Oh, but…but…
I sit down on a wooden stump, staring morosely at the picturesque view. I need to get my mood in order before I go inside; otherwise, Biddy will pick up on it. After a while, Steve comes into view, and in spite of myself, I smile.
He has earphones in and is walking along with a rolling gait, doing weird dance moves with his arms. I recognize those moves from the fifth-form dance. Maybe he’s practicing his wedding dance.
Oh God, he probably is. I clap a hand over my mouth briefly, then regain control.
“Hey, Steve.” I wave hard to get his attention, and he comes over, pulling out his earphones. “Listen, I might need some extra help tomorrow. One of the guests wants a bespoke activity.”
“Bespoke?” Steve makes a face. “What’s that, then?”
“Dunno.” I sigh. “I’ll have to make something up. She can’t do the willow-weaving because she’s allergic.”
“Which guest?” Steve surveys the yurts.
“She’s in Cowslip. Her name’s Demeter.”
“De-me-ter?” Steve looks as foxed as Dad did.
“I know.” I shrug. “It’s Ancient Greek. It means ‘goddess of the harvest.’?”
“Harvest?” Steve thinks for a moment. “Well, she can harvest some strawberries if she wants to.”
I consider this. Would Demeter be impressed by a strawberry-picking activity?
“Maybe. It’s not very artisan, though, is it? She’s all about learning farm skills. Or yoga, except we don’t do yoga.” I squint at him. “What are you up to tomorrow? Could she join in whatever you’re doing? You know, some genuine farm activity?”
“I’m muck-spreading.” Steve shrugs. “She won’t want to do that.”
“Muck-spreading?” I can’t help a giggle. “Oh, that would be perfect. Hello, Demeter, welcome to your morning of muck-spreading.”
“Should’ve done it yesterday,” Steve’s saying. “But your dad, he wanted a couple of fences mended.” He fixes me with one of his reproachful looks. “Now, I’m not blaming those glampers or nothing. But have you seen the stile into North Field?”
I nod absently, only half-listening. I’m consumed with an image of Demeter on a muck spreader. Demeter falling off. Demeter covered in muck.
“And the litter,” Steve’s saying. “I mean, I know they like having their picnics and all, but…”
Or Demeter rock-picking. Demeter hoeing a field by hand. Demeter finally getting some payback…
And now an idea is growing inside me. A very bad, wicked idea. An idea that makes me want to hug myself. Because “bespoke” means I’m in charge. It means I can make her do whatever I damn well like.
This is it. At last I’m going to get even. So Demeter wants rural? She wants a “taste of farm life”? She wants “authentic”?
Well, she’s bloody well going to get it.
The routine at Ansters Farm is that after breakfast, at about ten o’clock, we ring a bell and everyone who wants to do activities assembles in the yard. Today that’s all the glampers—and as the families gather, there’s a happy hubbub. They look so photogenic, I take a few snaps for the website—and naturally Demeter’s family is the most photogenic of all.
Demeter is wearing another rural-chic combo of cropped linen trousers and tank top. Her daughter, Coco, looks like a model, with coltish legs in teeny denim shorts and long, wafty hair. I expect she’s been scouted at Topshop already. In fact, she’s probably on next month’s cover of Vogue. The son, Hal, looks cool. He has sticking-up fair hair, an attractive open face, and doesn’t even have any zits. Well, of course he doesn’t. No doubt Demeter knows some miracle organic zit cure that’s only available to people who live in W12.
The husband, James, is lean, with a wry smile and those attractive crow’s feet which men of a certain age get. He’s talking to the children and they’re roaring with laughter, so obviously they all have a brilliant relationship, as well as great looks and clothes and probably talents and hobbies too. He’s in cutoffs and a gray marl T-shirt, and he’s wearing these limited-edition brown suede sneakers which I saw once in Style magazine. He’s clearly as much an early adopter as Demeter is. As I watch, Coco pushes him playfully on the chest, then nestles her head on his shoulder, while Hal taps at his iPhone. The latest version, of course.
“Good morning!” Dad greets the crowd. “And welcome to Ansters Farm!”
From nowhere, a cheer materializes. Dad manages to get the glampers to cheer every week, and I have no idea how he does it. I think he must have been a fairground barker in his past life. Or a ringmaster at a circus, perhaps.
“We hope you’re looking forward to some fun-packed activities today.” Dad twinkles at the crowd. “Kiddies, you’ll be doing Farmer Mick’s obstacle course, with prizes for everyone!”
Another cheer breaks out, and Dad beams. “Adults, you’ll be on the willow-weaving activity with Robin here.” He pushes forward Robin, who is very shy and bearded and is our local willow-weaving expert. (He also teaches madrigal-singing, has a small brewery, and keeps ferrets. That’s Somerset for you.)
“Teenagers, you’ll have to decide: weaving or obstacle course? All I’ll say is that the weaving doesn’t involve homemade fudge….”
I can see Coco and Hal frowning and looking at each other, trying to work out whether the obstacle course is unspeakably uncool or the willow-weaving is even worse. But I can’t get distracted by them. I have to start my Demeter campaign. Even though she didn’t recognize me yesterday, I’m not leaving anything to chance. So last night I dyed my curly hair with a blue ombre rinse—I always used to do it for festivals. Plus I’ve put on sunglasses today. From a distance I look like a total stranger.
“Good morrrning!” I adopt my creamiest accent and head over to Demeter. “We met yesterday. I’m Katie, and I’ll be leading your special bespoke program. It’s a mind–body–spirit program, and it aims to refresh, relax, and restore. Are you ready to start?”
“Absolutely,” says Demeter, and waves at her family. “Bye, guys! Have fun!”
“Now, you requested yoga, as I remember,” I say as we step away from the hubbub. “Unfortunately, we don’t offer yoga at Ansters Farm. Instead, we offer an ancient Druid practice, Vedari. It’s not unlike yoga, though a little more challenging.”
“Vedari,” echoes Demeter. “I’ve never even heard of that.”
“Few people have. It’s very niche, very ancient, very spiritual. Although I do believe Gwyneth Paltrow practices it.”
I can see Demeter’s eyes light up. I knew mentioning Gwyneth Paltrow would press her buttons.
“So, first of all, we’ll be doing a one-to-one Vedari session in one of our open-air spaces. Then we’re going to change location and do our special equine de-stress activity. Then lunch.” I smile.
“That sounds tremendous,” says Demeter, who has been listening intently. “Absolutely what I had in mind. The Vedari sounds marvelous. Do I need any equipment?”
“Just yourself.” I smile at her beatifically. “Just bring yourself. Are you ready?”
Demeter is tapping at her phone.
“Wait a minute,” she says absently. “I want to have a look while we’ve still got signal….”
I bet I know what she’s doing. And, sure enough, a moment later she raises her head.
“Vedari! Here it is! The National Vedari Association…Ancient and powerful…Suppleness of body and mind…This sounds amazing. Why haven’t I heard of it before?”
Because I made it up, I want to reply. Because that website was invented by me and put up by Alan last night, in about five minutes.
“Like I say.” I smile at her. “It’s very niche. Shall we go?”
I lead Demeter off through the fields and spread my arms widely as we walk.
“As you may know, the West Country is a very spiritual area. There are ley lines everywhere, ancient stone circles—”