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

drank too much, that you’re embarrassed and that you’d like her to come to ours at some point to make up for it.’

‘Hatty? Come here?’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s just … you know … I was hoping …’ he sank into a chair. ‘What if this was my chance to impress someone on the decision-making team? I mean, I know it was only Hatty. What if I’ve completely blown it?’

She felt sorry for him then. And for Hatty, too. ‘You haven’t. Just call her.’

An hour later when they were absolutely sure that the majority of ordinary people would be out of bed and able to cope with a phone call, she stood beside Toby as he nervously dialled Hatty’s number.

‘Hello. Yes. Hello,’ he said. ‘Yes, Toby. Yes, yes, I know. Thank you. Thank you for the lovely, eh, meal and …’ He paused, listening. ‘Well, yes a little worse for wear … Really? Well that’s nice of him. Look, I’m sorry if I was a bit over the top, you know. Rude. Last night. Hello? Hello?’

Toby turned to her then. I think she’s hung up, he mouthed, his eyes wide with terror. Then. ‘Oh! Thank goodness. I thought … Yes, I was saying sorry. Sorry I messed up. Oh! Thank you. Very nice of … Thank you. OK. Goodbye.’

Coming off the line, he gave his wife a thumbs up. ‘Think we’re OK,’ he said.

‘Yes?’

‘Yes. She said it’s the first time a man has thought to apologise to her in about a decade. I think she was joking.’

Clare wasn’t so sure. ‘Well, that’s great! See, you’re back in the game!’ she said.

‘Well, not quite,’ he said, his face suddenly changing as he turned and charged into the downstairs loo.

Chapter Fifteen

As she pulled up outside the church hall later that afternoon, Clare realised she had butterflies.

She’d told Toby she had to pop into the office to pick up some forgotten files after lunch; he’d offered to come with her for the drive, and she’d had to turn him down. ‘I won’t be long,’ she’d said. ‘But I might pop into Steph on the way back.’

‘Oh. But … I …’

‘She wants to talk about women’s stuff,’ she’d added darkly, to put to bed any idea he might have about coming with her.

Now, standing on the gravel outside the little hall, she wondered whether she should have just told the truth. He might be wrapped up in his work at the moment, but as far as she knew he hadn’t started lying to her.

She hadn’t meant to lie, really. He’d have probably had a bit of a laugh when he’d found out what she’d got herself into. But he would have been supportive. Either that or completely oblivious. He wasn’t the kind of man who’d have asked her not to go, or anything like that.

It was part of a bad habit, she realised. Her ridiculous self-consciousness about her writing, her poetry. She’d never felt comfortable with Toby, or anyone, reading it. Somehow it would be easier to read it (or rap it) in front of strangers than her own husband. Less personal, sort of.

She felt a flutter of nerves as she looked at the hall and thought about going in. It was odd, because she didn’t feel at all worried these days when she was meeting clients. Going to meetings. She’d switch on her professional persona and breeze through them. So why the butterflies now? Could it be that this was the first time she’d stepped outside her comfort zone in a while? Or was it that, somewhere deep down, this actually mattered to her?

She got out of the car, locking it and making sure the alarm was on. The road was busy, but the group of kids who’d been hanging about last time were nowhere to be seen.

Music was already pumping and she felt a bit like a parent coming to pick her kid up from a school disco. Here’s mum to spoil the fun, she thought – noticing that the trainers she was sporting were grubby and scuffed.

The minute she walked into the room, Dan rushed over and gave her an enormous hug. ‘Oh thank god,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think you’d come.’

He squeezed her to him, and she inhaled his scent – a clean, freshly showered, soapy smell. Hopefully she didn’t smell too strongly of the chicken she’d cooked for lunch – cooking smells had a habit of clinging to her clothes. His arms felt strong around her back and as he released her, she stumbled slightly.

‘But I said I’d come!’ she said.

‘People say stuff,’ he said darkly, ‘but they don’t always do it.’

The rest of the troupe gathered round her like eager puppies. Dan introduced them and she desperately tried to remember their names: Eric, the nine-year-old with glasses who’d joined the dance club after he was bullied at school. Gav, who at thirteen was the oldest of the group. James who lived next door to Gav’s aunt. The names swirled around her head. She’d do her best.

‘All right?’ they said, one by one. And ‘’sup?’

‘Great thanks,’ she said, feeling more like a teacher than a potential rapper. She’d definitely need to change her image if she was going to perform with this little gang.

‘So you’ve brought the … rap?’ Dan asked.

‘Yes.’ She pulled the paper out of her pocket, torn from her notebook.

His eyes scanned the page. ‘This is actually really sick!’

‘Thanks.’ She felt weirdly proud as if she’d been endorsed by one of the cool kids at school.

‘Well we’ve got a track laid down that will probably fit this. If we run through things you can find your rhythm,’ he said.

Her stomach turned over. Rhythm. Did she have any rhythm left in her to find? Or had she shed it with motherhood, together with the ability to bounce on a trampoline or read a book uninterrupted or have a normal-looking belly button. ‘I’ll try,’ she said.

The beat started and the boys’ heads began to move in time.

‘Right gang,’ Dan said.