‘Rachel is busy,’ Fiona says, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.
‘We’ll be good!’ Jasmine cries, her feet firmly planted on the ground.
Very slowly, Fiona looks up at me. Her eyes are rounded in desperation, as though she’s about to collapse at my feet. I feel a pang of guilt. This woman is allowing me to spend a week in her garden, and I could easily look after her children for an hour. We could just sit and watch a film.
‘It’s fine,’ I hear myself say. ‘I’m not up to much and I can keep an eye on them, if your husband is in the house,’ I add. Meaning, if there is at least one responsible adult here I can scream for in case I accidentally break one of them.
She freezes, as if sudden movement might scare me away.
‘Really?’ she says. ‘Are you sure? I completely get it if not. Maybe it’s because you look so much like Katy, but I just feel like I can trust you, and like I said, my husband is in the house if anything happens.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I say. ‘I’m sure we’ll be fine.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KATY
I jump as my phone vibrates next to me and Rachel’s name lights up on the screen.
Finally! Signal!
Without reading her message, I jab her a frantic text back.
How the hell do you get your Wi-Fi to work?! I need it to work! It’s important!
I hold my breath as the message slides off and then bounces happily back to me. I lurch my arm up into the air, desperately staring at the flickering bar of signal. How does Rachel survive like this? Was it this bad when I lived here?
I drop the phone to my side in defeat and curl my hand around my mouse, giving it another shake.
The internet has been down for hours. It gave me one spark of life this morning to show me Fiona’s email and then promptly vanished into cyberspace. Every now and then, a flicker of connection appears and allows me to receive another panic-inducing email from one of my colleagues, but then is snatched away before I have the chance to reply. I’ve tried calling Fiona, but like she said, her phone is broken, which means she wouldn’t have received my garbled message last night trying to explain who Rachel is, and now she’ll think I’m ignoring her.
I mean, I might as well just cart myself off to HMRC and staple my P45 to my forehead.
Bruno nudges a ball against my feet and I kick it, wincing as he lunges after it and crashes into the table. He’s finally accepted that I’ll be staying here, or rather, he’s worked out that I’m the only person available to throw the ball for him. Either way, it’s stopped him from bloody barking at me every time I get up to go to the toilet. Which, by the way, is the last thing you need when you’ve already left it far too late and are on the verge of wetting yourself.
I needed to be online all day to try and clear up the mess I created at the charity ball. It’s bad enough that I’m not there to defend myself in person – they’ll all be gossiping about me in the office (fuelled, I’m sure, by Diane) – but now I haven’t even been able to fight my corner digitally.
Bruno drops the ball back by my feet and I scowl at him.
‘No,’ I say, refreshing my screen again, ‘I’m sorry, I can’t take you out. I’m busy.’
How can Rachel cope with such bad internet? She’s a PA at a big company, for God’s sake, and for the majority of the time she works from home!
The laptop stares back at me, motionless, and I start to feel the urge to smash it on the floor.
I could call Rachel and ask her to put Fiona on, but there is no way Rachel would hand the phone over without first asking me why I lied to her about living in what is essentially a garden shed. I can’t have Rachel hearing from Fiona about what a catastrophic job I did at the auction, and what if Fiona is planning on firing me and confides in Rachel? And then Rachel coaches her on the best way to do it?
My face starts to prickle at the thought of it.
No.
Absolutely not.
I’d rather battle this dodgy internet.
I throw my head against the back of the sofa and let out a loud sigh. The twinkly light fitting sparkles down at me, a warm ivory light speckled across the perfect, cosy living room.
Something like this would never happen to Rachel. If she’d been in charge of planning the auction, everything would have gone brilliantly. That’s the way life is for her: everything just seems to fall easily into place, every decision she’s ever made has been the right one. I mean, look at her house. Look at her life. Married to her childhood sweetheart, living in a beautiful cottage with matching throws and thriving pot plants. Baking vegan goods from scratch as if it’s no big deal whatsoever.
In an act of defiance, I ate one of the rogue Smarties last night to try and prove to myself that Rachel has also lied about being a vegan, but I couldn’t tell the difference. It could have been vegan chocolate. They tasted pretty nice to me, but then all chocolate does. Also, I was pretty distracted by the tangled dog hair that I accidentally popped into my mouth with it. It was a low moment.
I pick the laptop up and thrust it above my head, scowling at the little bars in the corner, which blink at me stubbornly.
‘Come on,’ I say through gritted teeth, walking around the living room, ‘just give me bloody Wi-Fi.’
With the laptop balanced on my forearm, I step towards the window and refresh my emails again. The latest message, from Diane, is still open on my screen, unanswered.
Hi Katy,
Hope you’re having a nice break. Just to let you know I haven’t broken a rib, just bruised it. Very sore, but doctor said I’ll be okay.
Just reading it makes me feel as though my head might explode.
I mean, honestly, the audacity!
No ‘sorry for ruining your auction by acting like a lunatic and smoking inside’; no ‘sorry that I may have cost you your job’. Nothing!
I glance out of the window and my gaze falls on the Sailor’s Ship. It’s as though I’ve just spotted a mirage of the BT Tower.
Oh yes!
Of course, why didn’t I think of this earlier? The pub will have Wi-Fi. All pubs do! And if the emails are dreadful – which they will be – then I can just get drunk without having to leave my chair. Perfect!
I shove my feet into my trainers and grab the keys. Bruno clocks what I’m doing instantly, and springs to my side, bouncing around and trying to manoeuvre himself as close to the door as possible in order to ensure that he is definitely coming with me.
I sigh.
‘Bruno,’ I say crossly, ‘no. I’m working, remember? You can’t come. I’ll take you out later.’
He keeps his face pressed against the front door defiantly, and I try and shift myself round him, clutching my laptop in one hand. I manage to sidle past and slip through the door, Bruno barking loudly as I click it shut behind me.
As I push through the blue wooden gate at the end of the garden, I catch the eye of an old man sitting on a bench reading the paper. A bewildered look flicks across his face before a smile follows. I raise my hand at him in a wave, hugging my laptop close to my body as I charge towards the pub. The thick, salty wind rushes past me, taking my breath with it, and I hear the light squawk of a seagull, no doubt swooping low and dipping into the babbling sea.
A ribbon of smoke pipes from the pub’s fat chimney, pushing out fumes of roast potatoes and steak-and-ale pie straight from the kitchen into the periwinkle-blue sky. The place looks the same as it always did; not that I’d expect it to change much in three years. It’s made up of thick slabs of chalky bricks, and has a large sign that swings in the wind with an oily painting of two sailors chinking together tankards of ale over an old barrel with a fan of playing cards in each of their grubby hands. The thatched roof sits heavy on the top of the pub, like an old woman slouching under the weight of a beloved bonnet.
It was a rite of passage to work here for a summer as a teenager. Rachel and I did it together: she waited tables and I was on the bar. The same troupe of p
eople arrived each day for their after-work pint or their Thursday darts and port club. It was familiar.
I shake the memory out of my mind. I never think about my childhood these days; I don’t let myself. What’s the point? It doesn’t exist any more. The only real family I have now is my dad, and he’s the one who messed our family up in the first place. It’s been years since Rachel and I were the sisters who laughed together over spilt pints and sad-looking jacket potatoes behind the bar.
I scrunch up my face. God, I hate coming back here. It’s like a form of torture, looking at every inch of the village and feeling my heart twitch as another happy memory flits into my mind. Then the pang of longing for what I had before, and finally the dull ache as I remember that it’s all gone and it’s not within my control to get it back. I could never force Rachel to forgive Dad, I couldn’t convince Mum not to move away with her new family. I couldn’t stop Grandma dying.
I shake my head furiously as my eyes start to sting.
I hate coming back here.
I reach the pub and climb the steps, a shiver tickling the back of my neck as the wind chases me inside. The barman looks up at me as I enter. He has thick, wiry eyebrows and is wearing a black T-shirt that stretches over his stomach. He smiles.
‘Gosh,’ he says, catching himself as he stares at me for a second too long, ‘you look just like a girl in the village.’
My grip tightens around my laptop as an enormous fluffy poodle starts sniffing the backs of my legs.
‘Rachel Dower?’ I say. ‘She’s my twin sister. Can I use your Wi-Fi, please?’
The barman nods, gesturing to a small sign tacked on the wall with the login details. I feel a wave of relief.
I tap in the code and feel my heart race in my throat as a little coloured circle starts to spin on my screen. I just need to be able to log on and speak to Fiona and explain what’s going on. Maybe I can video-call her or something. It would be much better to speak to her instead of email. I need to apologise about the ball, and Diane, and Rachel just showing up and—
‘Oh hello!’
I jump as a cheerful voice coated in a thick Welsh accent trumpets in my ear. I look up and do a double-take at the woman before me, who is craning her neck to try and catch my eye. Although her hair is now dark and free of the blonde streaks she used to have as a teenager, I recognise the face of our old classmate immediately.
‘It’s Katy,’ she beams, ‘isn’t it?’
My eyes flick between my computer and Ellie’s smiling face.
‘Yeah,’ I say quickly. ‘Hey, how are you?’
‘Is Rachel here?’ she says, looking around.
‘No. She’s in London.’
‘I haven’t seen her in months,’ Ellie presses on, ‘and normally she would never miss Brownies.’
Without quite meaning to, I shoot her a look of bemusement.
‘She’s the Tawny Owl,’ Ellie says slowly, as though I’m very stupid. ‘She usually helps every week.’
‘Oh.’ I shrug, squinting down at my laptop. ‘I guess she’s been busy.’
I angle my body towards the screen and shoot Ellie a smile over my shoulder, hoping she’ll catch on that I’m here for work and can’t chat.
‘Oh,’ she says, ‘okay, and how are you? Have you really been living in London all this time?’
‘Yes,’ I say, jabbing the keyboard as the laptop threatens to freeze again.
‘Oh!’ she coos. ‘How exciting. What brings you back here then?’
‘Work.’
I know I’m being rude, but I can’t help it. My eyes are stuck to the screen like magnets, and every time the Wi-Fi connection starts to spin, I feel as though I can barely breathe.
My eyes flick back to Ellie, and I notice her smile fade as she realises I’m finding my laptop more interesting than her.
‘Right,’ she says. ‘Well, it was nice to see you.’
‘You too,’ I say automatically, flashing her a quick smile and trying to ignore the twinge of guilt as she walks back to her table.
‘Hi.’
I snap my eyes up, feeling like a rabbit caught in headlights as Isaac appears next to me holding a pint.
‘Hello,’ I say shortly, staring back at the little circle of hope that’s twirling around indecisively.
Come on, please connect. Please.
‘You okay?’ he says, leaning forward on the bar and making it clear he’s not going anywhere. Great.
‘Yes thanks,’ I say tightly. ‘You?’
‘I’m fine,’ he says, taking a sip of his beer. ‘Just another day down at the farm. Did you get the eggs I left you?’
‘Yes,’ I say again, ‘thank you.’
‘They should be nice,’ he says. ‘I’m always quite proud of our eggs. I’m sure they’re the reason Mrs Derby wins the best bake at the village fayre each year.’
I flick my eyes up. Adrenaline is thumping through my body, but as soon as I look at him, it washes away. I’d forgotten how permanently relaxed he is. I’d also forgotten how infuriating it is.
‘Have you heard from Rachel?’ he asks. ‘Is she okay?’
I chew my lip as my laptop attempts to freeze.
‘Kind of,’ I say. ‘She’s fine. Her conference got moved to London, so she went to stay in my flat for the week.’
Without telling me, or even giving me twenty-four hours’ notice. Hell, one hour of notice might have been nice!
Isaac takes another sip of his pint. ‘So, what are you going to do with yourself this week? You’ve missed a lot since you’ve been away.’
‘Work,’ I say at once. ‘I’ve got so much to do, I . . .’ My voice trails off as a small box pops onto my screen.
Unable to connect.
No! Why isn’t it working?
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
My mad eyes swivel back up to Isaac and I feel my jaw slacken as I stare at him. My rage at the lack of internet suddenly latches onto his calm, happy-go-lucky demeanour, as if he is the sole reason I cannot access my emails.
‘No,’ I snap, jabbing my mouse back to the ‘try again’ button. ‘My bloody internet won’t work. Nothing works in this stupid village.’ I start stabbing the password in again. ‘I need the internet to do my job. We can’t all just sit around feeding cows. It’s important.’
I break off, my brain rattling.
Isaac’s face tightens and he leans towards me, looking at my laptop screen.
‘You’ve typed in the password wrong,’ he says simply. ‘You’ve put a capital F.’
I feel my face burn as the large F stares at me pointedly.
Oh.
‘Right,’ I mumble stupidly, ‘thank you,’ but he has already picked up his pint and left.
At long last my laptop springs into life, and any feelings of guilt I had at snapping at Isaac are replaced by hot, instant panic as emails topple onto my screen like digital dominoes.
Forty new messages.
CHAPTER TWELVE
RACHEL
I never wanted kids. I don’t dislike children, I just don’t feel like I understand them. I was never one of those women who desperately looked forward to being a mother. I had half accepted that one day I might have a baby with Danny if he wanted one, but only as a rite of passage. I never expected to have one on my own, but when the time came and I was presented with the decision – baby or no baby – I couldn’t let it go.
I ease myself into a deckchair, one hand flopped lazily over my face as I count, making sure I can see where both the children are hiding at all times. William has sat down behind a large tree and Jasmine has wriggled under a bush.
That’s quite clever, actually. I never would have looked there.
‘Seven,’ I shout, ‘eight, nine . . .’
Fiona has been gone now for about an hour, and looking after the children has consisted entirely of playing hide-and-seek in their massive garden. A game I suggested after Jasmine became obsessed with my bump and kept asking me questions that
I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t even know the answers to half of them myself.
‘Ten!’ I call, moving my hand away from my face and savouring the final moment of lying in the sunshine in peace.
With great effort, I heave myself off the chair and place my hands on my hips, staring at the garden. The lawn is striped to perfection, as though it is freshly waxed each morning, and has little pockets of colour dotted throughout in the form of bright, crisp bushes. They must have a gardener. I can’t imagine Fiona doing all of this, and I haven’t seen her husband since I arrived. I don’t even know if he really is in the house; for all I know he could be a wild figment of her imagination.
He could be the family pet.
I slowly walk over to the tree William is crouching behind. I see him suck in a great gulp of air as I approach, as if I might hear him breathing and give the game away. I walk deliberately away from the tree and hear him give a small yelp of astonishment that I’m heading in the wrong direction. I smile, and turn on the spot. He claps his hands to his face, his eyes wide in shock that I’ve found him, as if we haven’t been playing this game for the past hour and he’s continuously hidden in the same spot every single time.
‘Found you.’ I smile. ‘Now let’s find your sister.’
William scrambles up from the ground and charges towards the bushes.
‘I know where she is!’ he cries. ‘I know!’
I pull my phone out of my pocket as he starts burrowing his way into the bush. Katy hasn’t called or emailed me back. She must still be angry.
‘That’s not fair!’ Jasmine cries as she climbs out. ‘William was peeking, he saw me hide!’
She looks up at me, scowling indignantly.
‘Can we play again?’ William turns to me, grinning.
I try not to raise my eyebrows at him.
Again? Seriously? How much fun can they get out of playing hide-and-seek? They should wait until they have to avoid exes in the supermarket; they’ll be in for a treat.
‘Let’s have a break,’ I say, sinking into the deckchair. ‘Your mummy will be home soon.’
House Swap Page 10