Perfect on Paper by Gillian Harvey (top 20 books to read txt) 📕

But if you embraced it, invisibility could be a superpower.

‘I can do,’ she whispered to herself, ‘whatever the hell I want!’

Chapter Six

‘Mum?’

Clare lifted her head wearily from the pillow. ‘Yes?’

Outside, it was still dark, but the purr of traffic on the road told her that it must be at least eight o’clock. She sat up, suddenly alert.

‘We’re off!’ Katie’s voice.

‘OK, have a good day!’ she said, trying to sound upbeat and as if she hadn’t just been woken from a deathly slumber. The pillow next to her had a dent in it, and the duvet on Toby’s side had been flung across; other than that, there was no sign of ITV’s rising star.

Was TV work really so interesting that he’d get up and leave her without a word? There had been a time when she’d rarely started her day without the feeling of a semi-erect penis pressing into her back. At the time, she’d found it annoying – she wasn’t a morning person when it came to doing the dirty. Now, she looked back on those halcyon days of vertebrae-nudging semis with a fondness usually reserved for precious childhood memories or gifs of cute puppies.

Across the room, her reflection in the mirrored wardrobe caught her eye. Tousled hair, black under-eyes, an empty glass of wine on the bedside table like an accusation.

It wasn’t a good look. No wonder Toby had opted to take himself and his unsullied penis to work early.

She thought back to yesterday, when she’d thought being invisible could actually work in her favour. It seemed ridiculous in the cold light of day.

And now she was late for the only thing in her life that was going well.

She quickly worked on smoothing her hair down, clipped it back and pulled on an old faithful outfit of grey trousers and a blue blouse. Then, grabbing her tote and coat, she rushed out of the door without so much as a sniff of a coffee bean.

It was cold, and she’d forgotten to pull on a jumper in her haste. She walked fast to try to work up some heat, feeling her lips practically crack in the icy air.

At the stop, even Mr Flasher seemed to have upgraded for the cold weather. He was wearing a scarf, although he was still naked from the calf down.

She was getting quite fond of Mr Flasher now. He was reliable; always there. Always nodded a good morning at her these days.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I thought I was late!’

He looked at her. ‘You probably are,’ he replied. ‘I’m waiting for a different bus today.’

Shit. She’d have to get the next one.

Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of a bus. But the stop was remarkably busy – a group of girls dressed in strange red outfits huddled together, whispering. A man with an enormous bag on his back looked anxiously at his watch. And a girl with long black hair and a guitar case was leaning against the vodka advert on the bus shelter.

‘So, how come you’re going somewhere different today?’ Clare said at last to Mr Flasher.

‘Eh?’ he looked at her briefly, his jowly cheeks reddening slightly. ‘Well, it’s the thing today, isn’t it?’

‘The?’

‘You know,’ he said. ‘The thing … the,’ he lowered his voice, ‘thing, thing.’ He nodded his head for emphasis and tapped his nose conspiratorially.

‘Right.’

Before she could ask anything further, a bus – with ‘Auditions’ emblazoned across the front – pulled up at the stop.

Of course! She’d read about this in the paper. There was a local ‘open call’ for a TV talent show. A chance to perform in front of a couple of producers who might put you forward for the Real Thing. The kind of thing she’d have taken part in at university just for the fun of it. She wondered what Mr Flasher’s act was. What the others at the stop might be doing. She imagined herself, too, watching. Even walking onto the stage. Would she ever have the guts to do something like that?

She thought about another day at the office. Another day of writing unread memos to Nigel. Another day of Will grandstanding about his latest court date (this time, for a client with – gasp! – unpaid parking tickets). Maybe it was time she did something exciting for once. After all, it wasn’t like anyone would notice. She opened her bag to check that her notebook was there. Then followed Mr Flasher onto the bus.

Mr F. sat at the front, briefcase on lap, legs so far akimbo that she hoped for everyone’s sake he was wearing something under his coat. She chose a seat at the back and sat down, feeling slightly ridiculous. But it wasn’t as if she had to do anything, she thought to herself. She was just going to see what it was all about. It wasn’t as if her own bus had turned up anyway, so she’d definitely have been late in any case. It could be an adventure – something to get her mind off things if nothing else.

Sliding down in her seat as the bus filled up, she felt a shiver of excitement at doing something different for once. And without having had a caffeine hit that morning!

‘Do you mind?’ the girl with the black hair appeared by her side suddenly, clutching the guitar case.

She did, actually. Especially as there were several other seats available. But Clare found herself saying, ‘of course not’ anyway. Because she was far too polite.

The girl shuffled onto the seat and rested her guitar case on the floor, supporting it between her unnaturally skinny legs like a giant, misshapen penis.

Looking at her phone as an excuse to avoid conversation, Clare began to think about what she might actually do when she arrived. When she’d read about the open auditions in the local rag a couple of weeks ago she’d imagined herself signing up, dusting off her poems and airing them for the first time.

At the time she’d smiled but turned