My Not So Perfect Life(99)

He pats my shoulder and my stomach clenches so hard, I have to shut my eyes briefly. I feel a bit winded by the sudden realization that Alex is right. This situation is bad. I can’t keep lying to Dad about my job, I can’t.

“Actually…Dad…” I begin, feeling sick. How am I going to put this? Where do I start? What if he flips out?

“Yes, love?” replies Dad absently. He’s peering through the dusk at some distant approaching figure. Probably just a glamper wandering around.

“Dad, I need to talk to you about something.” I swallow hard. “It’s about me…and…and my job in London….”

“Oh yes?” Dad’s face closes up slightly. He’s clearly not very keen on hearing about my job in London. If only he knew what I was about to tell him.

“Well. The thing is…” I rub my nose, feeling even sicker. “It’s…What’s happened is—”

“Dave!” Dad’s exclamation drowns me out. “Dave Yarnett! What are you doing here, you old rogue?”

Dave Yarnett? My eyes focus in disbelief on the familiar figure of Dave, in his trademark black leather jacket. His paunch is snugly clad in a knockoff Calvin Klein T-shirt, his graying beard neatly trimmed and his eyes sparkling as he approaches.

“Mick!” He slaps Dad on the back. “Can’t stay long. Just wanted you to have first look at my latest lot. You interested in rugs? Persian rugs?”



“We don’t need any rugs,” I say at once, and Dave shoots me a look of gentle reproach.

“Now, Katie, I’m offering your dad a retail opportunity here. All these glampers of yours—they’ve got houses to furnish, haven’t they? I got this job lot of rugs from a bloke in Yeovil. Proper Persian antiques. Bit of furniture too. Take a look, anyway.”

“Sorry, Katie.” Dad pats me on the shoulder again. “I’ll just have a quick look. Be back in a minute.”

I know Dad. He can never resist a poke around Dave Yarnett’s van.

“OK, no problem.” I shrug, feeling a guilty relief wash over me. I’ll tell him later, when it’s a better time. When I’ve worked out a script. And maybe had a vodka or two. “Hey, don’t buy any rugs,” I call after Dad, as he disappears off with Dave. “Not without discussing it. We’re a partnership now!”

—

I sit there awhile longer, watching the sky change tone gradually, from intense mid-blue to a softer indigo. Dave’s van disappears back down the drive and I see Dad making his way over to the campfire again. I just hope he isn’t making plans to turn us into the Ansters Farm Glamping and Rug Emporium.

I decide to head back over to the fire myself, toast a marshmallow, and get myself a sugar hit. But as I’m walking in that direction, I see a familiar car wending its way up the drive. Oh my God. Demeter.

I increase my pace to a run and arrive in the farmyard as she’s getting out. She looks white and exhausted. Her eyebrows are drawn in a frown and there’s a piece of paper in her hand, which she keeps glancing at.



I’m about to greet her when another voice gets in first: “Hello, Demeter.”

It’s Alex, stepping out of the kitchen door. He’s holding his phone and staring grimly at Demeter. Like an assassin.

“I’d like to see you for a meeting,” he says. “Biddy says we can use the sitting room.”

I feel a dart of shock. That’s what he’s been doing. Setting up the execution chamber.

“Now?” Demeter seems a little stunned. “Alex, I’ve only just got back. I need some time, I need a chance…”

“You’ve had plenty of time. Plenty of chances.” His voice is strained, and I can tell he’s been psyching himself up to do this. “Things have been getting worse for months. Now they’ve tipped over the edge. Demeter, you know that. Things are a shambles. And that’s why we need to talk.”

“I need to work some things out first.” Demeter closes her car door, then comes toward him on trembling legs, her eyes like shadows in her pale face. “Please, Alex. Give me till tomorrow.”

“Demeter.” He steps toward her, his face tight, avoiding her eye. “I don’t want to be doing this, you know I don’t, but I have to. Things have got out of hand and they can’t carry on. We’ll put together a story for the press; you’ll get a good package—” He stops. “We should go to the meeting room.”

“I’m not going to any meeting room.” Demeter shakes her head adamantly. “Alex, there’s another side to this. There’s stuff that doesn’t make sense. I need to show it to you.”

But Alex isn’t listening.



“All we think is, you took on a big job,” he presses on doggedly, as though reading lines. “It was too much, but it’s not your fault—”

“Stop the spiel, Alex!” Demeter yells. “Just listen to what I have to say! OK, so I went home today. I looked through some old emails, trying to…I don’t know. Work out what the hell has been going on.” She gestures to a massive bin bag I hadn’t noticed before, stuffed full of email printouts.

“What the hell?” says Alex incredulously, as some of the printouts start to flutter on the evening breeze.