Perfect on Paper

by Gillian Harvey

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Sipping her flat white, Clare looked at her watch again. Steph was now officially ten minutes late.

  They’d spoken briefly on the phone on Sunday and her sister had seemed all right. She’d mocked her for her You’ve Got Talent appearance and been completely stunned that none of Clare’s family had noticed more than a passing familial resemblance.

  ‘Lord, I know you said you were invisible, Clare,’ she’d said, ‘but now I’m starting to believe it.’

  Then they’d arranged lunch. But it looked as if Steph had stood her up.

  It didn’t matter, really. She remembered how difficult it could be to leave the house with a baby; but at the same time if her sister was much later, she’d only have about twenty minutes to chat before having to head back to the office.

  She called her sister’s phone again, but it went straight to answerphone. Probably Steph was driving or rushing along with a pushchair and just about to fly in the door.

  Another sip, another glance at the watch, another feeling of elation as the door opened and disappointment when it revealed that the latest customer wasn’t Steph.

  In the end, she phoned her sister and left a message: ‘I’m really sorry, Steph. I’ve had to go back to the office. Hope everything’s OK. Give me a call.’

  Walking back, she tried to shake off the feeling that she should have waited a little longer or done a little bit more.

  Soon though, she was on the phone to a client, buried in work and any thought of Steph or where she’d got to had been filed at the back of her mind.

  Half an hour later, when she’d finished speaking to Mrs Jones, who was digging her heels in about the possibility of leaving the fitted curtains for her buyers, Nigel burst into her room without so much as a knock.

  What if I’d been practicing my corporate sexiness? She wanted to say. I could have been sitting around in my knickers.

  ‘Just got your holiday form,’ he said, waving it at her as if she’d demanded evidence. ‘Another half-day off! Becoming quite the part-timer, eh! Ha, ha.’

  ‘Um, yes,’ she said. Although before these two measly half-days I’ve had off recently, I’ve literally put all my waking hours into the firm.

  ‘I’ll get Will to oversee Ann for the morning,’ he continued.

  ‘Oh, you don’t need to do that!’ she said. ‘Ann is fully briefed.’

  ‘Even so,’ he said. ‘It’s good to have a proper solicitor on the case, I find.’

  If she did make the jump and start her own firm, she decided, she’d always value experience over qualifications. Will might have the recent paperwork, but he knew zilch about conveyancing, wasn’t familiar with any of her clients or cases, and wouldn’t know a property information form if it hit him in the face. Yet when Ann successfully managed her workload while Clare was away, it was Will who would get all the credit.

  ‘And will we see you later on?’ Nigel asked, sinking uninvited into one of her plastic chairs and leaning back, before once again losing his balance and grabbing frantically at the desk to right himself.

  ‘Later on?’

  ‘Yes, the training session,’ he continued, looking quite aggrieved. ‘Stage six of the … the corporately … corporately sexy training.’ He had, at least, the decency to blush.

  ‘Actually,’ she said. ‘I’ve got an appointment after work.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘But, look, I’ll practice my mantras.’

  ‘Well, that’s good. Although I must say I would hope that the more senior staff would lead the way on this,’ he said.

  ‘Nigel,’ she replied, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘I’ve worked with you for almost a decade. I’ve turned over consistently high profits for the firm. I work more hours than any of the other senior members of staff. I was the one responsible for bringing Stefan Camberwaddle on board in the first instance. It’s great that you’re, er, trying something new. But don’t you think that maybe not everyone needs to improve their work performance?’

  He was silent for a moment. ‘Is this about the MehToo thing?’ he asked.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘You know, these women’s rights protests or whatever.’

  She bristled. ‘It’s about fact, Nigel. I don’t need to put on a unitard and let my flaws hang out. I don’t need to tell myself I’m corporately sexy or that I’m going to conquer the world or whatever. I’m just getting on with the job and doing a bloody good one at that.’

  After Nigel had made a bumbling apology and exited the office, she waited for her heart to stop pounding and picked up the phone. ‘Toby?’ she said, when he answered. ‘I’m going to do it!’

  ‘Do it?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going to start my own firm. I’ve decided.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You don’t sound sure about it.’

  ‘No, no, I think it’s great. It’s just … well, the money aspect.’

  ‘Honestly, I think it’s worth the risk.’

  ‘But what if I lose my job?’ he asked, his voice sounding slightly squeaky.

  ‘Lose your job?’

  ‘Well, you know my interview with Martha B. … it went well. But, well, I heard the director is looking at my role. They hate the controversy, you know?’

  ‘Toby, they’re not going to fire you! At worst they’ll, well, reassign you,’ she said, feeling guilty for her possible part in things.

  ‘I suppose … well, yes go for it. We’ll manage,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, love.’ Because he meant well, even if he so often seemed to get things wrong.

  ‘And, congratulations!’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Congratulations! It’s … well, you should be really proud of yourself.’

  As soon as she hung up, ready to tackle the mountain of work on her desk in record time so she could go through listings and make sure she had everything in place for viewing office space on her hard-won ‘day off’, her mobile beeped.

  This time, it was a text message from Dan. Martha B. trending on Twitter, he’d written. Take a look.

  Lost in her work at the office, she’d forgotten to even tune in to Woman’s World and watch her interview with Toby being aired. Or perhaps she’d wilfully ignored the fact her alter ego was going to be beamed to the masses over lunch. Either way, she hadn’t seen it yet.

  As Dan had said, the hashtag #MarthaB. popped up in the top ten trends on the side of her screen. Heart in mouth, she clicked on the link.

  #MarthaB. telling it like it is! said a Tweet. You go girl!

  #MarthaB. schmoozing with @Toby on #Woman’sWorld said another, adding a vomiting emoticon for good measure.

  Scrolling down, it seemed that most of the references were positive. That she hadn’t let the side down, even though she’d tried to swing public opinion a little more in Toby’s favour.

  ‘Bodes well for the live finals on Saturday!’ she replied to Dan. After which, she thought to herself, everything would be different.

  ‘You’re amazing,’ he replied.

  She spent the afternoon getting her files as up to date as she could, and arranging as much as she could in advance to make sure tomorrow went well.

  Then, just as she was stuffing paperwork into Alfie’s half-ripped gym bag, the phone on her desk trilled into life.

  ‘Clare Bailey speaking.’

  ‘Hi, Clare, it’s Will.’

  ‘Hi?’

  ‘I’ve got Stefan Camberwaddle on the phone; he wants a quick word, if that’s OK?’

  ‘Sure, thank you.’

  ‘OK, putting him through.’

  Clare waited for the familiar click on the line. Then, ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, Clare, it’s Stefan Camberwaddle here,’ he said, unnecessarily.

  ‘Stefan! How are you?’r />
  ‘Fine, fine, thank you. I just wanted to run something by you quickly.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, your … this Will chap … he’s started work on my litigation, which seems to be fine.’

  ‘Great … good news.’

  ‘But he’s … he seems quite excited about a client of yours named Hans something.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, I just wanted to know … well, he invited me to some sort of training session he thought might benefit me in some way.’

  Clare’s heart sank. ‘Oh, did he?’

  ‘Yes. He … he, um, said it would help me to be more … attractive, or something,’ continued Camberwaddle. ‘I just wanted to ask, I suppose. Whether he’s … is he as good a lawyer as I thought?’

  Clare thought about Will. His constant smart appearance (except when working out in a leotard or underpants); the fact that he was always on time; that he won many of his cases, despite their rather trivial nature; the bizarre but ultimately probably useful contacts he had in the underground world of American law drama that seemed to exist in his favourite bar.

  ‘He’s … he’s hardworking. Yes, I think he’s a good lawyer,’ she said at last. ‘He’s just trying a new strategy … which I suppose is a bit on the alternative side. But otherwise, he really is sound.’

  Camberwaddle sounded relieved. ‘Right, thank you,’ he said. ‘It’s good to have a solicitor whose opinion I trust.’

  She hung up the phone hoping that she’d made the right decision, and that Camberwaddle wouldn’t be leaping into her room in a shiny all-in-one next time they had a meeting.

  Picking up her bag, she checked her office desk once more to ensure everything was laid out clearly and neatly, then picked up her bag.

  ‘Oh, Ann,’ she said, passing her desk. ‘Aren’t you off yet?’

  ‘Just finishing this.’

  ‘You don’t have to you know.’

  ‘I know. But I want to be on it for when His Highness Will is watching over me tomorrow morning.’ Ann’s tone was light, but her voice had an edge to it – she really was dreading being overseen by the firm’s rising star.

  ‘Sorry,’ Clare said. ‘You know it wasn’t my idea, don’t you? I think you could handle this lot standing on your head.’

  ‘I know,’ Ann replied. But her tone had softened. Perhaps she hadn’t been sure. ‘By the way, good luck tomorrow.’

  ‘What, with the house hunting?’ Clare said, with an elaborate wink.

  ‘Yeah, make sure you find something with a view.’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘And Clare?’ she called, as her boss began to turn away.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Don’t forget your power stance.’

  Chapter Forty-Four

  ‘I’ll take it,’ Clare said, decisively.

  Ben nodded and scribbled on his pad. ‘Great choice,’ he said.

  It wasn’t much, sure, but it was a start. The second floor of a Victorian terrace on the high street; clearly once someone’s home, but now converted into offices. A small insurance firm situated on the ground floor, and Bailey and Associates (although who the associates would be at this stage she had no idea), would be tucked away above them. The shared reception area was a bonus, and she hoped to have a chat with the woman who managed the insurance company to see whether they might share reception support.

  She’d yet to hand in her resignation at work; yet to even mention it to Nigel – although she’d been tempted once or twice, particularly when he’d been only half listening to what she was saying. Would he even hear her properly? Would it make him sit up and take notice?

  But she wasn’t doing this to score points. She was making a positive change for herself; and hopefully for Ann, too.

  ‘So, you’ll need to pay three months’ rent up front and fill in a bit of paperwork,’ Ben continued, as she fantasised about the type of furniture she might buy for the modest carpeted room with its tiny corner office, central desk area and a toilet that was located in what had clearly once been a kitchen. At least it beat her cupboard office.

  ‘No problem,’ she said, although it would be a bit of a squeeze. The rent was slightly higher than she’d anticipated, which might make money tight for a while.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Ben asked, and she realised she’d been staring, trance-like, out of the window as the thoughts had run through her head. Her eyes snapped into focus and she suddenly realised that the window of the office looked directly into a flat above the newsagent over the road. Through the window a young man, wet from the shower and wearing only a towel, was looking back at her.

  ‘Yes, sorry. I mean, I wasn’t looking at … I was thinking about the company, you know?’ she said, flushing.

  ‘Sure, I believe you!’ winked Ben, misreading the tone. ‘Now I know why you wanted this office!’

  Her look brought him up short. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’ll get the paperwork shall I?’

  She only just made it to the office by 3.30 p.m., having stuffed most of the paperwork into her bag and promised to drop it in to Ben on the way home. She hadn’t called ahead, which of course meant that Nigel had decided this was the one day he had wanted to discuss something with her straight after lunch, and had been pacing up and down the corridor waiting for her to arrive.

  ‘Hello, Nigel,’ she said.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, looking at her suspiciously. ‘Long lunch?’

  ‘Lunch meeting overrran.’ She shrugged in a ‘can’t be helped’ kind of way and he visibly relaxed.

  ‘Oh right,’ he said. ‘Camberwaddle?’

  She smiled and avoided the question. Not that it was any business of his, really, where she’d been – she was only an hour late for the start of the afternoon. The number of times she’d worked an hour or two after the office closed, or popped in on a Saturday morning without comment. He probably owed her about a year and a half off in lieu.

  ‘Anyway, just wanted to say. I’ve read your recent memo and the figures are excellent,’ he said. ‘Keep up the good work!’ He waved a memo, which was actually the one she’d written over a month ago, under her nose for proof. ‘Jolly good show,’ he added, sounding like someone from the twenties.

  ‘Thanks, sir,’ she said, thinking how typical it was that just as she was smoothing the ground for her great escape Nigel was finally starting to be a reasonable boss.

  ‘That was a turn up for the books,’ she said to Ann, once Nigel had disappeared into his office.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘He actually made me a coffee this morning! It’s some strategy of Will’s, I think.’

  ‘A strategy?’

  ‘Yeah, their response to MehToo.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ann met her eyes. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you, but when I went in earlier they were having some sort of mind-mapping session. And Will had written “troubleshooting” on his pad.’

  ‘Troubleshooting?’

  ‘Yes, as in making sure they covered their backs so we don’t start a riot or something in the office, I think!’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Once again, the enlightened duo had completely and utterly missed the point.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Look,’ Clare leaned in slightly in case they were overheard. ‘Have you given, you know, my proposal any thought?’

  Ann nodded. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘And.’

  ‘And, yes!’ Ann said again.

  ‘Yes, you’ll come?’

  ‘Seriously,’ Ann said. ‘If you leave me here to watch the whole Nigel and Will show play out I will lose my mind.’

  ‘Leaving early?’ Nigel quipped as Clare raced past his room two hours later, clutching Alfie’s poor bag, which because she’d overfilled it so frequently was now splitting at the seams.<
br />
  She ignored him. Troubleshooting my arse! she thought.

  For once, she arrived at the church hall early. Letting herself in, she switched on the lights and looked at the little white-washed space that she’d spent so many evenings in recently. Without the boys to fill it, it struck her how small and tatty it seemed.

  But she’d miss it all when it ended, she realised. She’d miss rehearsing with Eezee Troupe, admiring their energy and drive – the excitement of it all. Not the nail-biting stress and horror of the upcoming TV finals that kept her awake half the night. Certainly not the strained muscles and sore bottom that she’d had to contend with since they stepped up their rehearsals.

  But the comradery. The idea of working towards a shared purpose. And being an important part of a machine, rather than just another cog whirring around unnoticed. Hopefully that was something she could recreate in her new firm, she thought. That feeling of purpose, of moving forward.

  She’d also miss writing raps, she realised. Miss actually sharing her thoughts with the world.

  A Nissan Micra and a small Citroën pulled into the car park next to the building and she watched out of the window as all thirteen members of Eezee Troupe squeezed their way out of the tiny vehicles. Perhaps they should start performing contortion or magic as a sideline.

  Legal? No. Dangerous? Yes. But definitely entertaining.

  ‘Clare!’ a few of them cried, seeing her standing on her own through the window.

  ‘Someone’s early!’ Mark said as he pushed open the door.

  ‘Nice to see you!’

  ‘Tomorrow’s the big day!’

  They bounced past her one by one, grinning, doffing imaginary caps as they did so. ‘Hi, everyone,’ she said, feeling a bit ‘last day of school’ish. Perhaps she should have brought a marker pen to sign everyone’s shirts?

  ‘Got the new rap?’ Dan asked. He smiled, but she could hear an edge of desperation in his voice. She’d been a bit slow with this one; had wanted to get it just right.

  ‘Yes!’ she said, enjoying the look of relief that raced across his features. ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Great!’ He swept her up in his arms and spun her around. There was a moment after he’d set her down, when she’d stood slightly dizzy – looking at him as he looked back at her. A moment of tension when she wondered if she ought to give in, lean forward and kiss the one man in her life who seemed to actually see her.