My Not So Perfect Life

by Sophie Kinsella

  They’ve turned her into a monster. I think they have literally forgotten that she’s a human being.

  “And did you mess with her calendar?” I say, forcing another bright smile. “Because she used to get so confused….”

  “Oh, all the time!” Sarah picks up her phone and imitates Demeter, right down to the swivelly-eyed look. “Shit. Shit. I know that meeting was on Friday…how has this happened? How has this happened?”

  She’s so accurate, everyone bursts into laughter. But I’m feeling a kind of burning fury that I’m afraid is going to burst out any minute. How could they be so cruel?

  “But what if you got caught?”

  “No chance,” says Sarah smugly. “I’d just deny it. There’s no evidence, not one shred. I deleted all the fake emails off everything, as soon as she’d seen them.”

  I have a sudden memory of Sarah grabbing Demeter’s phone out of her hand and jabbing at it. Managing everything. Controlling everything.

  “As for the calendar stuff…” Sarah shrugs. “Her word against mine. Everyone knows she’s hopeless. Who would believe Demeter?”

  “You could write a book!” says Flora to Sarah. “How to Get Back at Your Bully Boss. You are brilliant, you know.”

  “Everyone’s been brilliant,” says Sarah firmly. “Rosa, you were great with the Sensiquo deadline. You totally landed her in it. And, Flora, you’ve been feeding me information the whole time….”

  “You have no idea, Cat,” says Flora. “It’s been this team effort. It’s been epic.”

  “I can see that!” Somehow I’m managing to sound pleasant. “So I suppose the only thing I don’t get is…why?”

  “Why?” Flora echoes blankly. “What do you mean, why? We had to get her fired. I mean, it’s a health thing, right?” She looks at the others for affirmation. “I mean, we need therapy after having her as our boss!”

  “Demeter is definitely bad for the health,” says Sarah. “She’s a nightmare. Management just couldn’t see it.”

  “I know what we did was a bit extreme.” Rosa seems to be the only one to have the slightest qualms. “But it was going to happen anyway. I mean, Demeter can’t run a department. She’s so scatty! She’s all over the place!”

  “We only accelerated what was inevitable,” says Sarah crisply. “It always should have been Rosa in that job.”

  “But what about Demeter?” I keep the same easy, unthreatening tone. “What if you really messed her up? What if she thought she was getting dementia?”

  There’s a slight silence. I can tell this thought has not crossed anyone’s mind.

  “Oh for God’s sake,” says Flora at last. “This is Demeter we’re talking about.” As though Demeter counts for nothing, has no rights, no viewpoint, is just some kind of subspecies. I stare at her, feeling chilled.

  Don’t say anything, I tell myself, don’t provoke them, just leave….But I already know I can’t do that.

  “You called Demeter a bully,” I say lightly. “But actually I never saw her bully anyone.”

  “Yes, she did!” Rosa gives a short laugh. “You saw her; she was a nightmare!”

  “No, she didn’t. She used to assert herself, yes. And she was tactless, yes. But she didn’t bully anyone.” I draw breath, trying to stay calm. “Yet here you are, rounding up on her like some lynch mob.”

  “Lynch mob?” Sarah sounds offended.

  “Isn’t that what you are?”

  “For God’s sake, Cat,” says Flora, glaring at me. “I thought you were signed up.”

  “Signed up to what? Drumming someone out of a job by messing with their mind? Destroying someone’s sanity? Well, sorry if I’m boring, but no thanks.”

  “Look, Cat,” snaps Rosa defensively. “With all due respect, you left Cooper Clemmow, you weren’t there, you don’t know what Demeter’s like—”

  “I do,” I say curtly. “And I’d take her as a boss over you any day.” I stride to the door, my heart pumping, desperate to get away. But as I open it, I turn back and survey the aggressive, defensive faces. “You know the really sad thing? I admired you all so much. I wanted to be you, more than anything. But now I realize…you’re just a big bunch of bullies.”

  “What?” rejoins Flora, sounding outraged.

  “You heard me. Bullies.”

  I let the word sit in the air for a few seconds, then close the door.

  —

  And now it’s nearly an hour later. It didn’t take long for Demeter and Alex to arrive in Chiswick. Nor for them to join me in a little café, listen to my playback, and realize the truth. As the recording ended, none of us said a word. I felt quietly vindicated. Alex looked chastened. But Demeter…Demeter looked properly shocked.

  In a way, it should have been a sweet victory for her. We should have been whooping. But how can you whoop when you’ve just learned that so many people are out to get you?

  At last Alex drew breath and said, “OK. Let’s take this to Adrian.”

  “Yes,” said Demeter, her tone strangely flat. “Let’s.”

  And I didn’t say anything, just got up with them from the table.

  That’s where they are now: in with Adrian at the Cooper Clemmow offices. I’m sitting outside Adrian’s room, in his private reception area, waiting for them. Adrian’s assistant, Marie, is at her desk nearby, typing away. She looked pretty surprised as we all marched in, but she hasn’t asked me a single question about it. She’s discreet like that, Marie. I have no idea what’s going on in there, but I can only imagine. And then, as I’ve almost drifted away into a trance, I hear my name being called.

  “Cat?”

  “It’s Cat!”

  It’s them. Rosa, Flora, and Sarah. They must have caught sight of me as they were on their way back in from lunch, and now they’re all coming toward me, their expressions wary and hostile.

  “What are you doing here?” demands Flora accusingly as I get up from the sofa. “Are you waiting for Adrian?”

  “Are you talking to Adrian about Flora’s job?” Rosa shakes her head. “Because that’s not on. You shouldn’t go over my head.”

  I give her a withering look. “You’re not running the department. So it’s nothing to do with you.”

  “She will be,” says Sarah loyally.

  “I doubt it,” I retort, and Rosa draws breath in anger.

  “God, Cat,” says Flora, shooting me a look of dislike. “What is your problem?”

  “What is my problem?”

  And as if on cue, Adrian’s door opens. As he steps out, with Alex and Demeter, he looks profoundly shocked and upset. His iron-gray hair is rumpled and his face is craggy and he’s saying, “It beggars belief. It fucking beggars belief—”

  He breaks off as he sees Rosa, Sarah, and Flora, all standing there before him, and his face becomes even craggier. His eyebrows draw together and for an instant I think he’s going to bellow. But instead he looks levelly at each of them in turn and says, “We’re going to talk. Don’t go back to your desks, any of you. Stay here.” He gestures to the seats in the reception area, then turns to Marie. “Clear the rest of my day.”

  “Of course,” she says, in that unflappable way she has, and picks up the phone.

  Rosa is staring at me in sudden, startled comprehension. Her face has gone a bit green and I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. Flora is gaping at Demeter as though she’s come back from the dead. Sarah is still baring her teeth in that defiant way she has, but I can see a twitch at her eye, and her hands have started to clasp and unclasp. I have no idea what she’s thinking right now….And you know what? I don’t care.

  I turn away from the little group to Demeter, who’s looking a bit shell-shocked and sheeny-eyed after her meeting.

  “Are you OK?” I murmur.

  “I’m fine. Or, at least, I will be fine.” She closes her eyes briefly. “Katie, I don’t know what to say. You’re amazing. If it weren’t for you…I mean…Come here.” Demeter pulls me into an impassioned hug. “Thank
you,” she says into my ear. “Thank you a million times over.”

  As we draw apart, I can see Flora staring at the pair of us, flabbergasted. Unlike the other two, she doesn’t look properly scared yet. I don’t think it’s quite dawned on her fully what’s happening.

  “I don’t get it,” she blurts out. “Are you two friends? Have you been friends all this time?”

  “Well…not exactly friends,” I say, just as Demeter says, “We’ve had our ups and downs.”

  I have a flashback to Demeter groveling around the swamp, covered with gloop and nettle stings. I glance at her—and I can tell she’s having a similar memory.

  “I think our shared love of yoga really bonded us,” Demeter adds, deadpan. “If you can call it yoga.” She raises her eyebrows at me, and I don’t want to start laughing but I just can’t help it. The more I think about what I put Demeter through—the sack, the stones, sweeping out the stable—the more my stomach heaves.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasp. “I’m so sorry, Demeter. I can’t believe I did all that.”

  “Nor can I,” says Demeter, and she suddenly erupts as well. As I catch sight of Flora, she looks even more gobsmacked than before.

  “Demeter and I have to talk,” Alex says, coming over. “But then we both want to buy you the biggest drink you can consume without actually being poisoned. Meet you back here in an hour?”

  “Great!” I nod, trying to ignore the gazes of Flora, Rosa, and Sarah. “See you then.”

  “And again, thanks, Katie.” Demeter grabs my hands for a final squeeze. “Thank you so much.”

  “You still can’t get her bloody name right, can you?” says Sarah, and I wheel round in surprise. Sarah is gazing at Demeter, trembling with contempt and defiance, even now. “It’s Cat.”

  “No it’s not, Sarah.” I flick her the most cutting look I can muster. “It’s Katie.”

  I step past the lot of them, my head high, and feel a lightness take hold of me as soon as I get out of their toxic atmosphere. As I reach the glass doors, it’s as if a delayed reaction hits me. It’s all good! We’ve done it! Demeter’s vindicated!

  I practically skip down the steps to the street, a huge smile licking across my face. I’m wondering how to fill the hour till I see Demeter and Alex again, and already looking forward to our drink, when my phone buzzes with some new message or other. As I pull it out I wonder—half-hope—if Demeter’s already summoning me back to the office.

  But it’s not from Demeter. It’s from a digital branding agency called Broth, which I applied to weeks ago. My breath catches as I fumble to open the email and skim the words:

  Dear Ms. Brenner…recent application for the post of junior associate…impressed by your application and would like to discuss this further…please call to arrange an interview…

  And I stand transfixed, clutching my phone, my blood dancing in my veins. An interview. An actual interview. Oh my God!

  I start next month. The salary’s pretty much what I was on before and the offices are in Marylebone, and I’m thinking about living somewhere west this time. I’ve been looking in Hanwell, which is quite cheap.

  They were really friendly, the two women who interviewed me. They loved my portfolio and said I had to join their pub quiz team. It’s a great place to work—I can tell that already. And they phoned to offer me the job while I was on the train back home. They really want me! I’ve got everything I ever wanted. So I don’t know why I don’t feel more euphoric.

  OK. Full disclosure: I know exactly why I don’t feel more euphoric.

  First of all, two weeks have passed, but I haven’t seen Alex since we were in London together. After that extraordinary, heady day, I ended up staying the night at his place, and it was so exactly what I’d always dreamed of that I felt like I must have taken some mind-altering drug. He lives in this big, light flat in Battersea, with a balcony and a view of the river (if you lean over the balustrade to look), and we had sex all night with all of London’s lights twinkling along as accompaniment. And then we had the perfect morning-after breakfast of croissants and more sex. And then he said he’d call, but—

  OK. Stop.

  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 ca
n 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.”