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

realise that she was almost the opposite of cool. And the idea of her rapping was just ridiculous.

‘But think about it. I don’t want to pressure you. But this competition. Well, it’s the boys’ only chance. And you know, rap is just poetry with a bit more rhythm. I could hear you from outside the audition room you know.’

‘You could?’

‘Yeah, it was brilliant!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘Well, you know. It could be, with a bit of a beat and more rhythm in the delivery.’

‘Brilliant?’

‘Yeah, it was lit!’

‘Which is good?’

‘Which is definitely good.’

Clare felt herself smile a bit at the compliment. It was a rare commodity these days. ‘Well, thank you,’ she said, ‘but there’s a big difference between reading a poem in front of two people in a meeting room and rapping on stage in front of a crowd of people. Dan, it was just a bit of fun yesterday. I … I just don’t think I can.’

‘But Clare, think about it,’ he said, a desperate note creeping into his voice.

‘It’s the boys’ only chance you say. How come?’ she asked, more softly.

‘Well, you know. It’s like, well, they really don’t have anything.’

‘Right?’

‘I’ve been working with these lads after school for like a year. And they’re good Clare, they’re really good. But without this … You know. There isn’t much of a future for them.’

‘But the chances of them getting anything out of this …’

‘It’s just … Maybe if we got to the TV stage or something. It could be life changing for these guys.’

‘But … I mean Dan,’ she struggled to keep the frustration out of her voice. ‘We won’t … I mean they might not even include us in the competition – I can’t see how we’d get on TV or win anything. It just isn’t going to happen.’

‘Little Tyler, he lost his mum last year. Henri, he was running drugs for some nutcase on the estate.’

She felt her heart turn over. The poor boys with their hopeful, happy faces. ‘Surely they, I mean can’t they just put you through as you are? I mean, those boys are really talented, right?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘I did check that,’ he said, ‘because, you know. I thought you might not want to do it. But they’ve got lots of dancers, already. In the competition. So no chance. Anyway, Susan said she liked your message.’

‘My message?’

‘Yeah, it’s, highkey as the boys would say.’

‘Haiku?’

‘No, high key!’

‘Oh.’

‘It’s a good thing,’ he clarified.

Clare thought about how invisible she’d felt. And how she now had the power to help someone else get seen. She wasn’t sure she could rap. But she ought to at least give them a chance.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Look, how about I come and see the boys dance. I might have a go at reading the poem. But I’m not promising anything after that.’

‘Yes!’ Dan said. ‘That’s all I’m asking … for now.’

‘Whereabouts do you rehearse?’ she said, wondering what on earth she was doing. The man was far too persuasive.

It was six o’clock when her taxi pulled up outside the small church hall on the edge of the estate. Lights were on inside the tiny building and she could hear the sound of music pulsing.

‘That’ll be eight pounds and fifty pence,’ said the driver.

She paid and gave him a decent tip.

‘Thanks, love,’ he said, before driving off and leaving her standing in the cold night air.

Here the streets were narrow and the houses close together. The sound of the main road with its roaring traffic and beeping horns could be heard clearly. Lights were on in many of the windows, illuminating gardens, some well-tended, others filled with rubbish. Cars were parked on kerbs, in front gardens; anywhere they could be squeezed. Over the road, a group of children on bikes stared at her as she turned towards the hall. ‘Got a light?’ called one. ‘Hey, miss? Got a light?’

Nervously, she pushed the door of the hall open and was faced with a further three doors. Two had toilet signs on them – one male, featuring the classic outline of a man that adorns many toilet doors (onto which somebody had drawn a large penis to ensure there were no misunderstandings), one female (whose female stick figure had also been quite generously enhanced) – and the third sign said ‘Hall’, so at least it was obvious where she needed to go.

As she pushed open the door she felt a thud, and as she entered, a small child skidded across the wooden floor.

‘Sorry!’ she said, looking at his crumpled form. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ he said, climbing to his feet again and grinning.

‘Clare!’ said a voice, and a familiar man with impossibly broad shoulders and a mop of unkempt brown hair was suddenly by her side, shaking her rather formally by the hand. ‘Thanks for coming!’

‘Hi Dan,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to see you. But look, I don’t think …’ she trailed off, looking at his chocolate eyes.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘just don’t make up your mind yet, right?’ He nodded to one of the boys and tapped something on his phone. The music restarted and suddenly they were all moving in synch.

Clare had seen dance troupes on the TV before, but nothing really prepared her for how impressive it all seemed in the flesh. The group moved flawlessly, completely in time. There were flashes of humour when one of the smallest members of the group – Mark – was flung from one side of the room to the other. And a strangely tear-jerking moment where the music slowed and one of the boys, whose frame was tall and whose movements seemed unencumbered by human considerations such as having bones in his limbs, danced slowly around the rest of the group.

When the music finished, they all looked at her expectantly. She felt like one of the judges, as if she was expected to give her verdict. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That was amazing.’

And it really had been.

‘So you’ll do it?’ Dan asked.