Life Swap

by Jane Green

  And the children are just as lovely as they had looked in the photograph. They are both sweet, well behaved, and thrilled to have a grown-up like Vicky be so interested in them. When Amber walks in Gracie is curled up on Vicky’s lap, sucking her thumb and clutching Lambie, ready for bed.

  Gracie looks up to see Amber, then closes her eyes and continues stroking Lambie’s right leg, her comfort zone of choice.

  ‘Wow!’ Amber cannot believe how quickly the kids have taken to Vicky, although she can see why. Under different circumstances Vicky might have become a friend, and who knows, after this is done, maybe they will become friends. Because suddenly this seems far more of a reality than a dream. The fact of Vicky being here, the fact that Amber likes her, and more importantly that the children like her, enables Amber to breathe a sigh of relief.

  Four weeks is a long time to be away from your family, particularly when the woman who will be replacing you is someone you don’t know. But even in the few hours since Vicky has been here, Amber can see that they will all be fine. That Vicky will look after the children just as well as Amber. And possibly even better, she thinks with a pang of guilt that she quickly suppresses. Now it just remains to be seen what Richard thinks.

  *

  Richard, poor Richard, is dreading coming home to find The Journalist there. He knows her name is Vicky Townsley, but refuses to think of her by name, demonizing her instead by referring to her only as The Journalist, aka the woman who is destroying his life.

  Okay, okay, so he knows that may be a bit dramatic, but if The Journalist hadn’t written that piece in Poise! magazine, if he hadn’t bought that damned magazine for Amber that day, if Amber hadn’t written the letter, none of this would be happening.

  And it’s not as if there isn’t enough stress going on in his life right now. God knows he wishes he could talk to Amber about work, but he doesn’t want her to worry about what’s going on in his life, and he figures it will all sort itself out pretty soon.

  But then to add to all this stress The Journalist, that goddamned journalist, is going to be there when he gets home, which is the last thing he needs. He’s so angry with Amber. He read her letter this morning on the train, but he still doesn’t understand. If she’s unhappy then he must be the cause of that unhappiness, even though he doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong.

  She may say it’s not a trial separation, more of an experiment, but since when do happily married wives leave their husbands and children for four weeks? Four weeks! It’s not like she’s asking to go off to a spa with the girls for the weekend – that he would understand. But she’s asking to go for four whole weeks, and to go and live the life of a single girl, which is the part he finds most worrying.

  Why would she want to be single? Why does she want to live in a flat off Marylebone High Street, work on a magazine, hang out in bars and clubs in London of all places, when she has everything she could possibly want or need right here in Highfield?

  It’s not as if he doesn’t understand where she’s coming from – he also finds the competitiveness of Highfield living exhausting and stressful, particularly given the state of his work at the moment, but how on earth could leaving change anything? How does going to London – London! – for four weeks make a difference? She says she needs a break from her life, but what if, and this is the thought that terrifies him most of all, what if she likes it?

  And therein lies his biggest fear. What if she’s lying, if secretly she’s been planning to leave him, is treating this as a test run for a single life? Because while Richard’s life may not be perfect, the one thing he’s absolutely sure of is Amber. She remains the best thing that’s ever happened to him, the only woman he ever wanted to marry, and even though he is occasionally irritated by her lack of confidence, the lack of confidence that sends her running into Prada and spending thousands of unnecessary dollars without even thinking, the real Amber is still the greatest woman he has ever known, and he doesn’t want their marriage to change.

  Change is the single most terrifying aspect of Richard’s life. It is fear of change that kept him at Godfrey Hamilton Saltz for ten years. Fear of change that has stopped him from leaving the trading floor altogether and utilizing the entrepreneurial skills he is convinced he has, buying a small, ailing company and building it into something large and profitable and wonderful.

  Fear of change that has kept him in Highfield, dragged him down to the playground on Sunday mornings with the kids to talk shop with the other dads, made him put on his tuxa few times a year to accompany Amber to the social gatherings of the season, be gracious and charming to women like Suzy Bartlow and Nadine Potts, women whose evil he could sense, whose ostentation made his stomach turn.

  It is fear of change that has kept him exactly where he is, even when he knows he is not sure how much longer he can go on. Fear of change that has kept him on the death train at 5.20 in the morning three days a week, on his way to an office he cannot stand, with people looking over his shoulder at every move, waiting for him to recoup the enormous losses he has caused, judging him as somehow unworthy because he was not making as much money as the others. And we wonder why he is stressed.

  Richard stands up when the train pulls into Highfield and takes a deep breath as he steps off the train and goes to find his car in its usual spot in the commuter parking lot – the spot that he had to wait four years for, the spot he’s never going to give up, even if he found he was no longer working in the city…

  Time to go home and meet The Journalist. He throws his briefcase in the back of the car and switches on the engine. Maybe she’ll be awful, he thinks. Maybe Amber will hate her, will refuse to leave the children with her. Maybe this won’t happen after all; and feeling slightly better with this thought, he starts the drive home.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The four days with Vicky Townsley are far better than Richard expects. Not that he sees her much, apart from the evenings, of course, but there is something very cute about her, and he can see how much the children take to her, and suddenly it doesn’t seem quite so frightening. In fact, if anything, he is beginning to look at it in much the same way as Amber – as an adventure.

  Amber is more excited than he’s seen her in years. Amber is more excited than she’s been in years. Within the first five minutes of seeing how Richard and Vicky get on, Amber knows that everything is going to be all right, that Richard is going to come around, and that Vicky is going to be absolutely fine stepping into her shoes. Now all she has to worry about is stepping into Vicky’s.

  Because Amber has been dreading Richard coming home, particularly after the cold front that has existed in their house. As charming as Richard is, he has the ability to be completely charmless when he wishes, and she has been terrified Richard will put Vicky off, that Vicky will decide not to choose her, based on the rudeness or truculence of her husband.

  A less secure woman might be concerned at Richard’s transformation. He left the house in such a bad mood, comes home scowling, and then seems to become charm itself as Vicky talks to him.

  And Vicky is attractive. Cute in a very English way. Peaches-and-cream complexion, good figure although it could be a lot better with some time in a gym, and surprisingly good teeth – although it shouldn’t be a surprise, except that Amber, like so many Americans, presumes that in England all the food is terrible and everyone has dreadful teeth.

  ‘How do you do?’ Vicky puts the knife down on the chopping board where Amber has put her in charge of the salad – Amber having decided to cook, trying to show Vicky that she is the perfect wife and mother, that she does not, in fact, delegate everything to Lavinia, but that she runs her charity work, looks after the children, rushes the dog to the vet in an emergency, and still has time to look great.

  In other words, Amber is trying to prove she is Superwoman. Although Vicky isn’t to know that that is not the case.

  Vicky shakes Richard’s hand warmly, with a genuine smile, slightly taken aback
by how attractive he is. Perhaps it is true, she thinks, smiling into Richard’s baby-blue eyes, noting how tall he is, how broad his shoulders. Perhaps everything really is bigger and better in America, because they certainly don’t make many men like this at home. It’s not that Richard is spectacularly good-looking, he just has that glow of All-American health that Vicky finds so appealing, and although Richard is not conscious of the effect he is having on Vicky, he finds his own eyes twinkling back at hers, and his smile in response far warmer than he expected, and maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

  Not that he’d ever be unfaithful to Amber. Not that he thinks he would be sleeping with this other woman, but she’s so cute! With her little English accent and flushed cheeks.

  How could he have possibly thought this woman had come to destroy his marriage? In her little flippy Boden skirt and layered vests, appliquéed flats on her feet, how would someone as adorable as this ever be a problem and, more to the point, how is she not married?

  ‘You’re The Journalist?’ Richard asks, as Amber beams, seeing that he likes Vicky, that he’s intrigued. ‘The single woman from London?’

  ‘That would be me,’ Vicky grins. ‘The spinster with just my cat for company, who’s desperate to get married.’

  ‘Who? You or the cat?’ Richard grins back.

  ‘Both!’ Vicky laughs.

  ‘But how are you not married?’ Richard is genuinely bemused. ‘You’re so cute!’

  And Vicky, unused to compliments such as this, such open compliments from such an attractive man, flushes all the way up to her hairline as Amber laughs. ‘Oh Richard! You’ve embarrassed her.’ But Amber is delighted at Richard’s openness, delighted that he thinks she’s cute – perhaps now he’ll be happy about the prospect of the swap.

  Just in case you were wondering, Amber is not concerned about Richard’s fidelity. Amber is not one of those women who has experienced hardships with men. Hardships in practically every other area of her life, but her natural coolness when she was younger always intrigued men, and she tended to be the dumper rather than the dumpee.

  She had never understood girlfriends who put up with their men mistreating them, who allowed their men back after they had admitted to affairs. Amber was black and white about infidelity. Her life had been too hard as a child for her to put up with lies or problems as an adult. If Richard were to be unfaithful, their marriage would be over. That’s it. No second chances, no room for discussion. Amber would simply move on and start again.

  But still, she never expected it to happen. One of the reasons she had fallen in love with Richard, one of the qualities that still makes him stand out in her eyes, is his integrity, his knowledge of right from wrong, his strong moral core, and Amber knows that Richard is not a man who would have a flippant affair. Not just because he knows Amber would leave him in a heartbeat, but because he genuinely wouldn’t be able to do it.

  Richard is a family man through and through. He loves Amber, he loves his kids, he wouldn’t jeopardize it for a quick fling. And perhaps this is why Amber doesn’t mind the twinkle in his eye when he looks at Vicky. For she is cute. It’s lovely that he thinks that, and that it would never occur to him to take it further.

  ‘Does Vicky get to sleep on your side of the bed while you’re in London?’ Richard grins, looking at Amber, and Amber rolls her eyes.

  ‘Only in your dreams, Richard,’ she says, turning to see the flush back on Vicky’s face.

  ‘Oh God,’ Vicky groans. ‘I’m completely embarrassing myself here. I’m supposed to be a professional journalist and the pair of you are making me blush like a teenager. I’m going to need to go outside and get some air in a minute.’

  ‘How about a drink instead?’ Amber says. ‘Richard, darling, will you pour us some wine?’

  ‘Yes, darling,’ Richard says, leaning over and giving Amber a kiss, and Amber knows that everything is going to be all right.

  The evening is a delight. Vicky keeps them both laughing with stories about being single in London, and asks lots of questions about their life in Highfield. Richard goes very quiet when Amber explains why she doesn’t feel entirely happy here, but ultimately he says he understands, that he feels the same pressures Amber does, but because he’s removed from it for most of the day he doesn’t feel it with quite the same intensity.

  ‘But why don’t you move if it’s that competitive?’ Vicky takes a sip of her third glass of wine.

  Amber shrugs. ‘I’m not sure that it would be that different anywhere else, or at least, anywhere that’s within commutable distance to Wall Street. Also the schools in Highfield are amazing, so we save vast amounts of money by not having to send our kids to private school; and in many ways this town is wonderful.’

  ‘The quality of life here is great,’ Richard agrees. ‘So you have this running battle with yourself, weighing up the pros and cons, asking yourself whether it’s worth it and the pros always seem to outweigh the cons.’

  Amber turns to Richard. ‘I didn’t know you felt it as strongly as I do?’ The surprise is obvious in her face.

  ‘I do, I just don’t talk about it because I can’t see it changing, but also, and don’t get mad at me for saying this, but you come up against it every day because of the women you choose to mix with.’

  Amber visibly bristles. ‘Are you saying I choose to mix with Suzy… and Nadine?’

  Richard sighs. ‘I knew you’d get mad. And no, I’m not saying you choose to mix with them, but you do choose to do all the work you do for the League, and whilst I know it’s all for a good cause, you know just as well as I do that it’s just a thin disguise for social climbing, and that you get sucked in to all that crap with everyone else.’

  Amber is silent for a while, and then she shrugs and looks at Vicky. ‘That’s why I want to do this. Because Richard’s right. Being head of the committee that runs the Summer Gala for the League, or the summer house tour, isn’t about raising the most money for charity, it’s about being queen bee, about having all the other women in town know that you’re at the top of the ladder, and it’s cliquey, and bitchy, and –’ Amber takes a deep breath – ‘and I just need to get away for a while. To re-evaluate.’

  Vicky swallows hard. ‘Wow. And it seems as if your life is so perfect.’

  ‘And you know what? It is pretty perfect.’ Amber gestures around her. ‘I have a wonderful husband and a wonderful marriage, I live in a big, beautiful house. On the outside I look as if I have everything I could possibly want, but there’s just so much stuff. Sometimes I look at everything I have, the clothes in my closet, the staff we need to maintain this house, and I just want out. I want a simpler life. I want to live in a small house with a couple of pairs of jeans and some sneakers. I just don’t want all this stuff any more.’ Her voice is rising with passion and Richard looks at her in shock.

  ‘Honey,’ he says, ‘I never knew you felt this way.’

  ‘But that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you,’ she says. ‘That’s why I had to respond to Vicky’s article. Because I don’t know if that feeling is real or not. Oh God,’ she says. ‘I sound like a madwoman. I feel like I’m on this pendulum, swinging back and forth. Some mornings I wake up and I love everything about my life. I go out for lunch and dress up in my designer clothes and have a meeting with Amberley Jacks, and it’s fun and I love it, even though it feels like I’m playing a big game.

  ‘And other days,’ she continues, ‘I get up and go out and feel overwhelmed by everything. I don’t want to have to compete with other women to see who paid the most for their outfit, or who ran up a bigger account at Rakers last year. I don’t care about having the latest Balenciaga bag…’

  Vicky opens her eyes wide in surprise. ‘I thought this was the country!’ she says. ‘The women here have Balenciaga bags?’

  Ambers laughs. ‘I thought it was the country too, but it’s not. It’s the suburbs, and that’s a whole other ballgame, especially in Highfield. Oh yes they have Balenciaga bags
, or Birkins if they’re really lucky, but not during the day unless you’re meeting the girls for lunch.’

  ‘So what do they wear during the day?’

  ‘Generally workout gear – you’re supposed to look as if you’re just running some errands whilst on your way to the gym, but you have to have enormous diamond studs –’ Amber gestures to her own diamond studs with a roll of her eyes and Vicky laughs – ‘the latest Pumas, some cute yoga/pilates pants and a great bag. Honey,’ she places a hand on Vicky’s arm and looks into her eyes, ‘it’s all in the accessories.’

  ‘Far be it from me to throw a spanner in the works,’ Richard says, ‘but isn’t that exactly what you wear pretty much every day? Isn’t this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?’

  ‘But that’s the point,’ Amber sighs. ‘Some days I can see that carrying the right bag is indeed a matter of life and death, but more and more I’m starting to think that none of this matters. That since when did the size of your earrings or the label on the inside of your bag demonstrate what kind of a person you are? I’m fed up with this consumerism, this perfectionism, with constantly competing with everyone else. Jesus, I wasn’t brought up like this. I don’t even know how I got here.’

  ‘Wow, that’s quite a speech.’ Richard shakes his head as he looks at his wife.

  ‘I’m sorry, honey, but it’s true. The only good stuff, the only things I would never ever change are my family, my husband and my kids.’

  ‘So this really isn’t about me?’ Richard says softly.

  ‘Oh sweetie.’ Amber gets up from the table and puts her arms around Richard from behind, nuzzling his neck. ‘I adore you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. How could this be about you?’

  Richard looks up at Vicky. ‘So when are you thinking of doing this?’

  Vicky smiles. ‘I’ll get in touch with Hugh, the director, to see what works best for him, and then we’re pretty much all set.’