Perfect on Paper Gillian Harvey (free romance novels .txt) 📖

and rudimentary compared to the way it appeared on camera.

‘But first,’ Pete said, turning towards the camera and flashing a short smile. ‘An unlikely act has taken the internet by storm. Martha B. with dance troupe Eezee Troupe have captured the imagination of the masses with their raps about women’s rights.’

‘And they’re here now to perform in the studio,’ continued his co-host, Melissa. ‘So give it up for Martha B. and her boys!’

With her heart hammering and her lips stretched into a smile, Clare listened to the beat and came in on cue:

‘It’s Martha B., here to disrupt your life,

I’m speakin’ to your sister, your mother, your wife.

Got my boys Eezee Troupe and they’re keepin’ it real,

Got a message about your women and just how they feel.

We’re tired of being sidelined, tired of being ignored,

Being judged on how we look, that’s not what we stand for.

We are liberated, educated, ready to go,

We’re fit, legit and loving it, enjoyin’ the flow.

Yeah, we keep things goin’, do the tidying up,

We like things smooth, get in the groove, like fillin’ your cup.

But it’s hard to keep things goin’ when you’re being ignored,

When we tell you what our day’s been like and you just look bored.

Yeah, hashtag MehToo! I hear ya all the women out there,

It’s time we started stepping out and makin’ things clear.

Just because we’re getting older doesn’t mean we are less,

Like wine the years improve us – but, dress to impress?

Why should we think about you when we’re getting dressed?

It’s our minds you should be seeing, look and you’ll be impressed!

We’re invisible? Yeah right, we blend right into the crowd,

Well no longer, Martha’s women gonna shout it aloud.

The world is run by men, well just look where that got us,

It’s time for a new movement, just in case you forgot us.

No matter if we’re older, or not part of your game,

It’s gonna change, I’m Martha B.,

Remember my name.’

The camera zoomed in and, as instructed, Clare dropped into a half-split. For the first time, she made it, although her hamstrings screamied in protest.

The presenters and crew clapped. ‘Well, that told us!’ said Pete, shaking his head and smiling. ‘Well done, guys.’

‘Yes, brilliant,’ smiled Melissa. ‘And now, to a story of a tortoise who trekked twenty miles to find his owner after a house move …’

In what felt like a complete anti-climax, Clare and the boys were ushered from the stage and back into the changing room. ‘Great job,’ the runner said, giving them the thumbs up.

‘Was that OK?’ she asked Dan when they were sitting in the foyer afterwards. ‘Do you think people will like it?’

‘I don’t think,’ he said, flashing his phone, which he seemed to be able to carry with him invisibly whatever he was wearing, ‘I know.’

‘Already?’

‘Yeah. Twitter’s gone crazy!’

It was what she’d hoped for and dreaded simultaneously. #MehToo was trending again at number five – and from what she could see as she looked over his shoulder, the feedback was overwhelmingly positive.

‘And you don’t think—’ she began.

‘Clare, nobody will recognise you in that get up,’ he said, removing her sunglasses in a way that felt strangely intimate. ‘But I still reckon you should still think about – you know – coming out or whatever.’

‘But Dan, this is never going to be my main job. My day job is pretty serious. Professional.’

‘But who says?’ he asked.

‘Who says what?’

‘Who says you can’t be both? You’re already a pretty good mother, I reckon.’

She snorted at this but said nothing.

‘And you’re nailing it at work, right?’

‘Well, kind of …’

‘Well, I can’t see why you can’t have this, too. Why do you have to choose? You’ve got a talent.’

‘I know … I’m a poet, and I know it,’ she quipped, partly out of embarrassment.

‘No, it’s more than that,’ he said. ‘You can speak to people. You can see how people are feeling and get it into verse. And the way you perform – it isn’t the novelty that’s keeping people interested. It’s the message. It’s the performance. Clare, face it,’ he said, looking at her intensely. ‘You’re good at this.’

‘But …’

‘And no buts,’ he said. ‘You’re the one showing everyone that women can have it all. That there’s this “new movement” or whatever. Maybe it’s time to listen to your own words.’

He was right, she realised. The only person setting limits was her.

Chapter Thirty

‘So, the auction for the land and property in section B of the development plan takes place tomorrow,’ Camberwaddle said, sliding a glossy brochure towards Clare over her desk.

‘Right,’ she said, looking at the small bungalow on its generous plot and trying to imagine the twenty-five houses Camberwaddle hoped to build in its place.

‘I’ll get my assistant to call you with the details once the transaction has gone through.’

‘That’s fine.’ Clare was still at a loss as to why Camberwaddle had needed to tell her this information in person, rather than simply emailing it to her as usual. Looking at her top client, his silver hair looking slightly more unkempt than usual, a flush on his cheeks, she wondered if he was all right. ‘Was there anything else?’ she prompted after a few moments’ silence.

‘Sorry, yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve signed those contracts, so they’ve just gone to be countersigned by the head of commerce, then they’ll be winging their way back to you.’

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Another silence.

‘Is there anything else I can help you with?’ she said again.

‘Um … no, I think that’s it,’ he said, shuffling papers back into his leather satchel. Then, ‘Oh!’ he said, as if he’d just remembered something. ‘I was going to ask how things are going for your husband. Quite a coup, him getting into frontline presenting as it were. Even if he is only doing a women’s show.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, holding her tongue.

Camberwaddle suddenly grimaced.

‘Are you all right? Do you want some water?’ she asked. Please, don’t let him vomit in my office, she thought. There isn’t a window. It’ll stink for weeks.

‘No, no,’ he said, straightening up and fishing a