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

‘They’re still there?’

He shrugged, ‘probably.’

After they’d ordered their wine and a couple of Cokes, Clare glanced around the table at her family. Toby’s eyes were still intermittently creeping across to the scrolling news. Alfie had his phone on the table. Katie was sitting playing with a small packet of sugar that someone had left. ‘Well,’ Clare said, brightly, ‘this is nice! But put your phone away, Alfie.’

‘Just on Twitter,’ he said. ‘Not messaging anyone.’

‘Still.’

‘I’m waiting to see if the new codes have been released.’

A gaming thing. Clare sighed – she knew if she banned his phone from the table he’d be sneaking off to the loo every five minutes to check. She wondered, briefly, whether her son was an addict. All this obsession with levels and points and when the next gaming codes were out on the net. She’d worry about it later.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘But just check it once in a while – and no messaging.’

Across the table, Alfie gave her a mock salute.

‘I’m starving,’ Katie interjected. ‘We’ve usually eaten by now, and we haven’t even ordered.’

The waitress arrived with their drinks. They all made their food orders then sipped happily for a few seconds.

‘Nice wine,’ Clare said, wondering why it was she seemed to have nothing particular to say to her family – the most important people in her life. She glanced up at Toby and was annoyed to find his gaze once more directed to the TV. ‘For God’s sake! Can’t you switch off from work for a minute!’ she snapped.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he replied. ‘It’s not work any more; they’ve switched the channel. And it’s just hard to keep my eyes off the screen with that weird bloke on it.’ He nodded towards the TV and Clare turned to look. On it, there was a man dressed in a long, rather grubby raincoat, standing on a stage with a look of panic in his eyes. ‘Just wondering if he’s about to get himself arrested.’

She recognised that grubby mac! ‘Mr Flasher,’ she whispered to herself, watching the man as he flung off his raincoat of restraint and did a delicate twirl in the sequinned leotard he was wearing underneath. ‘Oh shit,’ she muttered. Because if Mr Flasher was on TV, that meant the talent show was on TV. In the pub. On the big screen.

And if they were showing the talent show in the pub, that meant that in about half an hour, she was going to be projected onto the screen – the screen her family seemed unable to avert their eyes from – performing a rap in front of thirteen young backing dancers.

She realised then that she’d made a terrible mistake. Because she could have controlled the environment back at home. She could have outed the power or insisted on watching something on the other side. At the very least, she’d have been able to distract anyone watching at the pertinent moment.

Here, she was a sitting duck.

A duck whose secret rap star identity was about to be exposed.

To make matters worse, one of the men leaning on the bar walked over to the TV and turned on the subtitles. ‘Can’t hear a feckin’ thing,’ he said to them as he walked back.

‘Any chance of flicking back to the news in a bit?’ Toby asked him. ‘Just … well, I’m expecting some news. On the news. You know?’ He winked at the man conspiratorially.

The man looked at him with a furrowed brow. ‘There’s always news on the news,’ he said slowly. ‘That’s why it’s called the news.’

‘I know,’ Toby said, patiently. ‘But tonight, I think there might be some news. You know …’ he winked again. ‘Actual news.’

‘Right …’ The man clearly wasn’t a fan of Woman’s World and had no idea what Toby was going on about.

‘Could I?’ Toby made to get up, but the man shook his head.

‘Sorry mate, boss wants it on – his wife was in the audience apparently.’ He nodded to the bloke behind the bar, who gave him a thumbs up. ‘We can switch over after?’

‘OK, thanks.’ Toby shook off his disappointment then turned to the family. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I think I rather intimidated him, don’t you?’

‘Oh, look!’ Clare said brightly, hoping to distract everyone from her imminent TV debut. ‘Our food has arrived!’

On the screen she saw a man in a bear costume. The subtitles across the bottom of the screen read: ‘I’m sixty-nine you know!’ ‘Audience gasps.’

‘Sixty-nine!’ Alfie said. ‘That’s amazing!’

‘Don’t be daft, Alfie. Sixty-nine is nothing. Grandad’s sixty-nine for a start and you don’t see him getting dressed up as a bear and parading himself on TV, do you?’ Toby said.

‘He could if he wanted to!’ Alfie replied, defensively, missing the point entirely. He looked at his phone and laughed. ‘Someone’s saying he looks a bit like Keith Lemon,’ he said, delighted. ‘He does, doesn’t he?!’ He clicked on the You’ve Got Talent hashtag. ‘Oh, he’s a grandad to four.’

‘Leave the phone,’ Clare said.

He pushed it slightly away from him. ‘Sorry.’

Glancing at the screen again, she felt a shudder of recognition.

‘So,’ she said, desperately trying to distract their attention from the screen. ‘Would anyone like to try one of my garlic mushrooms?’

‘Look at this woman,’ Alfie said. ‘Looks a bit like Aunty Steph, I reckon!’

‘That,’ said Toby, ‘is Martha B.’ He nodded at the screen. ‘I interviewed her.’

‘I know, Dad,’ said Katie. ‘Even if Alfie’s clueless as usual.’

Clare turned and was confronted by herself in her full Martha B. garb. She felt her cheeks get hot.

But nobody seemed to have recognised her. Perhaps she’d dodged a bullet.

‘God, big reaction!’ Alfie said, glancing at his phone again. ‘People saying about it being refreshing or something. Weird.’

‘Alfie,’ Toby admonished. ‘Your mum said no more phones.’

This was the moment when he decided to back her up?

‘Bloody hell, Macey gave them the golden buzzer!’

‘What else does it say?’ Clare said, grabbing the phone for a look.

Love the ridiculous suit #You’veGotTalent

Are those all her kids? The slag! #You’veGotTalent

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