Perfect on Paper

by Gillian Harvey

  ‘I ain’t sayin’ I’m a rapper, but I speak the truth,

  I’m spitting out these lyrics, gonna raise the roof.

  Not looking for a fortune, and I don’t want your fame,

  Just want people to know me, and remember my name.

  The Eezee Troupe love dancin’, just look at them flip,

  They don’t need me to front ’em, yo I’ll give you a tip.

  Just watch out for these boys and their master moves,

  They’re comin’ at ya, gonna get you in the groove.

  I’m not just a performer, no, I work in the law,

  But my rap is from the heart, yeah, just the same as before.

  Take notice of your mother, your girlfriend and ya sister,

  The world is for the taking, but not just for you, mister!

  I wanted to be noticed, and just look my flow,

  But I’ve got one more surprise before I take off and go.

  My real name is Clare Bailey, just an ordinary girl,

  I thought I’d try some rappin’, that I’d give it a whirl.

  It started as a joke, but yo it started workin’,

  You haven’t seen the last of me, the future’s uncertain.

  A mum of two young people, and boss to a few,

  I’m going to put my heart into whatever I do.

  I’m bringing you my music, and I’m going to keep tryin’,

  But I’ll work in law as well – man, you wait, I’ll be flyin’.

  Want to be a good mum and look after my kids yeah,

  There’s nothing more important, let them know that I care, yeah.

  I used to be invisible so meh, yeah “mehtoo”,

  But I’m bringing light to women with whatever I do.

  I gotta leave you now, but remember this thought,

  That everybody matters, now, I’ll see you in court!’

  With that, she took off her wig, hurled it into the audience and dropped into her first ever set of splits.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The headache asserted itself the minute Clare opened her eyes and let the tiniest bit of light filter in. She was wrapped in the duvet. The sheets were soft. She closed her eyes to let her spinning head settle then tried to open them again.

  And jumped. There was a face – a giant, grinning face – looming over her. Her vision cleared and suddenly she realised who she was looking at. ‘Toby?’

  ‘Cup of coffee?’ he said. ‘Just how you like it?!’

  She shuffled up slightly against the pillows. ‘Thanks,’ she said, reaching for the mug he was holding. She sipped the contents. Black, strong, lukewarm. But two out of three wasn’t bad.

  She tried to remember the last time that Toby had brought her a coffee. Normally he was up hours before her and racing out of the house before she’d had time to take her first pee of the day. So, it had been a while.

  And the smile? Something was up. She remembered him drinking a fair bit last night – usually he’d be curled up in a ball of vomity regret.

  ‘You OK?’ she asked, sipping the coffee and feeling her senses gradually start to return. ‘Everything all right?’ She squinted against the light and his features gradually came into focus.

  ‘I was going to ask you the same question,’ he said, sitting on the bed and squashing her toes with his bottom. ‘That was quite some champagne you put away last night.’

  She remembered it now. The private club. Champagne. The first time she’d drunk more than three glasses in years.

  Eezee Troupe taking to the dance floor and putting the clientele to shame. That man with the black hair trying to get her to sign a contract.

  ‘Have you seen the papers?’ Toby asked, (ridiculously, as he knew, didn’t he, that she hadn’t been conscious for the last ten hours or so).

  ‘No? Why?’ she played along.

  He gently placed a wodge of papers on her lap. The Sunday Mole was on top. ‘MC Bailey STEALS THE SHOW!’ it screamed in capitals. Underneath was a picture of her flinging her wig into the audience. Her hair underneath was a complete and utter mess. She hadn’t considered that bit.

  Her memory of last night started to come back in the form of brief snapshots. Standing on the stage. The look of baffled surprise on Toby’s face when the wig hit him in the chops. Hatty standing up and screaming ‘Go Clare!’ The rest of the crowd cheering or yelling – had they been pleased? Or appalled?

  The minute the competition had ended, Toby had rushed to meet her backstage. ‘I can’t believe it!’ he’d said. ‘How … how did I not know?’

  ‘Maybe we both need to notice each other a bit more,’ she’d shrugged, as he pulled her in for a kiss – despite Katie’s embarrassment.

  When she’d been changing, Hatty had appeared in her dressing room. ‘I wanted to say thank you,’ she’d said, sounding less confident than usual.

  ‘Thank you? For what?’

  ‘Well, don’t tell Toby. But they’ve decided to try Woman’s World as a two-presenter show. And guess who’s been given a chance to be in front of the cameras again!’

  ‘Oh, Hatty!’ Clare had stood and given her a hug. ‘That’s such good news.’

  ‘Yes, but it was you wasn’t it? That interview with Martha. I mean, I know they didn’t broadcast your criticism of the show. But you got them thinking … I can’t thank you enough.’

  ‘Hatty, it had nothing to do with me,’ Clare had said. ‘I wasn’t doing you a favour – it was genuinely what I thought. And I only suggested a female presenter … no names were named. You got this because you’re great.’

  She’d watched with pleasure as Hatty beamed and went red.

  ‘I’m still buzzing from last night,’ Toby said now.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, sipping her coffee.

  ‘It’s … well, it’s surreal.’

  Backstage as they waited for the results, Dan had been very unsure about their chances: ‘We can’t compete with that magician,’ he’d said. ‘I mean, imagine keeping a pigeon in your pants backstage.’

  When their names had been called, he’d grabbed her and swung her around as if she weighed nothing.

  Clare looked at Toby’s happy, hopeful face now and felt a pang of guilt. She’d been worried that he might be angry at her deception; possibly even embarrassed by the fact that his ‘professional’ wife was suddenly performing on a TV talent show. How it would look in the papers, whether he’d be derided. She should have just talked to him. Properly.

  ‘But the rap,’ he said, his face switching to serious. ‘Am I one of them?’

  ‘What, a rapper?’

  ‘No! No. Am I one of those men who aren’t listening … aren’t seeing you?’

  ‘Well, maybe a bit. Or you were. Things are … they’re getting better now though, aren’t they?’

  He brushed his fringe out of his eyes. ‘Clare, it might not seem like it, but I do love you, you know? I think I’ve just been so worried about trying to fit in. It’s weird, starting something so new, something you just want to get right.’

  ‘True …’

  ‘And suddenly there I was, with my own section to present. All this back-patting, but Hatty, well, she was the only person who ever seemed to want to talk to me …’

  ‘Honestly, I understand.’

  ‘But there’s more.’ He looked away from her, towards the blank wall and she realised he was trying to hold back tears. ‘I … well, I started taking these diet pills – you know, to shift a few pounds. It’s so competitive … and …’

  ‘Diet pills?’

  ‘Yeah. But they kind of made me … spaced out. Then, my heart was racing at night, sweating, sick, that kind of thing. I couldn’t concentrate – couldn’t think. I’d look at you and my eyes – I couldn’t focus them.’

  Was that why he’d seeme
d so oblivious to her?

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I guess I felt stupid … I didn’t know what to say. And I was scared. I stopped taking them after a little while and recently things have started to feel better.’

  ‘Oh Toby …’ She squeezed his hand and looked at him. ‘Why would you do that to yourself?’

  ‘Too embarrassed, I suppose. Too scared of failing.’

  ‘You can’t be embarrassed in front of me!’ she said. ‘Especially now,’ she added, nodding towards the picture of herself on the front of the Sunday Mole.

  ‘True,’ he grinned, his eyes still glistening.

  And suddenly there they were, holding hands and grinning at each other. She felt a connection she hadn’t felt for such a long time. Because he’d finally listened to her, and she’d finally listened to him.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Clare hadn’t planned on a grand opening.

  In fact, the whole thing felt rather embarrassing.

  Nevertheless, here she was, with a photographer from the local paper, Toby, Ann, the mayor in full regalia and an assortment of vaguely interested bystanders and hardcore Martha B. fans, snipping a ribbon in front of the door into her new office.

  This morning, Katie had rushed into her arms before she left the house. ‘I’m so proud of you Mum,’ she’d said. ‘You know that right?’

  ‘Did Dad put you up to this?’

  ‘No. Seriously, I am. And we women, we need to celebrate each other, right?’ Her little girl, with her sweet, serious eyes looked up at her.

  ‘Yes. Yes, we do.’

  Even Alfie had wished her good luck, as he brought a pile of last night’s plates down from his room. ‘Hope it goes well,’ he’d said, stacking his crockery in the dishwasher.

  ‘T-thank you,’ she’d stammered, wondering if she was living in a strange parallel universe where teenage boys actually picked up after themselves. ‘And thanks for doing that.’

  ‘S’no problem. It’s my crap, isn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t say crap.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘How does it feel to be striking out on your own?’ asked a man in a grey suit now, sticking a recording device in her face.

  ‘Daunting, but exciting,’ she replied, trying to smile.

  ‘And is this the end of Martha B.?’ a woman with glossy hair asked her.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think we’ve seen the last of her,’ Clare said, with a wink. In truth, Dan was in discussions about possibly recording a track on iTunes. And if she could come up with a suitable rap – something longer, less novelty – she was thinking about giving it a go.

  Looking past the reporters she could see Toby, his eyes fixed firmly on her. A smile on his face. Her Toby. His blood pressure now in check, he seemed more like himself again.

  ‘I’m so proud of you, you know,’ he’d told her this morning before she’d left.

  ‘Thank you.’

  He’d looked at her steadily.

  ‘What?’ she’d said, checking her hair was more or less in place.

  ‘How on earth,’ he’d said, ‘did I get so lucky?’

  ‘Steady on, I’m only opening a tiny start-up.’

  ‘Not that, although obviously that’s amazing too. And not the Martha stuff – also amazing – but you. My beautiful, clever wife.’

  ‘Oh stop it!’ she’d joked, but she’d been pleased.

  She smiled at him now and he blew her a kiss of encouragement.

  After one last pose for the camera, she walked through the door of her new firm, with Ann at her heels.

  ‘Gawd, talk about OTT,’ said her new employee. ‘You’d think we were opening some sort of major landmark, rather than a tinpot legal start-up.’ She seemed to think twice about her words after saying them. ‘I mean, it is a great thing – not … you know what I mean.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Clare said. ‘I know exactly what you mean!’ They looked at each other.

  ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ Ann asked.

  ‘No,’ Clare said, firmly. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ She wrapped an arm around her friend – ‘no hierarchy in this firm.’

  ‘And no unitards?’

  ‘Definitely no unitards.’

  After the furore over her ‘big reveal’ had died down, Clare had gone into work where both Will and Nigel suddenly seemed almost too interested in everything she had to do or say. ‘Can’t believe that was you on the TV!’ Will had said, with a reverence that could only have come from someone of his age to whom achievement was almost solely measured in the number of likes and clicks.

  ‘Yep. That was me!’ she’d said.

  ‘The phone’s been ringing off the hook!’ Nigel had said, greedily. ‘Lots of new clients wanting to work with you.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ she’d replied. Feeling a little guilty. But, well, not too guilty. And a little confused about why people would want a rap star to do their conveyancing for them. But whatever brought the business in …

  Later that afternoon when she’d handed in her notice, Nigel had begged her to stay. ‘Your department keeps this firm afloat!’ he’d said. ‘It gives me the space to nurture Will’s talent and build the litigation!’

  ‘Yes,’ she’d said. ‘But, you know, you have other conveyancers who can take on most of my clients,’ (Camberwaddle, she’d been assured, was going to come with her), ‘and while I appreciate all the work you and Will have been doing together, I think it’s time for me to start something new.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘Plus, you know, I was never quite “corporately sexy” enough,’ she’d added.

  This last sentence had seemed to resonate, and he’d grudgingly wished her luck, after which he and Will had disappeared into his office for what he’d later termed some ‘serious mindmapping’.

  Then she’d been free to actually plan the next steps of her new life. Ordering office furniture (well, two desks and a couple of chairs), laptops, commandeering mobile phones for herself and Ann. Thinking about how she wanted to shape her new firm. And even looking through CVs for a junior position she hoped to be able to fill in the near future, provided everything went to plan.

  Going back home that evening had been almost like stepping back in time. Toby had had a haircut and suddenly looked much more like his old self. ‘I’m going to trade in the Merc,’ he’d told her. ‘We can’t afford to run two expensive cars at the moment.’

  ‘Why don’t we trade in both our cars and get a couple of little run-arounds instead?’ she’d suggested. He’d hugged her fiercely then, as if she’d told him they’d won the lottery or discovered a cure for middle-aged spread or something.

  ‘Thank you,’ he’d said. ‘I know how much you love that car.’

  ‘To be honest, I think I’d prefer something more eco-friendly.’

  ‘Yes, and maybe less noticeable?’

  ‘Yeah, after all, we need to be ready for the next protest or scandal.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he’d laughed, giving her a squeeze.

  Even Alfie and Katie had seemed slightly more attentive than usual once Clare had outed herself. Katie had even asked Clare to pose for a selfie with her, and asked her to actually step through the forbidden school gates when she came to collect her. ‘You know,’ Katie’d said, in a way she’d probably thought was subtle, but which was anything but, ‘I don’t mind if you want to say hello – meet my friends. You don’t have to wait in the car.’

  Clearly, her mother’s sudden fame – however bizarre – was scoring Katie a few social points.

  ‘Don’t wear the wig though, will you?’

  Alfie had been less impressed to find out his mum was a talent show rapper. ‘It’s great,’ he’d said, begrudgingly. ‘But you know, Sam’s mum has a second job as a copywriter. Might be an idea.’

&
nbsp; ‘Sorry, Alfie. Martha … well, Clare B. is here to stay for a bit at least.’

  He’d nodded. ‘OK. I mean, it’s good. It’s just … kids at school.’

  ‘Maybe I should see if your head teacher wants me to come and do a performance in assembly,’ she’d teased, and watched his skin turn grey with horror.

  Footsteps on the stairs of the new office reminded Clare now that it must be nearly lunchtime. The door opened cautiously and Steph stepped into their ramshackle space. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘Bailey and Associates, eh!’

  ‘Hey, gotta start somewhere!’ smiled Clare. ‘No Wilbur today?’

  ‘No, John’s taken him for a bit.’

  Clare nodded. ‘Good. You need a break. And … how are things?’

  ‘A bit better,’ Steph smiled, wryly. ‘You know.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, leaning forward to give her sister a hug.

  Once they were in the café, attempting to twirl tagliatelle around their forks, Clare worked up the courage to say what she’d planned.

  ‘Steph,’ she said.

  ‘Yes?’ her sister replied, shoving a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

  ‘I wanted to ask you something …’

  ‘OK?’

  Clare took a deep breath. ‘Look, I need to take on a few more members of staff – not many at first, we’re seeing how it goes. But enough so that I can actually run a firm fairly smoothly.’

  ‘Right?’ Steph’s voice sounded guarded, sensing that something was coming.

  ‘Well, I wondered … Would you like to come on board as a legal PA? You don’t need to know anything about the law yet. Ann can help you, and there’s a course. If you get on with it you could eventually qualify …’

  ‘Thanks, sis,’ Steph smiled.

  ‘That’s OK. It’ll be great, won’t it, working together?’ she said.

  ‘Hang on,’ Steph replied. ‘What I was trying to say was: “thanks, sis, but no, I’d rather not”.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Hey, it’s not you. Or even the idea of working with you – although I can see that being an absolute disaster in the long run, can’t you?’