My Not So Perfect Life

The next morning I give myself a pep talk. Enough with the obsessing over Demeter. So she’s my ex-boss—so what? I’ve focused on her enough. Time to move on.

Except the trouble with Demeter is, she monopolizes your attention, whatever you do. She’s just that kind of person. By nine-thirty, Biddy and I are already frazzled by her breakfast demands. Almond milk…hotter coffee…Is there any cornbread?…Could my egg be five and a half minutes exactly, please?

Now the children have finally made it to the breakfast table and I’m eyeing them up as they eat. It’s weird: They looked so perfect and charming from a distance. But close up, I’m really not impressed. Coco has a permanently sulky frown, and Hal keeps winding her up.

They’re both pretty demanding too, like their mother. They ask for Nutella (not available) and pancakes (not available), and then Coco says, “Don’t you do fresh smoothies?” in a really rude way that makes me want to shake her.

As I go round refreshing water glasses, Demeter is scrolling down her phone and she suddenly flinches.

“Oh God.” She stares at the screen. “What? No.” She scrolls up, then down again. “What?”

“What’s up?” asks James, and even I feel curious. Demeter looks properly panicky, the way she did in the lift that time. It must be another of her epic screwups.

“Something at work. This…this makes no sense.” She peers at her phone, yet again. “I need to call Adrian.”

Firmly, I dampen my curiosity. I am not going to focus on Demeter anymore. I’m going to check up on the other glampers. I head outside, and Susie greets me with a smile.

“Hello!” I say. “How are you doing? Just to let you know, I’m not sure we will be able to fit in any more Vedari sessions this week.” I make a regretful face. “Maybe another time.”

“Oh.” Susie’s face falls. “It did sound so energizing.”

“But how was the willow-weaving?” I try to steer her off the subject.

“It was good! Yes. It was fun. I mean—” Susie breaks off. She’s tense, I suddenly detect. Something’s up.

“What?” I say in concern. “Is anything wrong?”

“No! It’s just…well.” She clears her throat. “I did feel that some other participants slightly monopolized the teacher—” She breaks off abruptly as another mum, Cleo, approaches us.

Cleo comes from Hampstead and is more earthy than Susie. She’s in a drifty dress and wearing an amethyst pendant on a leather thong, her feet incongruously stuffed in desert boots.

“Good morning, Cleo!” I say, trying to ignore the fact that Susie is glaring at Cleo quite openly.

“We’ve just been cooking eggs and dandelion leaves for breakfast on our fire pit,” Cleo says in her husky voice. “Sprinkled with sumac. Delicious.”

“We had Biddy’s breakfast in the farmhouse,” counters Susie. “Absolutely scrumptious.”

“And the willow-weaving yesterday!” exclaims Cleo, as though she’s not remotely interested in Susie’s breakfast. “I made three baskets. It was marvelous.”

“Marvelous for the people who swiped all the best willow,” mutters Susie under her breath.

“Oh, and Susie.” Cleo turns to her. “I do hope Hamish didn’t disturb you with his violin practice this morning. He’s gifted, unfortunately.”

“How difficult for you,” says Susie tightly. “I’m sure if you left him alone, he’d settle down to being normal.”

OK. There is definitely a vibe between Susie and Cleo. This might need monitoring. I’m wondering whether to warn the pottery teacher, when I see Demeter coming out of the kitchen. Her phone is clenched in her hand and she looks a bit stunned.

“Everything OK?” I say brightly, but Demeter doesn’t answer. Can she even see me?

“Demeter?” I try again.

“Right.” She comes to. “Sorry. I…No. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. I just need to…James!” She raises her voice as she sees her husband coming out too, and she heads toward him swiftly. I can’t hear much of the ensuing conversation, only snippets that make me sizzle with curiosity.

“…ridiculous!” James is saying. “I mean, if you’ve got the emails…”

“…can’t find them. That’s the thing…”

“…makes no sense…”

“Exactly! That’s what I keep saying! Look!” Demeter shows her phone to James, but his eyes are drifting away, as though he’s got other things to think about.

“It’ll blow over,” he says. “These things always do.”

“Right.” Demeter seems dissatisfied by this answer—in fact, she still seems pretty stressed—but she visibly pulls herself together and heads off with all the others toward the minibus, which will take them to the pottery class.

And I know it’s nothing to do with me anymore. But all morning, as I’m going through the accounts with Dad, I can’t help wondering: What’s up?

—

Pottery day is always a good one. First of all, everyone loves pottery, whatever age they are. And second, the pottery teacher, Eve, is very skillful at “helping” people just enough, so that their jug or vase or whatever will actually stand up straight. She’ll fire the pots tonight, and all the glampers will get them by Friday, and it’s a nice souvenir for them to take home.

So I’m expecting to see a happy group of people piling off the minibus when it returns at lunchtime. But, instead, there’s a rather weird procession. Demeter and Eve are together at the front, and Demeter seems to be talking very much at Eve. Behind, at a distance, everyone else is following, and I can see a bit of eye-rolling. As Demeter gets into earshot, I think I have an inkling why.

“…and then we were lucky enough to get a private view of the collection in Ortigia,” she’s saying smugly. “Have you ever met the curator, Signor Moretti? No? Charming man.”

I’d forgotten that ceramics was one of Demeter’s things. I bet she’s been ear-bashing poor Eve all morning.

“Welcome back!” I say hastily. “Eve, you must be exhausted; come and have a drink!”

I seat Eve next to Susie and Nick, well away from Demeter, and then it’s the usual rush of serving bread and salad and locally made pork pies, while all the guests discuss the morning. Even though I’ve told myself not to, I can’t help hanging around Demeter’s table a little more than the others and watching her family.

My opinion hasn’t altered: They’re dreadful. Coco is outwardly defiant and rude. Hal just ignores his mother. And James, who should be supporting her, is on another planet. If I thought Demeter was distracted, that’s nothing on her husband. All he can focus on is his phone. Does he even realize he’s on holiday?

During pudding, they start talking about some school play that Coco’s in, and Demeter gets all show-offy about Shakespeare. She starts going on about a production she saw at the RSC that was “tremendous” and “groundbreaking,” while Coco yawns ostentatiously and rolls her eyes.

Demeter really doesn’t help herself. Can’t she tell that everyone’s bored stiff? But at the same time, I can see that she is actually trying to help.

“Honestly, Mum!” Coco erupts at last. “Stop going on about it! You probably won’t even see me in the bloody play. So.”

“Of course I’ll see you in it!” Demeter retorts.

“No, you won’t. You never come to anything. You know what Granny calls you? Mrs. Invisible.” Coco sniggers and catches James’s eye. “Doesn’t she, Daddy? She says, ‘How’s Mrs. Invisible today?’ ”

“Mrs. Invisible?” Demeter sounds calm, but I can see her hand trembling as she takes a sip of water. “What does that mean?”

“The invisible mum,” says Hal, glancing up from his phone. “Come on, Mum. You’re never there.”

“Of course I’m there.” Demeter sounds as rattled as I’ve ever heard her. “I come to all your events, all your parents’ evenings—”

“What about my basketball?” Hal gives her a wounded look. “Did you even know I was on a basketball team?”

“Basketball?” Demeter has her confused, eye-darty look again. “Basketball? I didn’t— When— James, did you know about this?”

“Dad comes to every match,” says Hal. “He chants and everything.”

“Stop it, Hal,” says James sharply. “He’s winding you up, Demeter. He doesn’t play basketball.”

“But why—” Demeter breaks off, bewildered. “Why would you—James?” she practically yells, as James starts tapping at his phone again. “Could you please join in this discussion?”

“Hal, cut the attitude,” says James. “Say sorry.”

“Sorry,” mutters Hal.

I wait for James to insist: “Say it properly,” like Dad would have done to me, but he doesn’t. He’s already tuned out again. I don’t care how brainy and important he is, he’s a tosser. Maybe he’s one of these men who can’t cope with successful women. I have no idea what induced Demeter to marry him.

Hal just carries on with his lunch, while Coco shreds a bread roll into pieces. Demeter is silent and subdued. And all I can feel, right now, is really sorry for her.

—

After we’ve served coffee, the two children disappear out of the barn. I should really go and help Biddy with the afternoon’s baking activity. But I can’t leave. I’m too fascinated by the horror show that is Demeter and her family. I station myself within earshot of them by the old oak dresser, folding and refolding napkins. Not that Demeter and James even notice me. They’re engrossed in their own little bubble.

“So your mother calls me Mrs. Invisible.” Demeter lifts her coffee cup to her lips, then puts it down again, untouched. “Nice.”

James winces. “Look…I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have heard that. I’ve told Mum she’s out of line.”

“But what does she mean?” Demeter sounds brittle.

“Oh, come on.” James drops his hands onto the table with a thump. “You’re out every night. If you’re not working late, you’re at some awards ceremony—”

“It’s my job!” says Demeter, sounding anguished. “You know I have to do this stuff, James—”

“Demeter, they want me in Brussels.” James cuts straight across her and she draws in breath sharply. The color drains from her face. There’s such a long, breath-holding silence between the pair of them that I think I might keel over.

At last, Demeter says, “Right.” She swallows hard, and there’s another endless pause. “Right,” she repeats. “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming.”

“I know. Sorry. I’ve been…” He sweeps a hand through his hair. “I’ve been preoccupied. That’s why.”

I’ve frozen beside the dresser. This is clearly a very personal conversation. I should make myself known. But I can’t. I can’t break the spell. My fingers are clenched around a napkin so hard that they’ve gone white. Demeter takes breath to speak, and I can sense she’s feeling her way.

“I thought we discussed the Brussels thing, James. I thought we decided—”

“I know what we decided. I know what we agreed. I know what I said….” James rubs his eyes with the flat of his hand. Demeter’s head is turned away, her chin lowered. The pair look a picture of abject misery.

I can’t help flashing back to that photo of them on Demeter’s pinboard that I always used to gaze at. The pair of them standing on the red carpet in black tie, looking like the most successful, glamorous, put-together couple in the world. But look at them now. Tired; wretched; not even making eye contact.

“But?” says Demeter, finally.

“I lied, OK?” James bursts out. “I told you I didn’t want Brussels because I thought it was what you wanted. But I do want it, and they really want me, and I’m tired of compromising. This opportunity is huge. There won’t be another like it.”

“Right.” I can see Demeter’s eyes flicking back and forth nervously. “I see. Yes. Right. So…we move to Brussels?”

“No! You have your job…the children’s schools….” He spreads his hands. “They’ve talked about a three-year fixed contract. After that, who knows? I hope I can find another great opportunity in London. But for now…” James leans forward and waits till she lifts her gaze to meet his. “I want this. You wanted Cooper Clemmow…I want this.”

“Well, then.” Her fingers are meshing on the table. “You have to take it. We’ll make it work.”

“Oh God— You’re always so bloody generous.” He screws up his face, a fist to his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bastard.”

“No, no,” says Demeter at once. “You haven’t. You’ve been unhappy. I get that now.”

“And a bastard.”

“A bit of a bastard.” Demeter gives a reluctant little smile and he smiles back, with those handsome crow’s feet.

For a while there’s silence. They’re both just looking at each other. I sense they’re mentally straightening things out a bit. And now maybe I can see why they might have married each other. But bloody hell. What a roller coaster.

“You supported me,” says Demeter, spinning her coffee cup slowly on her saucer. “When I moved to Cooper Clemmow. You supported me and you turned down Brussels. And you’ve been miserable ever since. I can see that now.”

“I think…” James exhales sharply. “I should have been more honest. I thought I could just not-want it. If I tried hard enough.”

“You can’t make yourself not-want things.” Demeter gives him a wry smile. “Idiot.”

“But this job is big.”

“All right, then.” She exhales gustily. “We can do big. We’ll survive. So what happens next?”

“They want to talk to me.” He pauses. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Demeter looks at him in horror. “But we’re on holiday! When were you going to—”

“I’ll nip up to Gatwick this afternoon. I’ll be there and back in…what? Seventy-two hours.”

“Seventy-two hours? Why so long?”

“They want a couple of meetings….” James takes both her hands in his. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. But you’re busy here. It’s fun. The children won’t even know I’ve gone.”

“Right.” Demeter sags slightly. “I suppose I’d better get used to you being away.”

“We’ll need to work it out. But it’ll be good.” James’s face has become animated; there’s a new, positive energy about him. “So I’ll just go and call them, confirm it for definite. I love you.”

“I love you,” echoes Demeter, shaking her head ruefully, as though she’s saying it despite herself.

James leans forward and kisses Demeter with a tenderness which surprises me. Then he leaves the barn without even noticing me. Demeter doesn’t move for a while. She seems a bit dumbstruck; her face is wearier than ever.

But at last she rouses herself. She pulls out her phone and starts to text. As she’s doing so, the light comes back into her eyes. There’s even a little half smile at her lips.

Well, thank God. Because I was getting a bit worried about her there.

She finishes her text, puts down her phone, and leans back in her chair—then notices me.

“Oh, Katie,” she says, in her old, imperious manner. “I wanted to check with you—we will be doing another bespoke activity tomorrow? Because obviously I won’t be doing the mushroom-foraging.”

I stare back dumbly, not knowing how to respond. I don’t even know how to see her anymore.

All I could see before was the nightmare boss with a perfect, glossy life. But now what do I see? Just a person. A person with hang-ups and problems and flaws like the rest of us. Who’s basically trying to do her best, even if it comes out badly. I have a sudden memory of her lying on the muddy grass in her Vedari sack and bite my lip. Maybe that was a bit harsh. Maybe it’s all been a bit harsh.

“OK,” I say. “You’re on, Demeter. We’ll do a bespoke activity.”

A nice activity, I decide. Something fun. We’ll spend the morning together, doing something genuinely enjoyable. I’m kind of—almost—looking forward to it.

—

A taxi arrives in the yard for James at three o’clock, and from the kitchen window I watch him get into it. Demeter kisses him goodbye, then wanders slowly back. She’s scrolling down her emails again, and I hear her exclaim, “No!” incredulously, as though yet again the world makes no sense.

Still engrossed, she heads toward the bench and table where her kids are sitting.

“Mum.” Coco glares at her. “You forgot to pack my Abercrombie and Fitch hoodie.”

“What?” Demeter seems confused. “Hoodie? You’re wearing a hoodie.”

“My other hoodie. This one’s all frayed.”

“But you packed yourself, darling.”

“You said you’d double-check!”

“Coco…” Demeter puts a hand to her head. “I can’t take care of your packing as well as everything else. Anyway, you’ve got a hoodie. It’s fine.”

“Oh, great. So I have to do it all myself, even though I’ve got to study. Which you keep telling me is important.” Coco practically snarls at her mum. “Mrs. Invisible rules again.”

“Don’t call me that, please.” I can tell Demeter’s finding it hard to keep calm. “You have a hoodie.”

“I didn’t want this hoodie.” Coco plucks disparagingly at her hoodie, which is from Jack Wills and probably cost, like, sixty quid.

I’m listening in utter disbelief. Who does this girl think she is? And what the hell has happened to Demeter? Where’s the strong, powerful über-woman I know from work? She seems to fade away as soon as she’s with her children, leaving only this anxious, craven person I don’t recognize. It’s weird. It’s wrong.

As I’m watching, Demeter’s phone rings and she answers it immediately.

“Hi, Adrian,” she says, sounding defensive. “Yes, I am aware of what’s going on. But I just don’t understand. There must be some mixed message here. Have you actually spoken to Lindsay at Allersons?” She listens again, and her face becomes agitated. “No, that can’t be right,” she says. “It can’t! This is insane!”

She stands up and heads off to talk in private. The two children are still lolling at the picnic table, staring down at their phones as though they’re possessed, and something about their attitude makes me boil irrationally.

I know it’s none of my business. But bloody hell. If I thought Demeter was entitled, she has nothing on her children. On impulse, I open the kitchen door and head out.

“Hi!” I say cheerfully, approaching the table. “How are you two doing? Enjoying the holiday?”

“Yes, thank you,” says Coco, without bothering to look up.

“And what have you done to thank your mum?” I say conversationally.

“What?” she says with utter incomprehension. Hal doesn’t reply, but he looks equally perplexed.

“Well, you know,” I say as though it’s obvious. “She works really hard to pay for you to go on holiday and buy designer clothes….” I gesture at the Jack Wills hoodie. “So you say thank you.”

Both children look dumbfounded at this idea.

“She enjoys working,” Coco says at last, with a dismissive roll of her eyes.

“Well, Biddy enjoys baking,” I say with a shrug. “But you still say thank you nicely when she gives you a scone.”

“It’s not the same,” says Coco, sounding cross. “She’s our mum.”

“You don’t say thank you for holidays,” puts in Hal, as though this is some article from the Geneva Convention which he refuses to deviate from, out of principle.

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I say pleasantly. “Because when I was your age, we could never afford holidays. I’d have been really envious of you guys, on holiday all the time.”

“We don’t go on that many holidays,” says Coco, looking sulky, and I feel an urge to slap her. I’ve seen photos of her in Demeter’s office. Skiing. Standing on a white-sand beach. Laughing on a speedboat in some tropical clime.

“I didn’t ever go abroad till I was seventeen,” I say pleasantly. “And now I can’t afford to go abroad either. And I could never afford a Jack Wills hoodie. You’re a lucky girl, Coco. I mean, Jack Wills!”

Coco cautiously touches her hoodie, the one she was disparaging a moment ago. Then she looks at my T-shirt—an unbranded Factory Shop special.

“Well,” she says, with less of a swagger in her voice. “Yeah. Jack Wills is cool.”

“See you,” I say lightly, and walk away.

I perch on a nearby wall, pretending to check my activities folder, wondering how this will play out. But if I was hoping that both kids would start discussing how ungrateful they’ve been and how to make amends, then I was nuts. They both sit there silently, with the same sulky expressions, gazing at their phones, as though we never had a conversation.

As Demeter returns to the table, she looks exhausted and a bit freaked. She sits down, gazing into the middle distance, chewing her lip. For a while, no one says anything. But then Coco lifts her eyes from her phone for a nanosecond and mutters, “Mum, the holiday’s really great.”

Instantly, Demeter springs into life. The weariness disappears from her face, and she gazes at Coco like someone whose lover just told her he will marry her, after all.

“Really?” she says. “Are you enjoying it?”

“Yeah. So, like…” Coco hesitates as though making the supreme effort. “You know. Thanks.”

“Darling! It’s my pleasure!” Demeter looks absolutely radiant, simply because her child gave her a grudging thank-you. It’s pitiful. It’s tragic.

“Yeah,” says Hal, and this single syllable seems to make Demeter’s day even more perfect.

“Well, it’s lovely,” she says. “It’s lovely just to spend time together.”

There’s a tremble in her voice, and her eyes give that sudden panicky, darting movement I know so well. What is up with her? What is up?

At that moment, Dad comes sauntering up to their table, holding a load of brochures.

“Now,” he begins, in his most charming way, “can I say that you are delightful guests. Just delightful. We see a lot of glampers, and you…” He points with his weather-beaten finger to Demeter, then Coco, then Hal. “You come out on top.”

“Thank you,” says Demeter, with a laugh, and even Coco looks pleased.

“And for that reason,” carries on Dad breezily, “we’d like to invite all your friends to come and join us next year. Because we’re sure they’ll be just as delightful as you.” He hands Demeter a stack of Ansters Farm brochures from his pile. “Spread the word! Spread the joy! We’ve got ten percent discounts for all your friends!”

Demeter takes the brochures, and I can tell she’s amused by Dad’s little riff.

“So we’re the best guests here, are we?” she says, her mouth twitching.

“By a mile,” says Dad emphatically.

“So you’re not offering this ten percent discount to anyone else?”

“Ah.” Dad twinkles knowingly back at her. “Well, it would be unfair if we didn’t let a few of the other guests in on it. But we’ll be hoping it’s your friends who come along.”

Demeter laughs. “Of course you will.” She turns the brochure over a few times, opens it, and looks at the layout. “This is good,” she says suddenly. “I thought that before. Very appealing, great design…Who produced it for you?”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Dad looks pleased. “That was our Katie did that.”

“Katie?” Demeter seems a bit stunned. “Katie as in…Katie?”

“That’s right.” Dad catches sight of me. “Katie, Demeter here likes your brochure!”

“Come here!” Demeter beckons me so commandingly, I feel my legs obeying her. I tug my curly blue hair down over my face, pushing my sunglasses firmly up my nose.

I know I’m straying onto dangerous ground here. I should make an excuse and walk away. But I can’t. I feel a bit breathless, keyed up with hope. I’m still in thrall to her, I realize. I’m still desperate for her praise.

Demeter’s reading my brochure. She’s not just reading it, she’s studying it closely. She’s taking my work seriously. For how long have I dreamed of this happening?

“Who wrote this copy?” She hits the brochure with the back of her fingers.

“I did.”

“Who chose the typeface and the paper?”

“I did.”

“She designed the website too,” says Dad proudly.

“I got a techie friend to help me,” I put in.

“But you were in charge of the creative content?” Demeter looks at me with narrowed, thoughtful eyes.

“Well…yes.”

“It’s a good website,” says Demeter. “And this is outstanding. I should know,” she adds to Dad. “This is what I do for a living.”

“That’s our Katie!” says Dad, and ruffles my hair. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” Clutching his brochures, he heads off to another group of glampers, where he produces exactly the same shtick he used on Demeter.

“Katie, tell me something,” says Demeter, who can’t stop studying the brochure. “Do you have training?”

“Um.” I swallow. “I’ve…I’ve studied design.”

“Well, all your instincts are spot-on,” she says emphatically. “I couldn’t do a better job myself. Katie, I think you have a rare talent. I only wish our juniors were this talented.”

I stare back at her, my head prickling. I feel a bit surreal, to be honest.

“I work for a company called Cooper Clemmow,” Demeter continues. “Our business is branding. Here’s my card.” She hands me a Cooper Clemmow card and I hold it dumbly, half-wanting to break into hysterical laughter. “If you ever think about leaving this place, trying to get a job in London—call me. I may be able to give you a job opportunity. Don’t look so freaked out,” she adds kindly. “We have a very friendly office. I’m sure you’d fit in.”

“Thank you,” I say, my voice not working properly. “That’s very…Thank you. I just have to…”

On weak legs, I walk away, into the house, through the kitchen, up to my bedroom. I don’t look left and I don’t look right. I put the business card carefully on my bed and look at it for a second. Then I scream.

“Noooooooo!”

I bang my head against my ancient wallpaper. I clutch my hair. I scream again. I punch my pillows, hard. I can’t bear it. I can’t believe it.

Finally, finally I’ve got what I always wanted. Demeter’s looked at my work. She’s praised it. She wants to give me a chance.

But what bloody good is that now?

At last, panting, I collapse in a chair and consider my options.

1. Go downstairs to Demeter and say, Guess what? It’s me, Cat! At which point she’ll probably freak out, rescind the job offer, reveal to Biddy and Dad that my “sabbatical” story is a lie, and cause all sorts of turmoil. Total nightmare.

2. Take up her job offer under the identity of “Katie” Brenner. Instantly get found out, prosecuted for fraud, and never work again. Total nightmare.

3. I’m not sure there is a three.

—

My brain circles frenziedly for half an hour. But it doesn’t find a solution; it just becomes stiffer and tireder and stupider. And Biddy will be needing help. So I rouse myself, head downstairs, and start peeling potatoes, which is nice and calming.

Or at least it is until Dad comes into the kitchen, whistling cheerily and putting on his “Farmer Mick” hat for the magic show he’s doing later. (He so can’t do magic. But luckily the kids think he’s hilarious whatever he does, and the adults are just happy that their children are being amused.)

“That Demeter likes your stuff, doesn’t she?” he greets me. “We knew you were talented!”

“What’s this?” Biddy looks up with interest from the pie crust she’s shaping.

“Demeter. She’s an expert on brochures, apparently. I told her, ‘Katie did that.’ You should have seen her face.”

“Oh, Katie!” says Biddy in delight. “That’s wonderful! Did you tell her about your job in London, love?” she adds innocently. “Maybe you two should…what’s-it-called. Network.”

I feel an almighty swell of panic.

“No!” I say shrilly. “I mean, it’s not appropriate. Not while she’s on holiday. I’ll keep her card and contact her later.”

“Later?” Biddy looks dubious. “Sweetheart, I wouldn’t leave it. She may forget about you. Look, if it’s awkward for you, I’ll bring it up. What’s the name of the place you work at again? Cooper Clemmow. That’s right, isn’t it?”

I feel faint. This cannot happen. Biddy cannot start telling Demeter how I’ve got a top job at this London company called Cooper Clemmow.

“No!” I repeat in desperation. “Look, these London types are really prickly and stressy. They’ve come here to relax and get away from it all. If you talk work on holiday they hold it against you. They’ll…they’ll put it on TripAdvisor!” I add wildly, and I can see a frisson of fear running through Biddy.

TripAdvisor is terrifying. We’ve had three entries so far, and they’ve all been lovely, but we all know how it can go horribly wrong.

“I think she’s got a point, love,” says Dad to Biddy. “We don’t want to look pushy.”

“Exactly! It’s really, really important.” I try to impress this on Biddy. “Don’t mention work to Demeter. Don’t ask her where she works. And don’t…” I feel sick at the very thought. “Don’t mention Cooper Clemmow.”

I resume peeling potatoes, feeling a bit weak. That was close. It still is close. It’s precarious. Whatever I say to Biddy, she still may take it upon herself to big up my London job to Demeter. With just one wrong word, everything could come out. Oh God…I close my eyes, breathing hard. Should I come clean now? Tell Biddy and Dad everything? But they’ll be so upset, and they’ve got enough on their plates as it is….

“Katie?” Biddy’s voice makes me jump. “Darling, I think you’ve peeled that potato enough,” she says with a laugh, and I look down in a daze. I’ve been peeling the same potato, round and round, until it’s about the size of a marble.

“Right.” I muster a smile. “Not concentrating.”

“By the way,” adds Biddy, “I meant to tell you before. Guess what? We have our first B&B guest arriving tomorrow!”

“Oh, great!” I say, distracted for a moment. “That’s brilliant news!”

The B&B room has been Biddy’s project. It was her idea to have an “overspill” room in the house for people who don’t want to glamp. It’s a ground-floor room with its own entrance—it fact, it used to be a sitting room that we hardly ever used. Biddy painted it in Farrow & Ball (my advice), and Dad turned the outhouse loo into a tiny en suite shower, and it’s all 400-thread-count sheets, like in the yurts.

“Who is it?” I ask. “Are they staying long?”

“Just a night,” says Biddy. “He must want to have a look at the yurts or something. He wanted to stay in one, actually, but I told him they were full.”

“Does he want to do any activities?”

“Oh.” Biddy looks troubled. “I didn’t ask. Well, we’ll find out when he arrives. Funny name he’s got. Astalis.” She peers at her own writing. “Can that be right? Astalis?”

The world has gone black for a moment.

“Astalis?” I repeat, in a voice that doesn’t sound like mine.

“Alex Astalis.” Biddy wrinkles her brow. “I wonder if he’s any relation to that famous Astalis chap….What’s he called again…”

Alex is coming here. Why’s he coming here? And then, in the next instant, I know exactly why he’s coming here.

“When…” I’m trying to keep control of myself. “When exactly did he call?”

“It was earlier on,” says Biddy. “About two-thirty.”

Two-thirty. About ten minutes after James told Demeter he was going away. I have a sudden image of Demeter sitting there at the lunch table, texting, that half-smile playing on her lips. She didn’t hang about, did she? She didn’t bloody hang about.

“I hope he finds the bed comfortable,” Biddy is fretting. “I found it a little hard myself, but your dad said it was fine….”

“I’m sure it’ll be OK,” I say numbly.

He won’t need the bed, is what I feel like saying. He won’t need the room. He’ll be in the yurt all night with Demeter.

There I was, softening toward her, thinking she had it tough—but look at her. The minute her husband’s out of the way, she ships in her lover. She didn’t even wait half an hour after James had kissed her and told her he loved her. She’s a bitch, she’s a selfish bitch….

And now I’m torturing myself, imagining Alex and Demeter in the yurt. Candles lit. Writhing around athletically on the sheepskin. My breaths are coming in short, angry bursts. I feel like a melting pot of fury and frustration…and, OK, envy. Some envy.

Quite a lot of envy.

And then I jolt in panic. Shit. What if Alex recognizes me? He doesn’t have Demeter’s facial-recognition problem. He’s more switched on. I cannot come across him in any shape or form, or everything really will implode….

OK. Stop freaking out. It’ll be fine. I’ll have to pretend to be ill or something. I don’t want to see him, anyway; can’t think of anything worse.

“What time’s he arriving?” I ask, as casually as I can. “This Astalis person?”

“Not till eleven-ish. Plenty of time to make the room nice.” Biddy smiles at me. “And what are you going to do with Demeter? She told me you’re arranging another bespoke activity. You two are quite a pair!”

I stare back, my brain in overdrive. I’d forgotten about the bespoke activity. I’d forgotten about spending another morning with Demeter. Something “nice,” I promised myself. Something “fun.” Well, that was before I knew what a self-centered, conniving, two-faced bitch she really was.

“Do you want to do baking?” suggests Biddy. “I could help you with that.” But slowly I shake my head.

“No, don’t worry. I’ll come up with something else.” I give Biddy a bland little smile. “This might be Demeter’s last activity with me. I want to think of something absolutely perfect.”