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 about 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.
“Hello there,” I say casually.
(Shall I add: It’s Alex, isn’t it? with a frown, as though I can’t quite remember who he is?
No. He’ll never believe it and he’ll know I’m putting it on and I’ll look tragic.
Fine. OK.)
“It is you!” he exclaims. “Cat.”
“Katie,” I correct him. “Call me Katie.”
“You look different.” He wrinkles his brow as though trying to work out what’s changed. (Which is such a male response. A girl would instantly have it: Her hair’s blue and curly, she’s lost the black eyeliner, gained a couple of pounds, got some freckles, and where are those glasses she used to wear?)
Now he’s heading toward me with a springy, bouncing walk, as though walking’s far too slow for him but he doesn’t want to run.
“This is insane. What are you doing here?”
“I live here.”
“You live here?” Alex peers at me. “Is this your job now?”
“Yes. But it’s my home too. Always has been.”
“But…” He runs a hand through his hair, in that way he does. “Wait. You live in Birmingham, don’t you?”
And although I’ve decided that I’m not going to analyze everything he says, I can’t help myself. I never mentioned Birmingham to him. Does that mean he’s talked about me to someone? Does that mean—
No. Stop. It doesn’t mean anything.
“I used to work in Birmingham,” I say. “Demeter got the wrong end of the stick. But, then, she’s not really into details. Or junior staff.”
I fold my arms and look at him with a deliberately blank expression. I’m playing a bit of a game here. The more I’m rude about Demeter, the more he might reveal about her. Or at least he’ll never suspect I’m having this conversation on her behalf.
Will he?
Alex is so sharp, I wouldn’t be surprised at anything, but I can do my best.
“You do know she’s here?” I add. “Are you down here for a meeting, then? Or did you just see the brochure and decide to have a mini-break?”
All my senses are on high alert as I wait for his reply—but Alex doesn’t seem to hear the question.
“Have you spoken to her?” he asks slowly. “Demeter, I mean.”
“Demeter! Of course not. We’ve said hello or whatever….” I shrug. “She didn’t even recognize me at first. Typical.”
“Is it typical?” says Alex, with sudden animation. “Is it? You worked for her; you’ll know—” He breaks off and rubs his face, looking unexpectedly desolate.
“Know what?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter now. The die is cast.”
He lapses into silence, and I can see the lines round his mouth form into little grooves. Anxious grooves.
There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach. He doesn’t look like someone who saw a brochure and decided to have a holiday. He looks like someone with a mission that he doesn’t want to carry out.
Which, actually, is very inconsiderate of him, I find myself thinking. It is not in the Ansters Farm spirit. Being fired is not on our list of relaxing holiday activities.
“So, her whole family are here?” he says after a brooding pause.
“Yes,” I reply pointedly. “They’re having a really nice time. So, shall I tell Demeter you’re here? I’m not sure where she’s got to, in fact—”
“No!” he says quickly. “Don’t tell her yet. Just give me—” He breaks off. “Look, I had no idea you’d be here, Katie. It’s…it makes things complicated.”
“What’s complicated?” I look as puzzled as I possibly can.
“Demeter,” he says unguardedly, then winces. “Shit. You know, I was not expecting to see you here. You’re throwing me off.” He gives me an accusing look.
“Well, I don’t care what it is,” I say, managing to appear supremely uninterested. “Only don’t have a row or anything. It’ll upset the guests.”
“ ‘Have a row’?” he echoes, with a humorless little laugh. “I’m afraid we might well have a row. If not worse.”
I force myself to shrug, then keep quiet for a while. I have a feeling he wants to unburden himself. I can see it in his pained eyes, the way he’s twitching his fingers, the way he keeps glancing up at me….
“Look, I think I should tell you something,” he says in a sudden rush. “You can be discreet?”
“Of course.”
“Things are going to get awkward. I have to tell Demeter she’s being let go from Cooper Clemmow.”
And even though I knew it was coming, I feel a shock wave run through me. I can’t imagine Demeter fired. It seems all upside down. Demeter is the creative, inspired one. Demeter is the one who bangs heads together. Demeter leads; others follow. She’s the boss. She just is.
Belatedly, I realize that I haven’t demonstrated any outward surprise at all. Shit.
“I’m so shocked,” I say hastily, “that I can’t react. I’m numb.”
There. Covered myself, I hope.
“I know.” Alex winces. “Believe me, it hasn’t been an easy decision. I mean, Demeter’s brilliant, we all know that. But there have been some issues….Adrian feels—well, everyone feels—things have not been going swimmingly, put it like that.”
“Right.” I wonder if I can get any more out of him. “So, what was, like, the deciding factor?”
“Oh God.” Alex exhales sharply. “There’s been so much. But this latest cock-up with Allersons is unforgivable—” He interrupts himself and looks around to check we’re not being overheard. “This is confidential, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say gravely. “We have a motto here: What is uttered in the stable yard stays in the stable yard.”
I think I maligned Steve before. His stable-yard motto is actually pretty good.
Alex looks confused. “We’re not in a stable yard.”
“It applies to the whole farm,” I reassure him. “You were saying about Allersons?”
“Right. Well, I don’t know what you heard, but basically, Demeter went into Allersons a few weeks ago—you know Allersons Holdings?” he adds, and I nod. “They want a three-sixty rebrand of the Flaming Red restaurant chain. Extremely big piece of work. And apparently Demeter really impressed them. She had all sorts of ideas about research, workshops, she wanted to set up a ‘brand road show’—I mean, she was brilliant in the meeting. Everyone agrees that.”
“So?”
“So she never followed it up.”
“Was she supposed to?”
“Yes, she was bloody supposed to! But she had some kind of crazy meltdown and got the idea Allersons wanted to stall, for some reason. She gave that message to Rosa and Mark. So no one bothered pursuing it.”
“And did Allersons want to stall?”
“No! They were waiting for her! For us! Apparently they kept emailing and she sent reassuring emails back. But clearly they were on one page while she was on the fucking…moon. So at last they phone up Adrian directly—this is yesterday morning—and he’s like, what the hell?”
“So…I mean…” My mind is working hard. “Have you told Demeter about this?”
“Of course! We had a whole series of calls about it yesterday. But—this is the worst bit—she seems totally confused. She maintains she didn’t make a mistake, that it’s Allersons’ fault, and when she gets back from holiday she’ll show us. But we have the email trail proving the opposite. The whole thing’s messed up. Adrian’s given up talking to her. Everyone’s given up on her. They think she’s lost it.” Alex looks genuinely miserable.
“And so that’s why she’s being fired?” I press him. “That one incident?”
“There’s been other stuff.” He folds his arms around his rangy body, looking harassed. “There was a faux pas where she forwarded an email to the wrong address. I’m sure you heard about that.”
I wince. “Yes, I did.”
“She had to grovel to Forest Food, big-time. Then there was a big cock-up with Sensiquo….”
“I remember that too.” I nod, recalling Rosa screaming at Demeter in the ladies’. “Kind of. I mean, I just overheard stuff,” I add hastily.
“She won Sensiquo round, but again, it was a massive, needless drama. And then generally we’ve had so many complaints about her leadership, her manner with the juniors, her flakiness….” He brings his fists to his forehead in frustration. “I just don’t get it. I worked for Demeter in my first job and she was fabulous. She was brilliant. She was encouraging. She was on it. I mean, yes, she was always a bit impulsive, a bit erratic, but that was Demeter. You put up with it because of the flashes of genius. And she basically kept everything under control. She ran a tight ship. But now…” He sighs. “I don’t know what’s happened to her. I look like a fool, for hiring her, for sticking up for her—”
“You call this sticking up for her?” I can’t help sounding incredulous. “Coming to fire her on her holiday?”
“I did my best for her, OK?” His eyes become dark and defensive. “And I’d rather do this than have her arrive at work on Monday, get summoned to Adrian, and it’s all in front of her team. I volunteered to come down here, believe it or not. I’m trying to give her some dignity and space—” He suddenly breaks off. “Anyway, why do you care? I thought you hated her.”
“Oh, I do,” I say quickly. “She’s the one who let me go, remember? Bitch. She deserves all she gets.”
“She’s not really a bitch,” says Alex slowly. “I know everyone thinks she is, but she’s not. She gets a bad rap and I’m not sure why.”
I want to say: I know what you mean. I want to say: I’m starting to see Demeter in a different light. But obviously I can’t say that. So instead I pick a cornflower and pull all its petals off, which is a bad habit of mine.
“Katie!” Biddy’s reproving voice hits my ears. “Leave that poor cornflower alone!”
I give a rueful grin. That is typical Biddy, to catch me out. She’s coming into the garden with a laden tray, and I hurry over to help her. The tray has on it a coffee press, cup and saucer, milk jug, two scones with jam and clotted cream, a slice of lemon drizzle cake, and a couple of chocolate chip cookies.
“Oh my God, Biddy,” I say in a whisper, as I help her arrange it all on our wrought-iron garden table and put up an umbrella against the sun. “Did you give him enough to eat, do you think?”
“I wanted to give him a good welcome!” she whispers back. “He’s our first guest! So, Mr. Astalis!” She stands up. “Please come and have a proper West Country morning coffee, and then I’ll show you to your room.”
As Alex sits down at the table, he looks a bit thunderstruck. But he smiles charmingly at Biddy and compliments everything: “These scones! And the jam—is that homemade?”
Eventually Biddy goes back inside, and Alex puts down the scone. “I cannot eat all this,” he says. “Sorry. It’s just not happening. I had breakfast on the road about, what, an hour ago?”
“Don’t worry.” I laugh. “Biddy just wanted to make you welcome.”
“And ‘welcome’ would be Somerset slang for ‘a coronary patient’?” Alex eyes the dish of clotted cream and I laugh again.
“Seriously, you do have to try her lemon drizzle cake. It’s amazing.”
“I will.” Alex’s expression turns sober. “But not now.” He wraps up the lemon drizzle cake in a napkin, then puts his hands flat on the table. “Enough procrastinating. I need to do this. Do you know where Demeter is?”
My stomach lurches. Don’t give away anything.
“Let Biddy show you your room first,” I say easily. “Please. It won’t take long. She’s so excited to have you. Actually…” I hesitate. “You’re our first B&B guest.”
“Really?” Alex looks surprised. “I thought this was an up-and-running business.”
“It is. The glamping is. But the B&B’s new, and Biddy’s quite nervous….”
“Well, I hate to disappoint her.” Alex takes a sip of coffee. “But I probably won’t even use my room.”
“You’re not staying the night?” I try not to sound crestfallen. Because obviously I’m not crestfallen.
“I only booked a room in case things took longer than expected. I’ll pay, of course,” Alex adds quickly. “But staying isn’t the plan. I don’t want to prolong this any more than I have to.”
“Will you still give us a good review on TripAdvisor?” I blurt out before I can stop myself, and Alex laughs.
“Absolutely. Ten stars.”
I smile back. “It only goes up to five.”
“Five and a half, then.” He drains his cup of coffee, then looks at me quizzically, as though greeting me for the first time. “So, Katie Brenner. How have you been?”
“Oh, you know,” I say lightly. “Unemployed, mostly.” He winces, and I add, “No, it’s been fine. Really. It’s been good. I’ve helped my dad start this place up. And Biddy. She’s my stepmum,” I explain.
“You started this from scratch?” He sweeps his arm around.
“Yes.”
“Just the three of you?”
I nod, and Alex picks up the Ansters Farm brochure, which Biddy has helpfully left on the tray. He studies it for a minute, then raises his head. “You know something? I saw this earlier, and I thought: This looks like a piece of Demeter’s work. You’ve learned from her, clearly. Congratulations.”
I feel an inner whoop but simply reply, “Thanks. Oh, and by the way…please can you not mention that you know me to Dad or Biddy?”
“Oh?” Alex seems taken aback.
“It’s…complicated. They don’t know that I know Demeter either. It’s—” I stop dead. “Anyway.”
“Fine,” says Alex after a pause. He sounds confused and even a bit offended, but too bad. I can’t go into it all. Anyway, he probably won’t even hang around long enough to talk to Biddy again, let alone Dad.
I pour him another cup of coffee, and he lifts a hand.
“No, I really have to go.” But then he takes a pensive sip. (Something I’ve learned here: Sixty percent of people who say “no thanks” to more coffee then drink two more cups.) For a while there’s silence except for the sound of children’s laughter drifting over the breeze. I think the kids are with Dad this morning, doing something with scarecrows. After that, they’ll go boating on Fisher’s Lake. They do have a good time here, you can’t argue with that.
I’m feeling a tad awkward and wondering what to say next, when Alex breaks the quiet. “You know, I thought a lot about what you said, your last day at Cooper Clemmow. It got to me. I had a sleepless night or two. I nearly called you up.”
He what?
I’m utterly taken aback. Playing for time, I look away, fidgeting with a spoon. I want to ask him: What are you talking about exactly? What did you want to say? Why did you have sleepless nights? But at the same time, I don’t want to go there. It was all too mortifying.
“Right.” I make the mistake of raising my eyes, and he’s looking right at me with that dark gaze of his.
“Look at you,” he says softly, and I feel a fresh lurch in my stomach. What does that mean? And why is he looking at me like that? Oh God…
OK, full disclosure: The whole not-getting-flustered strategy has bombed. I don’t even know what’s doing it. His eyes? His voice? Just…him?
“Anyway,” I say in a businesslike way. “I’m sorry, but I just have to go and…do a thing.”
“Of course.” Alex seems to come to, and the light in his eyes fades. “You must be very busy. Sorry to have kept you.” He puts down his coffee cup. “Well, here goes. Any idea where Demeter is? Your dad thought she was with you.”
“Demeter?” I say, with a careless shrug. “Sorry, no idea. But I’m sure she’s around somewhere. If I see her, I’ll point her in your direction.”
“If you do see her…” He squints at me against the sunlight. “You won’t say anything to her, will you? Stable-yard rules.”
“Say anything to her?” I echo, as though the idea’s ludicrous. “Of course I won’t. Not a word.”
“You’re being fired!” I blurt out as soon as I reach the woodshed. “It’s all true! Adrian’s given up on you, and it’s because of Allersons and that Forest Food email and the thing with Sensiquo and your manner with your staff and…you know. Everything.”
“Everything?” Demeter peers at me from the depths of the woodshed, looking like some hostage emerging from a monthlong ordeal. Unlike me, she has not visited a shower, because she was too paranoid about bumping into Alex. She has dried mud on her face, dust all over her hair, and wood shavings on her shoulders, looking like monster dandruff. Her expression is stricken, and I realize I was perhaps a bit blunt.
“Well, you know,” I amend, trying to sound more diplomatic. “All your mistakes. And…well. The stuff with the staff.”
“What stuff with the staff?” She gazes at me through the murk, with that myopic, confused, incredibly frustrating expression she gets.
“Well.” I shrug awkwardly. I’m hardly going to spell it out, am I?
There’s silence. Demeter’s foot is tapping on the floor in a nervous, repetitive pattern. Her eyes are darting around like a cornered animal’s.
“Tell me about the stuff with the staff,” she says abruptly. “You were one of them. Tell me.”
Oh God. This is excruciating.
“Really,” I say at once. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing!”
“It is! I mean, there were just a few tiny things….” I trail off uncomfortably.
“Clearly there were more than a few tiny things,” says Demeter evenly. “Katie, I’m asking you as a fellow professional. Give me a review. A full, honest review. No holds barred.”
Arrgh. Is she serious?
“I can’t!” I twist my legs together. “It would be…awkward.”
“Awkward?” Demeter erupts. “How awkward do you think I feel right now, hiding in a woodshed from a man who used to be my junior? Looking at my whole career disappearing down the drain? Feeling I must be going mad?” She clutches her head, and I can see tears suddenly glittering in her eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like for me. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.” She bangs her head against her hands, and I gape in shocked dismay. “Nothing makes sense. I really think I may be getting dementia. But I can’t admit that to anyone. Anyone. Not even James.”
“You haven’t got dementia,” I say, appalled. “That’s ridiculous!”
But Demeter is shaking her head almost savagely, as though she can’t hear me.
“Things change. Things…they don’t make sense. Emails. Messages.” Her brow wrinkles as though with the memory. “Every day I get through in a state of, basically…panic. Yes. Panic. Trying to keep on top of everything and failing. Quite clearly failing, as my imminent dismissal goes to prove.” She wipes roughly at her eyes. “I do apologize. This is unlike me.”
“Look.” I gulp, feeling more and more uneasy. “You’re brilliant at what you do. You really inspired me, and you’ve got amazing ideas—”
“Tell me about the staff.” She cuts me off dead. “Where have I messed up? Why do they hate me?”
I’m about to give the pat answer: They don’t hate you. But something about Demeter’s expression stops me fobbing her off. I respect this woman. She deserves better than that.
“Well, take Rosa.” I pick a name at random. “She feels…” I hesitate, trying to decide how to put it.
She feels you stamp on her fingers with your Miu Miu shoes.
“She feels you don’t always encourage her to develop her career,” I say carefully. “Like, you wouldn’t let her do the mayor’s athletics project.”
“She’s holding that against me?” Demeter looks incredulous.
“Well, it would have showcased her talents….”
“Jesus.” Demeter closes her eyes. “I don’t believe this. Do you want to know the truth? They didn’t want her at the mayor’s project.”
“What?” It’s my turn to stare.
“I wrote an email recommending her, and we sent off a portfolio, but she didn’t make the grade.”
“But why didn’t you tell her?” I exclaim.
“Rosa always seems very sensitive. Oversensitive, even.” Demeter shrugs. “I thought I’d protect her feelings and say that I needed her. Keep her confidence levels up.”
“Oh.” I think about this. “Well, maybe you kept her confidence levels up, but…”
“Now she hates me,” finishes Demeter. “Yes. I can see how that might have happened. Unintended consequences and all that.” There’s a strange quiver to her face, and I think she’s quite upset but trying to mask it. “I won’t make that mistake again. Who else?”
“OK,” I say, feeling worse than ever. “So…Mark. He hates you because you stole his thunder with that Drench moisturizer rebrand.”
“Really?” Demeter looks astonished. “But that was a massive success. We’ve won awards. It’s boosted his career.”
“Well, I know. But he had his own ideas, and you came barging in and took over and embarrassed him….” I bite my lip. “I’m only telling you what people say—” I break off, unnerved at the anger suddenly flashing in Demeter’s face.
“I saved him,” she says hotly. “I bloody saved him. Those designs he came up with were rushed and substandard. He’s talented, Mark, but he does too much freelance work on the side. I know that’s what he’s up to at home. He’s greedy; he takes on too much, and it shows.” She falls silent and seems to simmer down. “But I could have been more diplomatic,” she adds. “When I get a good idea I forget everything else. It’s a bad fault of mine.”
I don’t know what to say to this, so I’m quiet for a while. I can see that Demeter’s head is teeming with thoughts, and no wonder.
“So, Rosa hates me and Mark hates me,” she says, in an odd voice. “Anyone else?”
“Hate’s the wrong word,” I say hurriedly, even though it’s exactly the right word. “It’s just…I suppose…they don’t feel very respected. For example, did you even know that Mark won the Stylesign Award for Innovation?”
Demeter turns her head and surveys me as though I’m mad.
“Of course I bloody knew. I put him up for it. I’m on the contributing panel. And I sent him a card afterward.” Then her brow creases. “Actually, did I send it? I know I wrote it….”
“You what?” I gape at her. “Well, did you tell him you nominated him?”
“Of course I didn’t tell him,” she retorts. “It’s anonymous.”
“So no one at the office has any idea you helped him?”
“I don’t know,” says Demeter impatiently.
“Well, you should!” I practically yell. “You should get some credit! Demeter, you’re driving me mad here! You’re so much nicer than you make out you are. But you’ve got to help yourself!”
“I don’t understand,” says Demeter, a little haughtily, and I nearly pop with exasperation.
“Don’t make people do up your corset dress. Don’t make people do your roots. Don’t tell Hannah she’s being a drama queen because she’s had a panic attack.”
“What?” Demeter looks horrified. “I never said that. I would never say something like that. I’ve been very supportive of Hannah and her issues—”
“I remember it exactly,” I cut her off. “You said to Hannah, ‘No one thinks you’re a drama queen.’ To her that sounded like, You’re a drama queen.”
“Oh.” Demeter sounds chastened. “Oh. I see.”
There’s a long silence, and I can tell she’s mulling. “I think perhaps I don’t always communicate what I want to communicate,” she says at last.
“We have an expression for it,” I say. If I’m going to be honest, I might as well tell her the lot. “We call it ‘being Demetered.’ ”
“Oh my God.” She looks even more shell-shocked. As well she might.
There’s another long silence, and I know some thought or other is bubbling to the top of Demeter’s head. Sure enough, a moment later she exclaims, “But the roots! Do you hate me because I asked you to do my roots?”
“Well…” I’m not sure how to reply, but luckily Demeter doesn’t seem to need an answer.
“Because that I do not understand,” she continues emphatically. “I thought we were all in the sisterhood. If you asked me to do your roots, Katie, and I had time, then of course I would. Of course I would.”
She meets my gaze, unblinking, and I realize that I believe her. I think she means it. She’d do my roots in a heartbeat and not be remotely offended.
With every revelation, more of a pattern has started to form. I think in some ways Demeter’s the opposite of what we all thought. Maybe she’s careless—but she’s not vindictive. She isn’t deliberately stamping everyone with her Miu Miu shoes—she’s just not being careful enough about where she places them. She obviously thinks that everyone’s like her: focused on having great ideas and making them work and not fussing too much about the details. The trouble is, people—employees—do mind about the details.
The more I realize the truth, the more frustrated I’m feeling with her. It could all be so different, if she took more care.
“You know, it really doesn’t help that you always mix up people’s names,” I say bluntly. “And the way you look at people as if you can’t remember who they are? That’s bad.”
For the first time in our conversation, Demeter looks truly mortified. “I have a very small visual-recognition issue,” she says with dignity. “But it’s only a detail. I’ve masked it successfully all my life. It’s never held me back at work.”
God, she’s perverse. I feel like strangling her.
“You haven’t masked it successfully!” I retort. “And it has held you back! Because, look, you’re about to get fired, and that’s a factor. People think you don’t care about them. If you just told everyone you had a problem—” I break off as an idea hits me. “Maybe that’s why you get confused with stuff. I mean, it’s a thing. Like being dyslexic. You could get help; you could get support….” I trail off as Demeter shakes her head.
“I wish. It’s not that. It’s worse than that.” She gives me a bleak little smile. “I’ve googled early-onset dementia. I have all the signs.”
“But you’re totally with it!” I say, feeling quite distressed at this conversation. “You’re sane, you’re lucid, you’re young, for God’s sake….”
Demeter shakes her head. “I send emails I don’t remember sending. I get confused over dates. I don’t remember things I’ve agreed to. This issue with Allersons. I’m sure they told me to stall. They were waiting for some piece of research they’d commissioned.” Her face crumples. “But now everyone’s telling me they didn’t say that. So it must be me. I must be losing my sanity. Luckily I think quickly on my feet, so I’ve got myself out of a lot of situations. But not all of them.”
I have a flashback to Demeter in the office, peering at her phone as though nothing in the world makes sense, turning to Sarah with that confused, helpless expression, deflecting attention with some random loud announcement. And now, of course, it all looks like a coping mechanism.
The thought makes me squirm uncomfortably. I can’t believe Demeter is anything other than a powerful, intelligent woman, at the top of her game and just a bit crap at managing people.
She’s pacing around the woodshed now, her face tortured. She looks like she’s trying to solve some problem involving Pythagoras and string theory, all at once.
“I know I saw that email,” she suddenly declares. “I printed it out. I had it.”
“So where is it?”
“God knows. Not on my computer, I’ve checked enough times. But…” Her face jolts. “Wait. Did I put it in my raffia bag?”
She looks transfixed. I don’t even dare breathe, in case I disturb her.
“I did. I think I did. I took a bundle of emails home….” Demeter rubs her mud-strewn face. “They’re not on my desk. I’ve checked that too. But could they be in that bag? It’s been hanging on my bedroom-door handle for weeks. I never even…Is that where it went?”
She looks at me urgently, as though expecting an answer. I mean, honestly. What do I know about her raffia bag? On the other hand, leaving a bundle of emails in a bag is a totally Demeter thing to do.
“Maybe.” I nod. “Absolutely.”
“I’ve got to try, at least.” Abruptly, she starts brushing herself down. “I’ve got to give it a go.”
“Give what a go?”
“I’m going to London.” She looks directly at me. “It’s only midday. I can get up there and back by evening. The children are busy; they won’t even know I’ve gone.”
“You’re going to the office?” I say, confused.
“No!” She gives a half bark of mirthless laughter. “I can’t risk going near the office. No, I’m going home. I need to see what I can salvage from my stuff there. If I’ve got any chance of fighting this, I need ammunition.”
“But what about Alex?” I point out. “He’s here. He’s waiting for you.”
“You can tell him what I’m doing when I’ve gone. Either he’ll come chasing after me or, knowing Alex, he probably won’t….” Demeter gives me a wry look. “I’ll just ask you one more favor, Katie. Give me a head start. OK?”