My Not So Perfect Life

  “My birthday?” Coco fixes Demeter with a malevolent glare. “You want me to wait for my birthday?”

  “Well, we’ll see,” says Demeter, and she gives her daughter a smile I’ve never seen either. It’s kind of eager. Craven, almost. It’s kind of…desperate?

  No. I must be seeing things.

  “Try the salad.” Demeter passes it to Coco. “It’s organic. Delicious.”

  “Granny says organic food is a total con,” says Coco, in a pert voice that makes me want to slap her. “Doesn’t she, Daddy?”

  “Well, it is,” says James absently. “It’s all bollocks.”

  I nearly fall over flat. What? James isn’t into organic food? How can this be? It’s Demeter’s religion.

  Coco leans her head on James’s shoulder as I saw her do this morning—only now it doesn’t look friendly. It looks…I don’t know. Cliquey. As if she’s trying to shut her mother out of the gang or something. I glance at Demeter and I see a flash of pain cross her face. Her brow’s furrowed. She’s taken her own phone out now, and as she scrolls down, she looks weary.

  It’s as if the mask has dropped again, and there she is: The other Demeter. The tired, stressed-out Demeter, who needs a hug with a horse.

  And suddenly I’m aware of a disconcerting sensation. Do I feel…sorry for Demeter?

  I’m so agog that I don’t even notice that someone is tugging at my sleeve.

  “Excuse me? Katie?”

  “Yes?” I swing round with my professional customer-service smile, to see Susie standing there. She’s a slight blond woman with bobbed hair, wearing beige shorts and a white T-shirt with Cath Kidston print sneakers. Mother of Ivo and Archie, I quickly remind myself. Heard about us by picking up a brochure in a Clapham soft-play center.

  “How’s it going?” I say warmly. “Are you all enjoying the holiday?”

  “Oh yes!” enthuses Susie. “We loved the willow-weaving. And now…” She hesitates. “Well, we were talking to Demeter about Vedari, and we—Nick and I—we’d love to try it.”

  “I’m sorry?” I say blankly.

  “Can we do some Vedari?” Susie’s face is eager and hopeful. “It sounds amazing!”

  I stare at her speechlessly. She wants to do Vedari. Are you kidding me?

  “Katie?” prompts Susie.

  “Right.” I come to. “Well…Yes! I’m sure we can. I’ll look at the schedule. Vedari! Perfect! We’ll all do it! Why not?” I’m sounding a bit hysterical, so I add, “Excuse me for a moment,” and head out of the barn to the yard, where I give vent to my feelings by kicking a bale of hay. I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve this morning—but none of it has come out quite right.

  The next morning I give myself a pep talk. Enough with the obsessing over Demeter. So she’s my ex-boss—so what? I’ve focused on her enough. Time to move on.

  Except the trouble with Demeter is, she monopolizes your attention, whatever you do. She’s just that kind of person. By nine-thirty, Biddy and I are already frazzled by her breakfast demands. Almond milk…hotter coffee…Is there any cornbread?…Could my egg be five and a half minutes exactly, please?

  Now the children have finally made it to the breakfast table and I’m eyeing them up as they eat. It’s weird: They looked so perfect and charming from a distance. But close up, I’m really not impressed. Coco has a permanently sulky frown, and Hal keeps winding her up.

  They’re both pretty demanding too, like their mother. They ask for Nutella (not available) and pancakes (not available), and then Coco says, “Don’t you do fresh smoothies?” in a really rude way that makes me want to shake her.

  As I go round refreshing water glasses, Demeter is scrolling down her phone and she suddenly flinches.

  “Oh God.” She stares at the screen. “What? No.” She scrolls up, then down again. “What?”

  “What’s up?” asks James, and even I feel curious. Demeter looks properly panicky, the way she did in the lift that time. It must be another of her epic screwups.

  “Something at work. This…this makes no sense.” She peers at her phone, yet again. “I need to call Adrian.”

  Firmly, I dampen my curiosity. I am not going to focus on Demeter anymore. I’m going to check up on the other glampers. I head outside, and Susie greets me with a smile.

  “Hello!” I say. “How are you doing? Just to let you know, I’m not sure we will be able to fit in any more Vedari sessions this week.” I make a regretful face. “Maybe another time.”

  “Oh.” Susie’s face falls. “It did sound so energizing.”

  “But how was the willow-weaving?” I try to steer her off the subject.

  “It was good! Yes. It was fun. I mean—” Susie breaks off. She’s tense, I suddenly detect. Something’s up.

  “What?” I say in concern. “Is anything wrong?”

  “No! It’s just…well.” She clears her throat. “I did feel that some other participants slightly monopolized the teacher—” She breaks off abruptly as another mum, Cleo, approaches us.

  Cleo comes from Hampstead and is more earthy than Susie. She’s in a drifty dress and wearing an amethyst pendant on a leather thong, her feet incongruously stuffed in desert boots.

  “Good morning, Cleo!” I say, trying to ignore the fact that Susie is glaring at Cleo quite openly.

  “We’ve just been cooking eggs and dandelion leaves for breakfast on our fire pit,” Cleo says in her husky voice. “Sprinkled with sumac. Delicious.”

  “We had Biddy’s breakfast in the farmhouse,” counters Susie. “Absolutely scrumptious.”

  “And the willow-weaving yesterday!” exclaims Cleo, as though she’s not remotely interested in Susie’s breakfast. “I made three baskets. It was marvelous.”

  “Marvelous for the people who swiped all the best willow,” mutters Susie under her breath.

  “Oh, and Susie.” Cleo turns to her. “I do hope Hamish didn’t disturb you with his violin practice this morning. He’s gifted, unfortunately.”

  “How difficult for you,” says Susie tightly. “I’m sure if you left him alone, he’d settle down to being normal.”

  OK. There is definitely a vibe between Susie and Cleo. This might need monitoring. I’m wondering whether to warn the pottery teacher, when I see Demeter coming out of the kitchen. Her phone is clenched in her hand and she looks a bit stunned.

  “Everything OK?” I say brightly, but Demeter doesn’t answer. Can she even see me?

  “Demeter?” I try again.

  “Right.” She comes to. “Sorry. I…No. It’ll be fine, I’m sure. I just need to…James!” She raises her voice as she sees her husband coming out too, and she heads toward him swiftly. I can’t hear much of the ensuing conversation, only snippets that make me sizzle with curiosity.

  “…ridiculous!” James is saying. “I mean, if you’ve got the emails…”

  “…can’t find them. That’s the thing…”

  “…makes no sense…”

  “Exactly! That’s what I keep saying! Look!” Demeter shows her phone to James, but his eyes are drifting away, as though he’s got other things to think about.

  “It’ll blow over,” he says. “These things always do.”

  “Right.” Demeter seems dissatisfied by this answer—in fact, she still seems pretty stressed—but she visibly pulls herself together and heads off with all the others toward the minibus, which will take them to the pottery class.

  And I know it’s nothing to do with me anymore. But all morning, as I’m going through the accounts with Dad, I can’t help wondering: What’s up?

  —

  Pottery day is always a good one. First of all, everyone loves pottery, whatever age they are. And second, the pottery teacher, Eve, is very skillful at “helping” people just enough, so that their jug or vase or whatever will actually stand up straight. She’ll fire the pots tonight, and all the glampers will get them by Friday, and it’s a nice souvenir for them to take home.

  So I’m expecting to see a
happy group of people piling off the minibus when it returns at lunchtime. But, instead, there’s a rather weird procession. Demeter and Eve are together at the front, and Demeter seems to be talking very much at Eve. Behind, at a distance, everyone else is following, and I can see a bit of eye-rolling. As Demeter gets into earshot, I think I have an inkling why.

  “…and then we were lucky enough to get a private view of the collection in Ortigia,” she’s saying smugly. “Have you ever met the curator, Signor Moretti? No? Charming man.”

  I’d forgotten that ceramics was one of Demeter’s things. I bet she’s been ear-bashing poor Eve all morning.

  “Welcome back!” I say hastily. “Eve, you must be exhausted; come and have a drink!”

  I seat Eve next to Susie and Nick, well away from Demeter, and then it’s the usual rush of serving bread and salad and locally made pork pies, while all the guests discuss the morning. Even though I’ve told myself not to, I can’t help hanging around Demeter’s table a little more than the others and watching her family.

  My opinion hasn’t altered: They’re dreadful. Coco is outwardly defiant and rude. Hal just ignores his mother. And James, who should be supporting her, is on another planet. If I thought Demeter was distracted, that’s nothing on her husband. All he can focus on is his phone. Does he even realize he’s on holiday?

  During pudding, they start talking about some school play that Coco’s in, and Demeter gets all show-offy about Shakespeare. She starts going on about a production she saw at the RSC that was “tremendous” and “groundbreaking,” while Coco yawns ostentatiously and rolls her eyes.

  Demeter really doesn’t help herself. Can’t she tell that everyone’s bored stiff? But at the same time, I can see that she is actually trying to help.

  “Honestly, Mum!” Coco erupts at last. “Stop going on about it! You probably won’t even see me in the bloody play. So.”

  “Of course I’ll see you in it!” Demeter retorts.

  “No, you won’t. You never come to anything. You know what Granny calls you? Mrs. Invisible.” Coco sniggers and catches James’s eye. “Doesn’t she, Daddy? She says, ‘How’s Mrs. Invisible today?’ ”

  “Mrs. Invisible?” Demeter sounds calm, but I can see her hand trembling as she takes a sip of water. “What does that mean?”

  “The invisible mum,” says Hal, glancing up from his phone. “Come on, Mum. You’re never there.”

  “Of course I’m there.” Demeter sounds as rattled as I’ve ever heard her. “I come to all your events, all your parents’ evenings—”

  “What about my basketball?” Hal gives her a wounded look. “Did you even know I was on a basketball team?”

  “Basketball?” Demeter has her confused, eye-darty look again. “Basketball? I didn’t— When— James, did you know about this?”

  “Dad comes to every match,” says Hal. “He chants and everything.”

  “Stop it, Hal,” says James sharply. “He’s winding you up, Demeter. He doesn’t play basketball.”

  “But why—” Demeter breaks off, bewildered. “Why would you—James?” she practically yells, as James starts tapping at his phone again. “Could you please join in this discussion?”

  “Hal, cut the attitude,” says James. “Say sorry.”

  “Sorry,” mutters Hal.

  I wait for James to insist: “Say it properly,” like Dad would have done to me, but he doesn’t. He’s already tuned out again. I don’t care how brainy and important he is, he’s a tosser. Maybe he’s one of these men who can’t cope with successful women. I have no idea what induced Demeter to marry him.

  Hal just carries on with his lunch, while Coco shreds a bread roll into pieces. Demeter is silent and subdued. And all I can feel, right now, is really sorry for her.

  —

  After we’ve served coffee, the two children disappear out of the barn. I should really go and help Biddy with the afternoon’s baking activity. But I can’t leave. I’m too fascinated by the horror show that is Demeter and her family. I station myself within earshot of them by the old oak dresser, folding and refolding napkins. Not that Demeter and James even notice me. They’re engrossed in their own little bubble.

  “So your mother calls me Mrs. Invisible.” Demeter lifts her coffee cup to her lips, then puts it down again, untouched. “Nice.”

  James winces. “Look…I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have heard that. I’ve told Mum she’s out of line.”

  “But what does she mean?” Demeter sounds brittle.

  “Oh, come on.” James drops his hands onto the table with a thump. “You’re out every night. If you’re not working late, you’re at some awards ceremony—”

  “It’s my job!” says Demeter, sounding anguished. “You know I have to do this stuff, James—”

  “Demeter, they want me in Brussels.” James cuts straight across her and she draws in breath sharply. The color drains from her face. There’s such a long, breath-holding silence between the pair of them that I think I might keel over.

  At last, Demeter says, “Right.” She swallows hard, and there’s another endless pause. “Right,” she repeats. “Wow. Didn’t see that one coming.”

  “I know. Sorry. I’ve been…” He sweeps a hand through his hair. “I’ve been preoccupied. That’s why.”

  I’ve frozen beside the dresser. This is clearly a very personal conversation. I should make myself known. But I can’t. I can’t break the spell. My fingers are clenched around a napkin so hard that they’ve gone white. Demeter takes breath to speak, and I can sense she’s feeling her way.

  “I thought we discussed the Brussels thing, James. I thought we decided—”

  “I know what we decided. I know what we agreed. I know what I said….” James rubs his eyes with the flat of his hand. Demeter’s head is turned away, her chin lowered. The pair look a picture of abject misery.

  I can’t help flashing back to that photo of them on Demeter’s pinboard that I always used to gaze at. The pair of them standing on the red carpet in black tie, looking like the most successful, glamorous, put-together couple in the world. But look at them now. Tired; wretched; not even making eye contact.

  “But?” says Demeter, finally.

  “I lied, OK?” James bursts out. “I told you I didn’t want Brussels because I thought it was what you wanted. But I do want it, and they really want me, and I’m tired of compromising. This opportunity is huge. There won’t be another like it.”

  “Right.” I can see Demeter’s eyes flicking back and forth nervously. “I see. Yes. Right. So…we move to Brussels?”

  “No! You have your job…the children’s schools….” He spreads his hands. “They’ve talked about a three-year fixed contract. After that, who knows? I hope I can find another great opportunity in London. But for now…” James leans forward and waits till she lifts her gaze to meet his. “I want this. You wanted Cooper Clemmow…I want this.”

  “Well, then.” Her fingers are meshing on the table. “You have to take it. We’ll make it work.”

  “Oh God— You’re always so bloody generous.” He screws up his face, a fist to his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a bastard.”

  “No, no,” says Demeter at once. “You haven’t. You’ve been unhappy. I get that now.”

  “And a bastard.”

  “A bit of a bastard.” Demeter gives a reluctant little smile and he smiles back, with those handsome crow’s feet.

  For a while there’s silence. They’re both just looking at each other. I sense they’re mentally straightening things out a bit. And now maybe I can see why they might have married each other. But bloody hell. What a roller coaster.

  “You supported me,” says Demeter, spinning her coffee cup slowly on her saucer. “When I moved to Cooper Clemmow. You supported me and you turned down Brussels. And you’ve been miserable ever since. I can see that now.”

  “I think…” James exhales sharply. “I should have been more honest. I thought I could just not-want it.
If I tried hard enough.”

  “You can’t make yourself not-want things.” Demeter gives him a wry smile. “Idiot.”

  “But this job is big.”

  “All right, then.” She exhales gustily. “We can do big. We’ll survive. So what happens next?”

  “They want to talk to me.” He pauses. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Demeter looks at him in horror. “But we’re on holiday! When were you going to—”

  “I’ll nip up to Gatwick this afternoon. I’ll be there and back in…what? Seventy-two hours.”

  “Seventy-two hours? Why so long?”

  “They want a couple of meetings….” James takes both her hands in his. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. But you’re busy here. It’s fun. The children won’t even know I’ve gone.”

  “Right.” Demeter sags slightly. “I suppose I’d better get used to you being away.”

  “We’ll need to work it out. But it’ll be good.” James’s face has become animated; there’s a new, positive energy about him. “So I’ll just go and call them, confirm it for definite. I love you.”

  “I love you,” echoes Demeter, shaking her head ruefully, as though she’s saying it despite herself.

  James leans forward and kisses Demeter with a tenderness which surprises me. Then he leaves the barn without even noticing me. Demeter doesn’t move for a while. She seems a bit dumbstruck; her face is wearier than ever.

  But at last she rouses herself. She pulls out her phone and starts to text. As she’s doing so, the light comes back into her eyes. There’s even a little half smile at her lips.

  Well, thank God. Because I was getting a bit worried about her there.

  She finishes her text, puts down her phone, and leans back in her chair—then notices me.

  “Oh, Katie,” she says, in her old, imperious manner. “I wanted to check with you—we will be doing another bespoke activity tomorrow? Because obviously I won’t be doing the mushroom-foraging.”

  I stare back dumbly, not knowing how to respond. I don’t even know how to see her anymore.

  All I could see before was the nightmare boss with a perfect, glossy life. But now what do I see? Just a person. A person with hang-ups and problems and flaws like the rest of us. Who’s basically trying to do her best, even if it comes out badly. I have a sudden memory of her lying on the muddy grass in her Vedari sack and bite my lip. Maybe that was a bit harsh. Maybe it’s all been a bit harsh.