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were near the edge of the stage now, and she could see the presenters in their familiar get-up, laughing and joking as they did on TV. There was a screen displaying the footage, but there was no sound. She watched one of the judges wax lyrical about the guy on stage, an enormous smile on her face. Clearly he’d done well.

Then there was momentum. The previous act – a magician who’d managed to make a dove appear out of his zipper – walked off and winked at them as he went past. She’d heard whispers that he was one of the hot favourites to win, and based on the audience reaction, was quite likely on track.

‘You’re on,’ hissed a runner and Clare found herself propelled forward onto a stage, the harsh lights making it difficult to see the audience beyond.

The four judges sat in front of her, glossier and more groomed than she could have imagined.

‘OK, darling,’ said Steven Cruel, the main judge. ‘What’s your name and where do you come from?’

‘I’m, um, Martha, I’m 36 and I’m from … Hertfordshire,’ she said.

‘And the boys?’

‘These are Eezee Troupe,’ Dan said, stepping forward, with a small bow of deference. ‘Martha’s backing dancers.’

‘Great, great …’ Steven glanced at the other judges. ‘Well, best of luck.’

‘Just three minutes,’ she thought to herself. Three minutes of her life. Over in a flash.

The music began to play and the boys bounced out and took their positions. A spotlight shone on the centre of the stage – her moment. Propelling herself forward on legs that felt like jelly, Clare stumbled to the front and raised the mic to her lips.

‘It’s Martha B., here, yeah and I’m livin’ it loud,

I’m calling to the women – girls, you oughta be proud.

Say what? You’re over thirty and you feel like you’ve had it,

You’re just in the beginning, come on ladies let’s have it.

We’re smashin’ the glass ceiling, showin’ that we’re contenders,

It’s time we stopped taking shit just ’cos of our gender.

Too right, we care for kids and yeah, we’re excellent mothers,

But that’s just one small talent, there are plenty of others.

We’re wasted in our offices, ignored in the board room,

Well, tell the men to shift it, yeah, they need to make more room.

We ain’t into knockin’ men, but there’s space for us all yeah,

We’re not just into clothes, shoes, nails and styling our hair, yeah.

So what? I’m pushin’ forty, but nah that shouldn’t bore you,

I’m fit and bright and beautiful, and growin’ in value.

My age ain’t just a number, it shows that I’ve lived, right?

But if you say I’m past it, man you’re in for a fight, right?

Here’s Eezee Troupe, my boys they’re here and backing me up,

We women should be visible, I’ll tell you what’s up.

This is a revolution, yeah all the women are risin’,

You’ve kept us down for years, so this should not be surprisin’.

Don’t take us for granted, yeah, the bar we are raisin’,

Don’t try to beat us, join us and it could be amazin’.

No more miss invisible – invincible more like,

If you don’t like what you’re seein’ then just get on your bike, right?

It’s Martha B. right here “mehtoo’ but yo I won’t accept it,

So get on board, let’s change the world or man you’ll regret it.’

As she fell into the agreed modified version of the splits (which basically involved her kneeling on one leg while sticking the other one out as straight as she could manage), the audience roared. Women stood up, waving #MehToo banners – one was wearing a T-shirt with a screenshot of Clare from the YouTube video. Another pair were wearing shirts that read ‘We’re Martha’s Crew’.

Clare also noticed a woman towards the back waving a small sign that said ‘Go for it!’ It was Ann, Clare realised. How on earth had she got hold of a ticket?

She stumbled, slightly, as if in a dream. Then Dan was by her side, arm around her, holding her up.

They faced the four judges, whose faces were giving nothing away. ‘Well, well, well,’ said the younger of the female judges. ‘I think you might have touched a nerve in here!’

Steven Cruel was shaking his head and smiling in a way he clearly hoped said ‘I’m down with this female solidarity thing’ while keeping his masculinity intact. ‘It’s a “yes” from me,’ he said, leaning in to the microphone.

The other male judge nodded. ‘What’s not to love? You’re keepin’ it real and livin’ it large, and you’ve certainly made an impression here!’ he said, turning to the audience who whooped in appreciation. ‘It’s a “yes” from me.’

Three yesses would see them through. The crowd fell silent as the third judge – an actress and singer called Macey considered her verdict. ‘Interesting,’ she said. ‘I hear what you say, but is this the best way to reach your audience? Are women actually going to take notice of a rap artist?’

She hesitated and in that moment Clare realised how much she actually wanted to get through, whatever the cost to her legal career. Was it all going to slip from her grasp; were they really going to get a ‘no’?

After an almost unbearable silence, Macey suddenly burst into life. ‘I say, YES THEY WILL!’ she cried, standing up with a grin and pounding down on the gold buzzer. Confetti fell from above the stage and the boys began leaping and hugging each other.

Clare felt Dan’s arms around her waist. ‘Golden buzzer!’ he said. ‘It means we’re fast-tracked to the live finals!’

‘It does?’ It had been a while since she’d watched the show.

Feeling as if she was in a film about her life rather than actually on the stage being applauded for rapping in front of a live audience, Clare bowed and exited the stage waving with the boys.

‘Oh my god, this is IT!’ Dan was shouting. ‘Boys we’ve made it!’

Backstage, sipping a glass of vinegary wine that a runner had shoved into her hand, Clare tried to call Toby back. There was no answer.

‘Call for Martha B.?’

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