My Not So Perfect Life(58)

But I can’t. Dad and Biddy need me. Oh God…

I bury my head in my hands. Fucking Demeter. She has to ruin everything—

And then a terrifying thought hits me. The minute Demeter recognizes me, it’s all going to come out. Dad and Biddy will find out I got let go from my job. That the “sabbatical” was a lie. They’ll get all worried…it’ll be awful….

I’m sitting motionless on my bed, hugging a cushion, my brain working frantically. This is serious. I have to protect myself. Top priority: Demeter must not realize who I am.

She only knew me as Cat. If she associates me with anywhere, it’s Birmingham. She wouldn’t think of me as Katie the farmer’s daughter from Somerset. And she’s never been great at recognizing people. Could I fool her? Can I?

Slowly I stand up and head over to my battered old wardrobe. There’s an oval full-length mirror on it, and I survey myself critically. My curly hair is different. My clothes are different. My name’s different. My face isn’t that different—but she’s not good with faces. My accent’s different, I realize. I can play up the Somerset burr even more.

In sudden inspiration, I grab for an eye-shadow palette that Biddy gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I bypass all the neutral shades and head straight for the frosted blue and purple. I daub both colors around my eyes. Then I put on a baseball cap I got years ago from the Bath & West Show and survey myself again.

I look about as unlike Cat as it’s possible to look.



“Allo thar,” I say to my reflection. “I be Katie Brenner. Farmed this land all my life. Never been to Lunnon town.”

There’s only one way I’m going to find out whether this disguise works: Try it out.

—

As I enter the kitchen, Biddy is sitting labeling jam, and she gapes at me in surprise.

“Goodness! Katie! That makeup’s…very…”

“New look,” I say briefly, pouring out glasses of lemonade and arranging them on a tray. “Thought I might give the new family some lemonade, since they missed tea.”

As I head down over the field, toward Demeter’s yurt, I feel sick with jitters. But I force myself to keep going, head down, one foot in front of the other. As I get near, I slow down to a halt and raise my eyes.

There she is. Demeter. In the flesh. I actually feel a shiver as I see her.

She’s sitting on the deck, all alone, wearing the perfect, glossy magazine version of country clothes. Slouchy trousers in a slubby gray linen, together with a collarless shirt and some Moroccan-looking leather slippers.

“No, not Babington House this time,” she’s saying on her mobile. “Ansters Farm. Yes, it’s very new. Didn’t you see the write-up in The Guardian?”

She sounds totally smug. Well, of course she does. She’s found the Latest New Thing.

“Yes, artisan activities. A real taste of farm life. You know how passionate I am about organic food….Absolutely! Simple things. Local food, local crafts…Oh yes, we all take part….” Demeter listens for a moment. “Mindfulness. That’s exactly what I said to James. These old-fashioned skills…So good for the children….I know.” She nods vigorously. “Back to the earth. Absolutely. And the people are so quaint. Absolute salt of the earth…”



Something inside me has started to boil. Quaint? Quaint?

“Must go. I have no idea where my family have got to….” Demeter gives a bark of laughter. “I know. Absolutely. Well, I’ll keep you posted. Ciao!”

She rings off, scrolls through her phone, taps her fingers agitatedly a few times, and thrusts a hand through her hair. She seems a bit hyper. Probably overexcited at being an early adopter yet again. Eventually she puts her phone in her pocket and looks around with a sweeping gaze. “Oh, hello,” she says as she notices me.

My chest tightens, but somehow I stay outwardly calm.

“Hello there.” I greet her in my broadest West Country accent. “Welcome to Ansters Farm. I’m Katie, the farmer’s daughter. Lived here all my life,” I add for good measure.

Am I overdoing it? I’m just so desperate to put her off the scent.

“I brought you some lemonade,” I add. “It’s homemade—organic, of course.”

“Oh, lovely,” says Demeter, whose eyes lit up at the word “organic.” “Can you bring it up here?”

As I step up to the deck, my hands are shaking. Surely she’ll recognize me. Surely she’ll peer under my cap and say, Wait a minute…

But she doesn’t.



“So, Katie, I have a question—” She breaks off as her phone buzzes. “Sorry, just a sec…Hi, Adrian?” She gives a short, resigned laugh. “No, don’t worry, what else are Saturdays for? Yes, just got here, and I’ve seen the email from Rosa….”

I’m prickling all over. It’s as if I’ve whooshed back to the office. Rosa. Adrian. Names I haven’t heard in months. If I close my eyes I’m there, sitting at my desk, listening to the office buzz, the tapping of keyboards, the squeak of Sarah’s chair on the floor.

And now I’m remembering that last day: Flora telling me Demeter was in trouble. Something about Sensiquo and a deadline. Well, clearly she got herself out of trouble pretty quickly. Flora’s voice rings again in my mind: If you’re shagging one of the partners, you’re never in that much trouble, right?