My Not So Perfect Life(72)

“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.”