My Not So Perfect Life(65)

“Is that a glamper?”



“Yes.”

“But she’s shoveling shit.”

“I know.” I think quickly. “She…um…wanted to.”

“She wanted to?” says Steve in astonishment. “Who wants to shovel shit on their holiday? Is she nuts?”

He looks so fascinated, I feel a spike of alarm. He’ll start quizzing Demeter if I’m not careful. Abruptly, I decide to take him into my confidence.

“Look, Steve, actually there’s more to it than that. But if I tell you…” I drop my voice. “It’s a secret, OK?”

“Sure.” Steve nods significantly.

“I mean it.”

“So do I.” Steve lowers his voice to a sepulchral whisper. “What is uttered in the stable yard stays in the stable yard.”

That is so not a thing that I want to roll my eyes at him, but I’m in mid-flow, so I don’t bother. Instead, I beckon him farther away, into the tack room, out of sight of Demeter.

“I know this woman,” I say in a low voice. “From before. From London. And she’s…” I think how to put it. “She did me a wrong. So I’m getting even.”

I take several sips of coffee while this sinks into Steve’s brain.

“Right,” he says at last. “I get it. Shoveling shit. Nice.” Then he frowns as though he’s suddenly realized the flaw in the plan. “But why did she agree to shovel shit?”

“Because I told her it was mindful, I suppose.” I shrug. “I don’t know.”

Steve looks so perplexed, I can’t help giggling. He helps himself to some coffee and pensively sips it, then says, “I’ll tell you a secret now. So we’re square.”



“Oh,” I say warily. “No. Steve, I really don’t want to—”

“Kayla doesn’t do it for me in bed.”

“What?” I stare at him, aghast.

“Not anymore,” he elaborates. “Used to, but—”

“Steve!” I clap my hand to my head. “Don’t tell me things like that.”

“Well, it’s true,” he says with lugubrious triumph. “So. Now you know.” He gives me a sidelong look. “Might change things.”

“What?” I peer at him. “Change what?”

“Just putting it out there.” He regards me with his bulgy eyes. “New information. You can do what you like with it.”

Oh God. Does he mean…No. I don’t want to know what he means.

“I’m not going to do anything with it,” I say firmly.

“Think on it, then.” He taps his head. “Just think on it.”

“No! I won’t think on it! Steve, I have to go. See you later.”

I hurry out of the tack room, then stop dead in surprise. Demeter isn’t sweeping anymore—nor is she on her phone or striding impatiently around. She’s standing next to Carlo, her arm over his withers, and he’s brought his head round to give her a hug.

I blink in astonishment. It’s a trick I taught Carlo years ago, and he hardly ever does it spontaneously. But there he is, hugging Demeter in his kind old horsey way. I made up “Empathy horse” as a joke…but now I realize it’s kind of true. Demeter’s eyes are closed and her shoulders are slumped. She looks off guard and exhausted, as though she’s been putting on quite an act, even on holiday.

The thing about Demeter, I think as I watch her, is that she doesn’t let go. She doesn’t switch off. Even when she’s “relaxing,” she’s still ultra-competitive and obsessing over chia seeds. Maybe she should just watch telly and eat Corn Flakes for a weekend and chill.



I gesture to Steve to leave the stable yard quietly; then I sit down on an upturned bucket. Demeter’s shoulders are shaking slightly and I peer in fresh shock. Is she crying? I mean, I’ve cried into my ponies’ manes often enough over the years, but I never would have thought that Demeter in a million years—

Oh my God. Has my totally fake equine de-stress activity actually worked? Have I de-stressed my ex-boss?

That was totally not the intention of this morning. But as I sit and watch her and Carlo in their little twosome, I can’t help feeling a kind of warmth inside. Like you do when you see a child asleep or a lamb frisking or even a marathon runner gulping water. You think, They needed that, and you feel a kind of satisfaction on their behalf, whoever they are.

And the only thing that puzzles me now is—why? Demeter has the perfect life. Why is she sobbing into Carlo’s mane, for crying out loud?

After a little while she looks up, sees me, and gives a startled jump. At once she grabs in her pocket for a tissue and starts patting her face.

“Just…taking a moment,” she says briskly. “I’ve finished sweeping. What’s next?”

“Nothing,” I say, coming forward. “We’ve finished for the morning. We’ll head to the farmhouse now and you can wash your face, have a shower, whatever you’d like, before lunch.” I pat Carlo fondly, then turn to Demeter again. “So, did you enjoy the activity?”



“Oh, it was very good,” says Demeter. “Very de-stressing. You should offer this to all the guests. This should be on the brochure. In fact, you should have a separate brochure outlining all the activities.”