“Well. Takes all sorts. De-me-ter.” Dad tries the word out again, wrinkling his nose. Then he surveys me again, looking puzzled. “Love, what’s the problem? It’s just a name. No harm done.”
I stare back silently, my thoughts roaring in my head. I don’t even know where to start. No harm done?
“There’s no problem,” I say at last. “I just don’t like getting things wrong. We’ll need to change all the place names and lists and everything. And explain about the note. It doesn’t look professional.”
Dad strides off toward the shower barn, whistling a merry tune, and I swivel slowly on the spot. I can still hear a conversation going on by Demeter’s yurt. It must be Biddy who’s checking her in, and they’re still at it. Go figure. Demeter is exactly the kind of person to monopolize all the attention.
Slowly I edge my way back toward the yurt. As I get near enough to hear, I stop still and listen with all my might.
“I read about you in the Guardian piece, of course,” Demeter’s saying in her lordly way. “And I had a brochure. Someone gave it to me—I can’t remember who now. And so this is a proper, authentic farm?”
“Oh yes,” I hear Biddy reply. “The Brenner family have farmed this land for over two hundred years. I’m the newcomer!”
“How fabulous,” says Demeter. “I’m a great supporter of authentic rural practices. We can’t wait to start the activities, can we, Coco?”
Coco. That’s the daughter. She was Chloe on the form.
“Well, I’ll leave you to get settled,” says Biddy. “If there’s anything you want, please come up to the farmhouse. I’m always there, or Farmer Mick, or Katie. You haven’t met her, but she’s Farmer Mick’s daughter. My stepdaughter.”
“Wonderful,” says Demeter. “Thank you so much. Oh, one last question—are the sheets organic?”
I’ve heard enough. I back away and sprint into the farmhouse. I don’t stop till I get safely into my room. Then I bang the door shut and sit on my bed, staring at the ancient peeling wallpaper, breathing hard. How am I going to survive a week of Demeter? I can’t bear it. I have to leave.
But I can’t. Dad and Biddy need me. Oh God…
I bury my head in my hands. Fucking Demeter. She has to ruin everything—
And then a terrifying thought hits me. The minute Demeter recognizes me, it’s all going to come out. Dad and Biddy will find out I got let go from my job. That the “sabbatical” was a lie. They’ll get all worried…it’ll be awful….
I’m sitting motionless on my bed, hugging a cushion, my brain working frantically. This is serious. I have to protect myself. Top priority: Demeter must not realize who I am.
She only knew me as Cat. If she associates me with anywhere, it’s Birmingham. She wouldn’t think of me as Katie the farmer’s daughter from Somerset. And she’s never been great at recognizing people. Could I fool her? Can I?
Slowly I stand up and head over to my battered old wardrobe. There’s an oval full-length mirror on it, and I survey myself critically. My curly hair is different. My clothes are different. My name’s different. My face isn’t that different—but she’s not good with faces. My accent’s different, I realize. I can play up the Somerset burr even more.
In sudden inspiration, I grab for an eye-shadow palette that Biddy gave me for Christmas a few years ago. I bypass all the neutral shades and head straight for the frosted blue and purple. I daub both colors around my eyes. Then I put on a baseball cap I got years ago from the Bath & West Show and survey myself again.
I look about as unlike Cat as it’s possible to look.
“Allo thar,” I say to my reflection. “I be Katie Brenner. Farmed this land all my life. Never been to Lunnon town.”
There’s only one way I’m going to find out whether this disguise works: Try it out.
—
As I enter the kitchen, Biddy is sitting labeling jam, and she gapes at me in surprise.
“Goodness! Katie! That makeup’s…very…”
“New look,” I say briefly, pouring out glasses of lemonade and arranging them on a tray. “Thought I might give the new family some lemonade, since they missed tea.”
As I head down over the field, toward Demeter’s yurt, I feel sick with jitters. But I force myself to keep going, head down, one foot in front of the other. As I get near, I slow down to a halt and raise my eyes.
There she is. Demeter. In the flesh. I actually feel a shiver as I see her.
She’s sitting on the deck, all alone, wearing the perfect, glossy magazine version of country clothes. Slouchy trousers in a slubby gray linen, together with a collarless shirt and some Moroccan-looking leather slippers.
“No, not Babington House this time,” she’s saying on her mobile. “Ansters Farm. Yes, it’s very new. Didn’t you see the write-up in The Guardian?”
She sounds totally smug. Well, of course she does. She’s found the Latest New Thing.
“Yes, artisan activities. A real taste of farm life. You know how passionate I am about organic food….Absolutely! Simple things. Local food, local crafts…Oh yes, we all take part….” Demeter listens for a moment. “Mindfulness. That’s exactly what I said to James. These old-fashioned skills…So good for the children….I know.” She nods vigorously. “Back to the earth. Absolutely. And the people are so quaint. Absolute salt of the earth…”