My Not So Perfect Life(49)

“Oh my God.”

Even I feel quite shocked. I mean, I knew people would come, in principle. But four families? All at once?

“Well, that’s amazing! Biddy, you’ve done it!”

“But we haven’t!” she wails. “That’s the point! Oh, darling, I’m petrified. We’re going to have real customers, and I don’t know how we’re going to manage them, or entertain them, or…what if something goes wrong? And your dad’s no help—I mean, he’s a good man, but…”

She trails off, and I gape at the phone. I’ve never heard Biddy sound so rattled.

“You’ll be great!” I say reassuringly. “I mean, you’ve got your lovely breakfasts and all the activities….”

“But how do we organize it all? I’ve asked Denise from the village to help out, but all she does is ask me questions I can’t answer.”

“Well, put her on to me. Or do you want me to come down at the weekend?”

Even as I say the words, I feel a sickening wrench. A return ticket to Somerset costs a fortune. How on earth can I afford that? But I’ve offered now.



“Oh, Katie.” Biddy seems to dissolve. “Would you? We rely on you so much, you know. When you’re around, everything seems to fall into place. We’ll pay your ticket, of course. And I know you’re busy with your wonderful job in London, and we’re ever so proud of you, but there was another thing….” She hesitates as though she can’t bring herself to continue.

“What?”

There’s silence down the line and I wrinkle my brow in puzzlement. Just what can’t Biddy bring herself to say?

“Biddy? Biddy, are you still there?”

“Katie, you wouldn’t have any holiday, would you?” says Biddy in a rush. “You wouldn’t be able to help us out, just at the start? Stay a week or two, maybe? Or as long as you can.”

“Biddy…” I begin automatically, then break off. I don’t know what I want to say. I didn’t see this coming.

“I know, I know.” Biddy instantly backtracks. “I shouldn’t ask. It’s not fair. You’re making your way in the world, and if you can’t do it, we absolutely understand. You’ve got your career, your life, your flat—how’s the redecoration going, by the way?”

“Oh. Yes, it’s fine…it’s…argh! Oh God! Aaaargh!”

With no warning, the world has turned black. For a terrifying instant I think I’m being attacked. Something’s hitting me, banging me, surrounding me….I flail with my arms, panting, panicking…then suddenly realize what’s happened.

My bloody hammock’s collapsed.

I fight my way out of a black jersey skirt which has enveloped my head and survey my bed in dismay. The hammock is hanging dismally from one corner. All my crap is everywhere—clothes, hair products, books, magazines. It’ll take forever to sort all this out again. The only plus is that my bowl of stew was on the floor and didn’t get knocked over.



Actually, that’s not a plus.

“Katie?” Biddy’s anxious voice is coming out of the phone. “Katie, what’s happened?”

I grab the phone. “I’m fine. Sorry. Just knocked something over. I’m fine. Um…” I try to get my thoughts in order. “What were we saying?”

“I realized I never said, darling, we’ll pay you!”

“What?” I say blankly.

“If you could come and help out, we’d pay you, of course. You know we’ve been wanting to pay you for everything you’ve done already, love, and now it looks like we’ll have a budget….”

“You’d…” I rub my face. “You’d pay me.”

It’s a job offer. I’ve had a job offer. I almost want to laugh hysterically—but I don’t. I stir my stew, fighting my own thoughts.

An idea has crept into my head, an idea I can barely contemplate. Because it feels like an idea of failure. Of giving up. Of everything collapsing into dust.

I had so many dreams. I used to lie on my bed and study the tube map and imagine becoming one of those fast, confident people I’d seen on day trips to the capital. People in a hurry, with goals, aims, broad horizons. I’d imagined getting on a career ladder that could take me anywhere if I worked hard enough. Working on global brands; meeting fascinating people; living life to the max.

And, yes, I knew it would be hard. But maybe not this hard.



“Katie?”

“Sorry. Just…thinking.”

It wouldn’t be giving up, I tell myself sternly. It would just be…what? Regrouping. Because I can crack this. But maybe I need some time out first.

“Biddy, hold on,” I say abruptly. “There’s something I need to check.”

I put down the phone, hurry out of my room, and knock on Irena’s door. There’s no response, but I push my way in, anyway, telling myself that this is urgent and Irena’s god will understand.

The room is a sea of bowed, silent heads. Shit. Obviously this is a moment of prayer or something and now I’ve disturbed it. But I’m not backing away. I have to know.

I tiptoe through the cross-legged figures until I reach Irena, who’s sitting on the bed, her blond hair shining, her eyes closed, and her rosy face rapt. Alan’s right, I find myself thinking; she is very hot.