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

to come every day now. I’m not really sure what I’m meant to do about it,’ his voice sounded suddenly boyish. ‘To be honest, Martha, I think I’m out of my depth.’ He seemed to remember himself then. ‘I mean, of course I know what to do about it! It’s just … I mean, it’s not ideal.’

‘No,’ she said.

‘Look,’ he said, his voice lowering, ‘are you sure you won’t be able to make this interview? It’s just well … I didn’t want to say anything, but my wife and daughter – they’re absolutely huge fans of yours. And I’m afraid I might have promised them your autograph. It would be so appreciated if you could help me.’

‘They’re fans?’

‘Yes. At home, it’s all they talk about.’

‘Really.’

‘Besides,’ he added, ‘you’d like my wife. She’s … she’s an incredibly successful lawyer. Really, well, the embodiment of an empowered woman.’

‘Oh really?’

‘I’m sure if you need any legal advice she’d be more than willing to help you.’

‘That’s very kind of her.’

Part of her was angry at Toby, but part of her felt sorry for him too. Holed up in his dressing room, forced to pass rather vehement protesters outside, pretending not to hear their shouted comments as he scuttled away to his car, her husband was drowning.

And while he might not have spoken to her directly about it, clips she’d seen on the news, the odd comment, and now his defeated confession to ‘Martha B.’, were about as close to a cry for help as she’d ever heard.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘let me see what I can do.’

‘Really?’ his tone went up an octave and he coughed it back into place. ‘I mean really?’

‘Yes. Look, I’m not sure I’ll be able to meet your wife and daughter …’ she added, because if she was going to engage in this lie she might as well get herself out of trouble at the same time, ‘but perhaps we can meet for a pre-recorded interview?’

‘That would be … Oh! Martha! I mean Miss B. I mean Mrs. I mean Ms … Mrs … Ms … Miss?’

‘Martha is fine.’

On the way home, running early for once, she pulled into a layby outside an estate agent and nervously went in. The man on the front desk beamed at her as she entered. He looked to be about eighteen – half man, half boy, with the downy moustache to prove it.

‘Hello, madam,’ he said. ‘I’m Ben.’ He held out his hand for a shake and she duly obliged. His hand was small and hung limply in her grasp. ‘Agent Ben, at your service,’ he said, with a mock salute and a grin that made her warm to him.

‘Hi, Ben,’ she said. ‘I’m interested in finding out about any commercial property you might have for rent. Just a small office space, really, at this stage.’

‘Sure, I’m afraid there isn’t much at present.’ He turned his back on her and rifled in a filing cabinet, pulling out a sheaf of stapled papers. ‘The ones in red are gone,’ he said, ‘but there are a few others left.’

‘I’m thinking of starting my own business,’ she said, needing to hear how it sounded out loud.

‘Ah, you’re one of them,’ he said, knowingly, nodding his head as if identifying her as a member of a secret society or special cult.

‘One of them?’

‘Yeah, one of them MehToo women, right?’

‘Well, sort of, I suppose.’

‘Do you know, since that thing started, I think we’ve let more offices to women than we had in the year beforehand?’

‘Oh, wow, really?’

‘Yeah, I mean it’s great,’ he said, then seemed to check himself. ‘I didn’t mean great for the agency – well it is great for us, too, but that’s not what I meant. My mum, she runs her own business and she says it’s about time more women took the plunge,’ he said, reddening slightly.

‘Your mum sounds like a wise woman.’

‘Don’t tell her that!’ he grinned. ‘I’ll never hear the last of it!’

Clare thanked Ben and took the papers back to her car, flinging them on the passenger seat. ‘Fasten seat belt,’ Claudia instructed. ‘Fasten seat belt.’

She duly buckled up.

‘Fasten passenger seat belt!’ continued the car hysterically. ‘Fasten passenger seat belt!’

Really? Usually this was only activated when someone was in the seat. Did the car really think this wodge of papers was a human arse? She moved them slightly with her hand and started the engine.

‘Passenger is unsecured! Passenger is unsecured!’ cried the car. For the first time, Clare realised how much like a Dalek the automatic voice was. Exterminate!

Rather than push the papers onto the floor Clare duly leaned over and fastened the passenger seat belt.

‘Happy now?’ she asked the car as she drove off.

But even the car seemed to be oblivious to her presence.

She reached home, switched off the engine and sat in the car for a minute looking at the house. Since their frantic cleaning spree before Hatty and Bill had popped in, it had started to look dishevelled again. Plates had begun to pile up near the sink and next to Alfie’s bed.

She’d left before the kids this morning – goodness only knew what would be waiting for her inside.

But as she opened the door, the overwhelming stench was not of mildew and festering food, but lemons.

‘Kids?’ she called, feeling oddly nervous.

‘Yeah?’ Katie called from upstairs.

‘Have you tidied up?’ she asked, noticing all the coats hung on pegs and shoes placed in pairs by the door.

‘Well, a bit.’

‘Oh, thanks Katie!’

‘No, I mean. It was already pretty much like this when I came home,’ came the reply. ‘Mum, it was Alfie.’

‘Alfie!’

‘Yep. He’s gone to Sam’s house now. But when I got in he was hoovering.’

So it was true. Everyday miracles could sometimes happen.

Leafing through the estate agent’s papers over a coffee, waiting for the baked potatoes to crisp up, Clare couldn’t help but feel a little frisson of pride whenever she saw a listing marked as ‘Let’. Of course, it wasn’t really likely that the whole Martha B. thing had