‘Attention to the road,’ the car reminded her helpfully. ‘Avoid distracting calls.’
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Steph, it’s Clare.’
‘Oh, hi, how you doing?’ In the background Clare could hear the relentless chirping of cartoons. She recognised a theme tune from years ago.
‘That’s Teletubbies, right?’
‘Yup. I can’t imagine he knows what he’s watching. But it seems to keep him quiet,’ Steph replied.
‘John or Wilbur?’
‘Very funny.’
‘Anyway, just thought I’d … well, I need some advice really,’ Clare went on. ‘I’m in a bit of a situation, I suppose.’
‘Again?’
‘Well, you’ll laugh, but Toby’s arranged some sort of televised interview with Martha B. He’s hoping, I think, that meeting her, me, her will help him with all the protests. But I’m not sure I can go through with it. I mean, it’s not as if I’m wearing a rubber mask. Will he really not recognise me, in the flesh, despite the wig and shades?’
‘Crikey – you do know how to make a drama into a crisis!’
‘Yep, that’s me! But, seriously, what shall I do?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, if I pull out of the interview, Toby will be gutted, and might struggle with the whole movement business. But if I tell him who I am he might not want to go through with it – because it will look staged, won’t it? And I can’t pull out of the talent show thing – those boys are depending on me. But what I really want to do is go into hiding, to crawl under the duvet and pretend it isn’t happening!’
‘I can understand that.’
‘But I also kind of … don’t.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Well, I don’t know. I kind of … like rapping. I’m even starting to like dancing!’
‘Oh!’
‘Oh, and I’m thinking of setting up my own firm, but it’s really scary – I don’t know whether to hand in my notice and then try to do something from home, or go all in and hire offices.’
‘Wow.’
‘Or really go for it with the Martha B. act, you know? See where it might take me.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. No idea what I’m thinking, what I want!’ Clare said, her head spinning with it all. ‘So, what do you reckon?’
‘Just wow.’ In the background, Wilbur had started to cry.
‘But what should I do?’
‘Look, sis,’ Steph said, carefully. ‘I love you, you know that. And I’m here for you. And I want you to ring me up when you’re having problems.’
‘Right?’
‘But when I’ve been at home all day wondering what on earth to do with my life … When Wilbur’s been teething and crying and filling his nappy every five minutes …’
‘Uh huh?’
‘Well, to have you ring me up with the terrible problem you’re worried about because you’ve created this ridiculously popular character, who has somehow united most of the women in Britain … And how are you going to manage to do that while starting your own law firm …’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, two things. First of all, have you thought how it makes me feel? A bit shit, that’s how. Because my sole achievement this week has been to catch up with the washing on Wednesday morning.’
‘Oh, Steph.’
‘And the pile’s enormous again, so that was a short victory.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be, don’t be,’ her sister said, ‘but try not to see all these things as problems. You’re having an amazing adventure. It’s a bit weird, true, but then that’s normal for you!’
‘Hey!’ Clare laughed.
‘And you know how you were worried about being invisible?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, you’re not.’
‘You don’t think?’
‘Clare – you’re a national celebrity and soon to be senior partner of her own law firm.’
‘But am I though? It’s not me, after all. It’s Martha.’
‘What?’
‘It’s Martha who’s the celebrity – not me.’
‘But it doesn’t have to be in disguise – that’s all been your choice.’
‘True.’
‘And you know, if you really want to find an invisible woman, you wouldn’t have to look too far away.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Me! Clare, I love you, but do you ever think what my life is like? John working all the time. Wilbur never seeming to want to sleep, or be put down, or give me a second’s break to – I don’t know – go for a pee?’
‘Oh, Steph …’
‘It’s pathetic, I know,’ Steph continued, voice thick with tears. ‘But sometimes I just want to get in my car and drive and drive and drive …’
‘Steph, you don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t I?’
‘Do you?’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Steph continued, clearing her throat. ‘Just ignore me – having a moment.’
Steph was right, Clare realised, after she’d hung up the phone. She might have felt invisible, but she’d also been part of the problem – she hadn’t seen that the most important woman in her own life was struggling.
Chapter Forty-One
‘Could you sit down for a minute?’ Clare asked when Ann poked her head around her office door the next morning. ‘Nothing to worry about,’ she added.
‘Phew,’ Ann grinned. ‘You scared me for a minute!’ She closed the door and sat down in the seat across from Clare’s. ‘You sounded so formal. I thought you were going to tell me to stop eating so much chocolate at my desk or something.’
‘Never!’ Clare laughed. ‘I know you’re fuelled by chocolate.’
‘True. So, what’s up?’ Ann smiled.
‘Erm,’ she said, clearing her throat.
Ann looked at her patiently, her smile becoming a little strained.
‘Sorry. I just wanted to ask you something, in confidence … and it mustn’t go beyond these doors – at least for now,’ Clare continued.
‘OK?’
‘I’m thinking – and it really is only in the very early stages – of starting out on my own.’
‘Your own firm?’
‘That might be a bit of an oversell, but yes, a very small firm. Me, one other partner perhaps, admin support.’
‘Right …’
‘And I wanted to ask you – hypothetically – if I decided to jump ship, whether you’d want to come with me?’
‘Oh!’ Ann’s cheeks reddened slightly.
‘Yes. I mean, when I say “jump ship” – I’d do it all properly. Proper notice period, that sort of thing. Wouldn’t leave Nigel in the lurch, or the clients, although I won’t be stopping any clients who decide they’d like to come with us of course!’
‘I see.’ Ann was giving nothing away.
‘I could match your salary – I’m afraid I couldn’t offer more at the moment. It’s going to be a squeeze at first. And of course, with any start-up, well there’s a risk it won’t work out. Which is why I want to be totally up front with you.’
‘OK.’
‘But I would hope that in time I could reward your confidence in me – bigger salary, more responsibility, that kind of thing. I mean, I think at this stage
you could probably do most of the transactions in your sleep.’
Ann grinned. ‘You could say that.’
‘Anyway, I’m not asking for an answer now – I don’t want one yet. I want you to think about it properly. And don’t worry about upsetting me if the answer is no. I’ve decided to take a risk – but I completely understand if it’s not for you.’
‘Thank you,’ Ann got to her feet. ‘And thank you, you know, for offering … for having faith in me … Martha.’
‘Shhh.’
Once Ann had left her office, Clare looked at her watch. It was 11 a.m. She glanced involuntarily at the bag in the corner. Alfie’s old gym bag was stuffed with Martha B. get-up. Wig, hat, sunglasses, more make-up than she usually wore – and a tracksuit that Dan had assured her looked ‘fly’.
In two hours she would be walking into a small studio and sitting down with her husband for a media interview. How on earth she would do it without being recognised, she didn’t know. She was just relying on the fact that it wouldn’t occur to anyone that Martha B. might be Toby’s wife in disguise. And wouldn’t put two and two together even if she looked a little ‘odd’. After all, everyone knew that Martha B. was a persona … they just didn’t know whose.
She laughed briefly to herself, realising that for once she hoped her husband wouldn’t notice her. That his habit of being wrapped up in himself – his work – would stand in her favour for once.
The taxi arrived, as arranged, outside the shop on the corner, and she slipped inside. ‘ITV studios,’ she said to the driver.
‘Right you are … Hey, are you that rapper?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Me and the girls,’ said her driver, looking in the rear-view mirror and catching Clare’s eye, ‘we love your stuff. Amazing. And so glam!’
‘Oh! Thank you.’
Half an hour earlier when she’d sneaked into a toilet cubicle at the public loos to change, it hadn’t felt very glamorous. She’d changed as cleanly as she could and stuffed her office clothes into the backpack, all the while trying to avoid a suspicious wet patch on the floor. Transformation complete, she’d exited the loo like superman from a phone box and walked towards the newsagent to wait.
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