My Not So Perfect Life(80)

“It is really good. I stand by everything I said before: You’ve got talent, Katie. The truth is, I should never have let you go. I should have got rid of that good-for-nothing Flora instead. You were always more proactive, more lively—” Her face jolts with realization. “Wait. It was you!” She jabs a finger. “You came up with the cow-welfare idea, didn’t you? It’s the basis of the whole rebrand.”

“Oh. Well, yes. It was me.”

Hope is flowering in my chest. Maybe Demeter…maybe she’ll…

“I’d love to help you with your career,” says Demeter, as though reading my mind. “Especially now I know who you really are. But there won’t be much chance of that if I lose my job—” She interrupts herself, her eyes suddenly sharp. “Oh my God, I have it. Katie, you find out for me. You find out.”

“What?” I gape at her.

“Go and talk to Alex as soon as he arrives. Make conversation. Find out if he’s here to let me go. You can do it, I know you can.”

“But—”

“Please.” She grabs my hands. “Please. If I know he’s come to fire me, I can put together a defense. I’ll have half a chance to save myself. Please, Katie, please…”

And I don’t know if it’s because finally she’s got my name right or if it’s the wretched look in her eye, or just that I feel I’ve been mean enough to her for one holiday, but I find myself slowly nodding.





I’ve never seen someone properly stagger in shock before.

But Alex does. He staggers as soon as he sees me. He’s genuinely staggered. (To be fair, he’s walking down a grassy bank at the time, which might have something to do with it.)

We’re in the only little bit of formal garden we have at the farm—it’s just a tiny lawn and some flower beds, with a bank leading down to the field where all the yurts are. It’s where we take glampers for their welcome cup of tea. Biddy must have done the same with Alex.

“Jesus.” He whips off his sunglasses and squints at me with a hand shielding his brow. “Katie. I mean, Cat. I mean…Is that you?”

It’s midday and a lot has happened since my confrontation with Demeter—most of it involving soap and loofahs. There was a lot of mud to clean off.

I discovered as soon as I got back to the farmhouse that Alex had called ahead and was about half an hour away. Demeter’s main concern was that Alex shouldn’t find her and fire her before she’d had a chance to prepare a defense. So I found her a hiding place in the woodshed, and she thanked me in a humble, grateful way.



I’m feeling like perhaps I didn’t know Demeter at all at Cooper Clemmow. Not the real Demeter. I want to talk to her again. Peel back the veneer even more. Find out who she is underneath all the success and designer clothes and name-dropping.

But right now that’s not the priority. The priority is that I’ve made her a promise—whether that was wise or not—and I must do my best to keep it. Even though the sight of Alex is throwing me off-balance quite considerably. Even though there’s a ticker-tape headline running through my brain: He’s not sleeping with Demeter after all….He’s not sleeping with Demeter after all….

Argh. Stop it, brain. So he’s not sleeping with Demeter. What does that mean? Nothing. He might be sleeping with someone else. He might be in love with someone else. He might not find me remotely attractive. (Most likely. Indeed, even more likely, given our last encounter.)

During my shower I rewound and replayed my entire history with Alex, and it made me want to die. Let’s face it, the last time I saw him, I was yelling at him that he was “fucking entitled.” I was also telling him how I had thought we had a “spark” between us. (Who does that? Answer: only me, Katie, the world’s least adept traveler on the journey of Finding A Man And Not Fucking It Up.)

So the situation isn’t exactly ideal. But I have an agreement to keep, so here I go. And I won’t get flustered or anything….

Oh God. As I get near him, I’m already flustered.



I’d forgotten how attractive he is. He’s as lean as ever, in old jeans and a faded orange polo shirt, his dark hair shining in the sunlight. At once I think: He’s not in a suit! Of course he’s not going to fire Demeter. But then I remember: Oh. He never wears a suit. This means nothing.

His gaze is so intense and interested that it seems like he’s reading everything in my head: my feelings, Demeter’s hiding place, everything. But of course he’s not. Get a grip, Katie.

I’ve decided to go for a super-nonchalant approach, although I’m not sure how convincing I’ll be.

“Hello there,” I say casually.

(Shall I add: It’s Alex, isn’t it? with a frown, as though I can’t quite remember who he is?

No. He’ll never believe it and he’ll know I’m putting it on and I’ll look tragic.

Fine. OK.)

“It is you!” he exclaims. “Cat.”

“Katie,” I correct him. “Call me Katie.”

“You look different.” He wrinkles his brow as though trying to work out what’s changed. (Which is such a male response. A girl would instantly have it: Her hair’s blue and curly, she’s lost the black eyeliner, gained a couple of pounds, got some freckles, and where are those glasses she used to wear?)