My Not So Perfect Life(123)

Head over head, I guess.

Thankfully we’ve arrived at the bus stop where we need to change, so I’m able to quit this train of thought. Shake my head clear of old memories and hopes and whatever else rubbish is in there. I put my phone away and shepherd Dad and Biddy through the whole fight-your-way-through-the-schoolkids process. (I can see it from their point of view; it is a bit stressy. Although I will say: They’re both getting very good at tapping their Oyster cards.)

The second bus whizzes along straight to Chiswick (well, as much as you can whiz in London), and there’s summer sunlight glinting in through the window and Biddy even gets a seat. It really could be worse. At Turnham Green, I put Dad and Biddy on a tube to Kew, tell them I can’t wait to hear all about it later, and then walk briskly the rest of the way to Cooper Clemmow.

“Morning, Katie,” Jade greets me from reception as I walk in.



That’s another change I’ve made. I’m Katie these days, and I don’t know why I ever tried being anyone else.

“Morning, Jade.” I smile back. “Is Demeter in?”

“Not yet,” says Jade. And I’m about to head to the lift when she clears her throat and motions toward someone sitting in the reception area. I turn and blink a few times as I see the figure, feeling a sudden rush of emotions. It’s me. OK, it’s not me. But it’s like looking at myself.

Sitting there, fiddling with her handbag strap, is our new research associate, Carly. She’s wearing cheap black trousers and her hair in a plastic clasp and an anxious expression. As she sees me, she leaps up, practically knocking over her glass of water.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly. “Hi, Katie, isn’t it? We met at my interview? I wanted to get here early on my first day, so…Hi.”

She looks so apprehensive, I want to give her a hug. Except that would probably freak her out.

“Hi.” I shake her hand warmly. “Welcome to Cooper Clemmow. You’re going to love it here. Demeter’s not here yet, but I’ll get you settled in….How was your commute?” I add, as we head toward the lift. “Miserable?”

“Not too bad,” says Carly robustly. “I mean, I’m in Wembley, so…but it’s not too bad.”

“I know what it’s like.” I catch her eye. “Truly.”

She nods. “Yes, I know. I’ve seen your Instagram page. My not-so-perfect commute.” She gives a sudden nervous half giggle. “And all the other photos. They’re brilliant. They’re really…real.”



“Well, yes.” I smile. “That’s the idea.”

As we head into the airy office space, I can see Carly looking around wide-eyed at the distressed bricks, the naked-man coat stand, the amazing giant plastic flowers that have just arrived from Sensiquo.

“It’s so cool,” she breathes.

“I know.” I can’t help catching her enthusiasm. “It’s pretty good, isn’t it?”

We had some kids over from the Catford community center last week—we set up an outreach day to complement our fundraising efforts. And they were fairly impressed by the office too. Even Sadiqua was, though she tried not to show it and asked everyone she met, “Can you get me on reality TV? ’Cause I want to be a presenter.”

That girl is going to go far. I have no idea in which direction—but she’ll go far.

“So,” I add, as we reach Carly’s desk, “I can’t remember, sorry—where are you from originally?”

“The Midlands,” she says, a touch defensively. “A place near Corby; you wouldn’t have heard of it….” She eyes up my print shift dress, which I bought when I got my first month’s salary. “So, are you a Londoner? You don’t sound like a Londoner. Are you…” She wrinkles her brow. “West Country?”

I haven’t tried to lose my accent this time round. I’m proud of it. My accent’s part of me, like Dad and Mum. And the farm. And the fresh country milk that’s made my hair so strong and curly. (That’s what Dad always said, anyway, to get me to drink up. It was probably bollocks.)

I am what I am. I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize it.



“I’m a Somerset girl through and through.” I smile at Carly. “But I live in London now, so…I guess I’m both.”

—

Demeter’s out at meetings all morning, so I keep an eye on Carly. She looks OK, but I know what it’s like to be that new girl, putting a brave face on. So at lunchtime I head to her desk.

“Come for a drink,” I say. “We’re all going to the Blue Bear. Give you a chance to get to know everyone.”

I can read her emotions like a book. A flash of delight—then hesitation. She glances at the homemade sandwich in her bag and instantly I know: She’s worried about money.

“On the company,” I say at once. “All on the company. It’s a thing we do.”

We’ll sort it later. Demeter and Liz and me. I’m quite friendly with Liz these days, now that the axis of evil has left.

On the way to the pub I text Demeter, telling her about our plans. She says she’s on her way, then texts back a picture of a vintage typeface she’s just seen: What do you think? I send back an enthusiastic reply, and we ping back and forth a few times.