My Not So Perfect Life

by Sophie Kinsella

  “OK, it’s me,” I say at last, trying to sound nonchalant. “I changed my nickname. Is that against the law?”

  A crow flaps past, cawing, but neither of us moves. We’re both standing motionless in the swamp, covered in mud, staring at each other as though life is on pause. My blood is pulsing in terror, but I feel a strange relief too. At least now she’ll know. She’ll know.

  Demeter has her swivelly-eyed, has-the-world-gone-mad look. She keeps peering at me, then frowning, then going all distant, as though she’s consulting her memory.

  Things could go anywhere from here. Anywhere. I feel almost exhilarated.

  “OK, I don’t understand,” says Demeter, and I can tell she’s trying to stay calm, with difficulty. “I don’t. I’m trying to understand, I’m trying to get my head round this, but I can’t. What the hell is going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “You engineered me into the swamp!” Demeter’s starting to sound agitated. “You told me to hurry so I would fall in. Do you have something against me?”

  She looks so ignorant, so oblivious, that I draw breath. Do I have something against her? Where do I start?

  “And catching me with that stick!” she exclaims, before I can respond. “That was on purpose too. This whole morning has been a vendetta, hasn’t it? Has this whole week been a vendetta?” I can see her thoughts working, tracking back, analyzing everything, until her eyes snap with suspicion. “Oh my God. Is Vedari a real thing?”

  “Of course it’s not a real bloody thing!” I explode with pent-up frustration. “Only a totally pretentious early adopter like you would fall for something like that. It’s pitiful! I just had to mention Gwyneth Paltrow and you were all over it!”

  “But the website!”

  “I know.” I nod with satisfaction. “Good, wasn’t it?”

  I feel a shaft of triumph as I see her face dropping. Ha. Gotcha.

  “I see,” says Demeter, in the same controlled, even tones. “So you’ve taken me for a fool. Well, congratulations, Cat, or Katie, or whatever you call yourself. But what I still don’t understand is, why? Is this because you lost your job? Are you blaming me for that? Because, one, that was not my fault personally, and, two, as I said to you at the time, losing your job is really not the end of the world.”

  She draws herself up tall, despite the swamp, casting herself as the tolerant, put-upon boss figure, and my rage simmers up again into a froth.

  “You know something, Demeter?” I say, casting around for my own version of dignity. “When you don’t have any funds and you’d rather die than ask your parents for cash, then losing your job pretty much is the end of the world.”

  “Nonsense!” says Demeter with asperity. “You’ll find another job.”

  “I’ve applied and applied! I’ve got nothing! At least, nothing that pays. But I’m not like Flora; I can’t afford to work for no pay. All I ever wanted was to live in London, and that day my dream got squashed, and of course that wasn’t your fault. But it was your fault that you didn’t even remember if you’d let me go or not!” My voice rises in anguish. “That was my life you held in your hands, and you didn’t even remember! You were like, Ooh, unimportant junior person whose name I can’t recall, have I ruined your life today or not? Please remind me.”

  “All right,” says Demeter after a pause. “I accept that. My behavior was…unfortunate. Things were very difficult for me at that time—”

  “How could they be difficult?” I throw any remaining caution to the winds. “You’ve got the perfect bloody life! You’ve got everything!”

  “What are you talking about?” Demeter stares at me.

  “Oh, come on!” I explode. “Don’t look at me like that! You have the perfect life! You’ve got the job, the husband, the lover, the kids, the money, the looks, the trendy clothes, the celebrity friends, the invitations to parties, the haircut, the Farrow and Ball front door, the gorgeous stone steps, the holidays…” I run out of breath. “I mean, you’ve got it all. And you stand there and look at me like What perfect life?”

  There’s another silence. I can hear my own breath coming, short and fast; I have never felt such tension in these woods, never. Then Demeter comes wading through the swamp to me. Her face is still plastered with mud, but I can see the fury simmering in her eyes.

  “OK, Katie,” she spits. “You want my perfect life? You want to know about my perfect life? I’m tired all the time. All the time. My husband and I have a hellish struggle balancing two jobs, but we need the money because, yes, we bought ourselves a big family house with a big, crippling mortgage, and, yes, we redecorated it, which was probably a mistake, but everyone makes mistakes, right? I go to restaurant launches to network for my job. I sit on judging panels, ditto. Parties, ditto. I wear heels that give me backache and I look at my watch every half hour, wishing I could escape.”

  I stare at her, dumbstruck. I’m remembering the Net-A-Porter boxes, the photos on Instagram, the upbeat tweets. Demeter here, there, and everywhere, being sparkling and brilliant. It never in a million years occurred to me that she might not enjoy it.

  “I never have time to see my friends,” Demeter continues without missing a beat. “Every time I come home late, my children give me a hard time. I’ve missed so many moments of their lives, I’d weep if I could, but I’m beyond weeping over that particular issue. I’m an aging woman in a young people’s game, and one day that’s going to lose me my job. My hair is going gray, as you know. And I think I’m getting dementia. So fuck off with your ‘perfect life.’ ”

  “Dementia?” I stare at her.

  “Oh, and those steps you mentioned? I hate those fucking steps more than anything in the world.” Demeter starts shaking all over. She seems to have reached a whole new level of anger. “Have you ever tried wheeling a pram up a flight of ten steps? Because it’s a nightmare. Those steps have been the bane of my existence. Do you know what happened the Christmas Eve that my daughter was five? I was bringing in the presents from the car and carrying them up the icy steps when I slipped and fell. I spent the whole of Christmas Day in hospital.”

  “Oh,” I say nervously.

  “So don’t talk to me about my fucking steps.”

  “OK.” I swallow. “Right. Um…sorry I mentioned the steps.”

  I’m a bit shell-shocked, actually. I had such a firm vision of Demeter tripping down her beautiful stone steps in a designer coat, looking all smug and Demeter-ish, living the perfect princess life. But now that’s been supplanted by new images. Demeter lugging a pram up the steps. Demeter slipping and falling.

  That kind of thing never occurred to me.

  “It’s OK.” Demeter seems to calm down a little. “And I’m sorry I let you go insensitively. I truly am. I was in a real state that day, but that should not have stopped me treating you fairly and with respect. I would like to apologize…Cat?”

  “Katie,” I say awkwardly. “Cat never really took.”

  “Katie, then.” She holds out her muddy hand, and after a pause, I take it and we shake.

  “Don’t tell Dad and Biddy,” I say abruptly. “Please.”

  “Don’t tell them what?” Demeter’s eyes glitter at me. “That you pushed me into the mud? Don’t worry, I wasn’t intending to. This is fairly embarrassing for me too.”

  “No, not that. Don’t tell them I got made redundant. They think…” I look at the ground. “They think I’m on sabbatical for six months.”

  “What?”

  “They got the wrong end of the stick, and I couldn’t tell them the truth. It was too—” I break off. “I just couldn’t.”

  “So—what—they think you’ve been on sabbatical from Cooper Clemmow all this time?” Demeter seems incredulous.

  “Yes.”

  “And they believe that?”

  “They think I’m…you know. Quite important at the company,” I practically whisper.

  “I see.” Demeter digests this. “So what are you going to do
when the six months are up?”

  “I’ll get a job,” I say robustly. “Or if not…well, it’s my problem. I’ll sort it.”

  “Right.” Demeter raises her eyebrows skeptically. “Well, good luck with that.” Then something seems to occur to her. “Hey. How do you know about my steps, anyway?”

  “Oh. That.” I feel myself flushing. “Well, Flora told me where you live, and I…I happened to be in the area.”

  “And you decided to go and look at my house,” says Demeter flatly. “And think to yourself, She lives in that house, she must be a rich bitch.”

  “No! Well…maybe a bit…” I pause awkwardly. “It’s an amazing house. I saw it in Livingetc.”

  “We hoped doing Livingetc might mean we could rent it out for photo shoots,” says Demeter, sounding matter-of-fact. “But nobody wanted it.”

  “It’s still fantastic, though.”

  “I look at it and I see mortgage payments,” says Demeter. “The kids love it, though. We could never move.”

  I never thought about mortgage payments either. I thought Demeter lived such a gilded life, she didn’t have to worry about stuff like that.

  “You always behave like your life is perfect,” I say abruptly.

  “I put a good face on things,” Demeter says after a pause. “Doesn’t everyone? I’ve always thought—wait!” She interrupts herself with an almighty gasp. “Rewind. I knew I’d missed something. What was that you said, ‘lover’? I haven’t got a lover!”

  I feel a spasm of anger. Really? She’s going to deny it, even now? I feel like we had a little entente cordiale going, and now she’s smashed it.

  “Of course you have,” I say shortly. “Everyone knows.”

  “Everyone knows what?”

  “That you’re sleeping with Alex Astalis.”

  “What?” Demeter peers at me. “What are you saying to me? What?”

  For fuck’s sake.

  “Everyone knows,” I reiterate. “That’s why he brought you in to Cooper Clemmow. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, Demeter. The way you two are with each other…always laughing and joking….”

  “We’re old friends!” expostulates Demeter. “That’s all! My God—who told you this?”

  “Just…people at the office.” I’m not going to get Flora into trouble. “But, I mean, it’s common knowledge. You haven’t hidden it very well.”

  “There’s nothing to hide!” Demeter practically detonates. “This is just a ridiculous rumor! I mean, Alex? I love him dearly, but any woman who got involved with Alex Astalis would have to be insane.”

  I can’t believe it. She won’t admit it, will she?

  “Stop denying it when we all know it’s true!” I yell. “What’s Alex coming here for if he’s not your lover?”

  Demeter looks startled. “What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t very subtle,” I say pointedly. “He didn’t exactly book in under the name ‘Mr. Smith.’ You called him as soon as your husband told you he was off to Brussels, didn’t you? Biddy said he rang up at two-thirty. Nice.”

  “What?” Demeter gives every impression of being horrified. Can’t she give it a rest?

  “Stop pretending!” I say furiously. “It’s really tedious!”

  “I’m not pretending!” As Demeter’s voice rockets around the wood, she sounds on the edge of panic. “Are you telling me that Alex Astalis is on his way here? Is this true?”

  She’s so agitated, I pause in my thoughts. Whatever else is true, she seems genuinely shocked at this news.

  “Well…yes. He’s staying in the farmhouse. Arriving this morning.” I glance at my watch. “It’s nearly eleven. He might even be here by now.”

  Demeter doesn’t reply. For a moment I think she might not have heard. But then, three seconds later, she sinks down into the swamp, as though her legs won’t hold her anymore.

  “He’s firing me,” she whispers.

  “What?” I’m astounded, almost wanting to laugh at the idea. “No.”

  “Yes.” Her face is ashen and she’s staring blindly ahead. “Alex has come here to see me, obviously.” She counts off on her fingers, as though working out a logic problem. “If he wanted a meeting, he’d have made contact. He hasn’t. So he wants to take me by surprise. There’s only one reason for that: He’s letting me go. Asking me to resign. However he does it.”

  “But…” I’m so shocked, I find myself sitting down in the swamp too. “But why would they fire you? You’re the boss! You’re the genius! You’re the whole thing.”

  Demeter gives a weird little laugh and turns to face me. “You haven’t been in touch with anyone from work, have you?”

  “Not really,” I say uncomfortably. “I knew things were going a bit wrong….”

  “Well. They went a lot wrong. And I don’t even understand how. I don’t understand…”

  Demeter slowly bends her head to her knees. Her damp hair falls forward, off her neck, and I see her gray roots showing at the base of her skull. The sight makes her seem suddenly vulnerable once more. It’s the side she’s trying to keep from the world—like that moment with Carlo. And as I watch her, curled up like a hiding animal, I feel a weird, unfamiliar feeling. Like I want to pat her back reassuringly.

  “Look,” I venture. “It might not be what you think. Maybe he’s come here on holiday. He might have seen the brochure on your desk, decided to book himself a little break….”

  Demeter raises her head. “Do you really think so?”

  I can see hope battling with despair on her mud-splattered face. “Well, it’s possible. After all, the brochure is really good….” I risk a little wink at Demeter, and she laughs, her tension briefly lifting.

  “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 ab
out 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.