I am not going to be that person. Nor am I going to tot up how many times I’ve texted Alex. (Five.) Or how many times he’s texted me in return. (Once.)
And, anyway, this isn’t all about him. The honest truth is that it’s not just Alex who’s left me feeling a little bit small and disappointed. It’s Demeter. She, unlike Alex, has been good at keeping in touch. We’ve spoken on the phone nearly every day, in fact. But her reactions have been a bit weird.
I thought when I told her about my new job, she’d be delighted for me. But she’s been all prickly. She even said at first I shouldn’t take the job, as she was sure I could do better. (What? Is she nuts?) Then she backtracked and said, “No, you have to take it.” Then she fired a whole load of questions at me about the job and exactly what my deal was—then seemed to lose interest. We haven’t really talked about it, the last few days.
And all the time there’s this big, unanswered question which, every time I think about it, makes me feel a bit hollow: Why didn’t she offer me a job?
She could have done. I mean, they need new staff. It’s been carnage at Cooper Clemmow since it all came out. Sarah’s been fired. Rosa’s been fired. Flora was leaving to travel, anyway, so she wasn’t fired, but she won’t get a reference. None of them will get references, in fact. Which means they’ll find it very, very hard to find work now.
Although that’s better than prosecution, which is what it could have been. Should have been. They deserve it, especially Sarah, and I’ve told Demeter so loads of times. Sometimes I think I’m more angry about what happened than she is. I’d love to see Sarah standing in the dock, weeping into her retro-print hankie, mascara smeared everywhere….
But Demeter’s decided that she’s not going to press charges. Her point of view is that sometimes you have to be pragmatic. She doesn’t want the whole story coming out in the press; she doesn’t want to testify in court; she doesn’t want to become known as the woman whose staff stitched her up. She wants to move on. And Adrian is willing to support her, whatever she decides. So. Case closed.
Demeter did take the rest of the department out to lunch, though, and explain a few things. She told Mark that she’d nominated him for the Stylesign Award. She explained that Rosa never had been selected for the mayor’s project. She apologized for being scatty and tactless. Then she explained exactly why the other three had been fired. Apparently there was stunned silence for a full three minutes. I wish I’d been there.
So the department is up and running again—apparently much more happily than before. But it has some holes in it now, obviously. And I don’t know what they’re doing about it. Nor can I bring myself to ask.
Anyway, who cares? I have a job. A fab job. There’s no point feeling hurt by Demeter. Or Alex. I have more important things to do, like training up Denise to take my place here.
“OK, let’s try again.” I adopt a wide-eyed glamper’s expression. “Hello! We’ve just arrived! Is this Ansters Farm?”
I’m in the kitchen, doing some role play with Denise, who needs a bit of work on the charm side of things.
“?’Course it’s Ansters Farm,” Denise responds flatly. “Says so on the sign.”
“No, don’t say that. Just say, ‘Yes, it is! Well done!’?”
“?‘Well done’ for coming on holiday?” says Denise sardonically, but I ignore her.
“OK, now, smile. Say something like, ‘What a lovely dog!’?”
“Them ones with dogs are the worst,” counters Denise. “Bloody pain, they are.”
“Well, they pay your wages. So smile and pat the dog. Got it?”
“Fine!” explodes Denise. “What a beautiful dog,” she says in syrupy tones, an unnerving smile on her face. “We can’t wait to welcome your wonderful dog. In fact, we love him already, on account of him being so marvelous. See, I can do it,” she adds with a sniff. “Now can I get on with my cleaning?”
I give an inward grin. I think she’ll rise to the challenge.
“How’s it going?” Biddy comes into the kitchen, holding a bundle of carrots from the garden, and I feel a familiar wave of guilt run through me. It happens every time I see Dad or Biddy—i.e., about a hundred times a day.
Not that I let on. Biddy won’t allow me to feel guilty for a moment. Not a sliver of a moment. The minute I started saying how bad I felt at leaving them, she got quite cross.
“We are so, so proud of you,” she said, clutching my hands. “You’ve given us so much, Katie. Without you, we’d have none of this, none of it. You’ve done your bit, my love. Now you go and follow your dreams. You deserve it.”
And I know she means it. But it’s another reason I don’t feel as euphoric as I expected. I love this place. Maybe I’m allowing myself to love it more now. I’m proud of the business, of Dad in his Farmer Mick outfit, of the yurts all lit up by lanterns at night. Ansters Farm has turned into such a thing. It’s going to be hard to leave.
“Do you need help with those?” I say to Biddy, nodding at the carrots. And I’m just rolling up my sleeves when I hear a voice behind me that makes me think I’m hallucinating.
“Hi, Katie.”
Is that…Alex?
“Katie! Oh, good, you’re here.” Another voice greets me, and I blink. Demeter?
I whip round—and I’m not hallucinating. They’re both here in Somerset. Standing in the kitchen doorway. Demeter’s wearing one of her edgy London outfits, and Alex has had a haircut, I dimly notice. I’m so flummoxed, I can barely speak.
“What—” I look from face to face. “What are you doing here?”
Alex grins. “As ever, you get straight to the point. It was Demeter’s idea, so blame her. We could have just got on the phone….”
“Katie deserves more than a phone call,” says Demeter.
“You wanted an excuse to come down here again and eat Biddy’s scones.” Alex prods Demeter on the shoulder. “Admit it. We both did.”
“Maybe,” says Demeter, starting to laugh.
“But what are you doing here?” I try again.
“Right,” says Demeter. “Let me do this properly,” she says mock-reprovingly to Alex. “No interruptions.” Then she turns back to me. “Katie, I’ve been talking to Adrian about you. And we would very much like it if you would come to Cooper Clemmow for an interview.”
My mouth falls open. I try to frame some sensible words, but they’re not coming out properly.
“?‘Please.’?” Alex nudges Demeter. “You didn’t say ‘please.’ No manners.”
“I’ve got a job already,” I manage.
“With Broth.” Alex nods. “Don’t worry, those guys owe me one. We’ll sort it out if need be. You haven’t signed anything yet?”
“No, not yet—”
“Great!” says Demeter crisply. “As you know, we have some gaps to fill at Cooper Clemmow, and we’re hoping to lure you into one of them. Subject to your impressing Adrian, which you most certainly will. Please?” she adds, and gives me one of her sudden radiant smiles.
“You’re fighting them off!” exclaims Dad, coming into the kitchen. “You go, Katie girl!”
“Mick!” Alex greets him in delight. “Mick, I’ve missed you. How are the wigwams?”
“Not so good.” Dad’s mood dims. “That Dave Yarnett’s a lying scoundrel. Wigwams for kiddies, weren’t they? No bloody good for us.” He shakes his head dismally—then brightens. “So, are you offering Katie a job?”
“It’s only an interview,” I put in quickly.
“If you can spare her for an afternoon,” says Demeter, eyeing my ensemble of jeans and Factory Shop T-shirt. “Have you got an outfit?”
“You mean…now?” The truth dawns on me. “We’re going now?”
“After lunch,” says Alex firmly. “Biddy, put us both down for the full Somerset farmhouse blowout.”
“But my clothes.” I’m trying to think what I’ve got that’s clean and ironed. Then I put my hands to my head. “My hair.”
“Nothing a quick blow-dry won’t sort out. Although…” Demeter peers more closely. “Katie, what’s going on with your color?”
“Oh, that.” I chew my lip. “Well, I wanted to get rid of the blue, so I went for a chestnut rinse. Only…” I can hardly bear to admit the truth. “It was a knockoff pack of dye from Dave Yarnett.”