‘Cider?’ Isaac offers. ‘You like cider, right?’
I look back at him. The rain has made his curly hair madder than ever, and his cheeks are tinged pink from the brisk wind, but his cheekbones still demand attention, sticking out of his face proudly.
Before I can stop myself, I’m grinning at him again as my heart lifts.
I don’t have to pretend to be anything but myself with him. He doesn’t care. I could ask for my drink to be served in a wellington boot and he wouldn’t bat an eye.
‘Sure,’ I say.
The barman hands us two pints filled to the brim with a yellowish-brown liquid. Isaac nods his thanks, then gestures for me to follow him. I glance back at the barman anxiously.
‘Don’t we have to pay?’
Isaac shakes his head and places our pints down on a copper-brown table that tips slightly under the struggle of having slightly uneven legs. I sit in the chair opposite, feeling myself sink into it as though the arms are curling around my body and giving me a hug.
‘He’ll stick it on a tab,’ he adds, noting my worried face. ‘So,’ he says, picking up his pint and gesturing for me to do the same, ‘cheers then.’
‘What are we toasting?’ I ask, holding up my glass.
He grins. ‘You having your Welsh accent back.’
I try and shoot him an indignant look, but fail.
‘I never lost my accent,’ I say, taking a sip of the cider. A sweet apple taste floods the inside of my mouth, and I feel a blanket of warmth spread over my damp body as the bubbles pop down my throat.
How did he know exactly what I needed?
‘So,’ I say, resting the glass on the arm of the chair, ‘you’re one of the regulars now?’
He frowns at me and I cock my head towards a group of middle-aged men sitting at the bar and jostling each other affectionately.
He laughs and I feel a frisson of excitement. I love it when I make Isaac laugh.
‘I guess so,’ he says. ‘Look.’ He moves his eyes back to the bar. ‘Recognise anyone?’
I swivel in my seat and spot a skinny lad holding a tray of chips. He has a mop of curly hair and is muttering apologies to the drinkers as he sidles through them. His face, which is stark white and dotted with pimples, is creased into an awkward expression, and his fringe flops over his eyes, clearly desperate to cover as much of his embarrassed face as possible.
My mouth falls open and I turn back to Isaac. ‘Is that Felix?’
‘Yup. He’s supposed to only work in the back as a pot washer, but occasionally he helps out as a waiter. I’ll get him to come and say hello in a bit.’
‘He won’t remember me,’ I say.
‘Of course he will!’ Isaac says at once. ‘You spent years in our house. You were part of our family!’
I feel a small stab of heat in the pit of my stomach, and Isaac takes a sip of his cider, ever so slightly avoiding my eye. We fall into silence and I pick up my glass again.
‘So,’ Isaac says eventually, ‘have you spoken to Rachel recently?’
I feel a jolt behind my belly button as guilt immediately springs through me. We haven’t spoken about Rachel properly since I’ve been back.
‘Er,’ I say, ‘a bit. Why?’
He shrugs. ‘Just wondering.’
He shifts back in his seat and looks down at his phone. To my alarm, I feel the burning need to defend myself.
‘We aren’t really that close any more,’ I say. ‘You know, since I moved away. We’re very different, too. She was way more into the happily-ever-after thing with Danny, which is great, I’m happy for her. But she’s not very good at understanding that not everyone is able to be perfect, you know?’
I catch myself before I add the rest of my explanation:
She also ditched me last minute when we were supposed to be moving to London together and has totally cut off our dad, even though it breaks his heart. We never even have a real conversation any more. She seems totally happy with her life and so I guess I’m totally happy with mine. It’s just how it is.
I can’t say all that to him. He’d never understand.
I stare at him, suddenly aware of how desperate I am for his validation that I’m not a bad person. He shrugs at me, his expression one of indifference, and I feel myself wilt ever so slightly. I take another glug of cider and pull out my own phone, pushing the feeling back down inside.
‘I don’t like coming back here,’ I mutter, my face hot. I suddenly feel as though the walls are closing in around me.
Isaac looks up. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t have nice memories,’ I say, scratching the back of my neck. ‘They’re tainted.’
He stares at me, and for a moment I feel that he might challenge me.
‘Well make some new ones then,’ he says, raising his pint glass to me.
At the sight of his smile, I feel the tightness coiling around my chest fall away, and despite myself, I smile back at him.
‘So who are you making mugs for these days?’ he asks.
I turn my glass between my hands.
I couldn’t make pottery in London; the girls at Hayes think I’m weird enough as it is.
‘I’m not,’ I say. ‘I haven’t made anything in years.’
‘How come?’
I shrug. ‘Just haven’t.’
He opens his mouth to reply but then sits up, his eyes fixed over my shoulder.
‘Felix, come here.’
I turn my head as Felix stumbles over. The tray, now empty of chips, is swinging between his fingers and he blushes intensely as soon as he sees me. For a second I think he’s going to run away.
‘This is Katy,’ Isaac says. ‘Remember Katy?’
Felix dares himself to glance at me for a split second and then immediately looks back at his brother.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, say hello then.’
‘Er,’ he mumbles, ‘hello, Katy.’
‘Hi,’ I say back.
Good Lord, this is awkward! Does he hate me? Has Isaac secretly got a dartboard in their house that they all throw knives at every Friday?
‘You’ve grown!’ I blurt, desperate to say something normal, and then immediately want to kick myself for being so obviously patronising.
Of course he’s grown, you moron, you haven’t seen him in years.
What am I going to do next? Start reeling off dreadful anecdotes about what life was like when I was his age?
‘How’s work, mate?’ Isaac says, smoothing over my odd comment like I’m their batty eighty-year-old great-aunt.
‘Fine,’ Felix says, leaning on a nearby table. ‘I’m only meant to be here for another ten minutes, but it’s pretty busy.’
‘You’d better get back to it then!’ Isaac grins, holding his pint towards Felix and pointing to the bar. Felix rolls his eyes and slinks back across the pub, disappearing behind a set of swing doors.
‘He’s so cute,’ I say. ‘I can’t believe he’s thirteen.’
‘Yeah,’ Isaac says, still looking over my shoulder to where Felix has just left. ‘He’s so shy, he can’t talk to girls at all.’
I smile into my pint.
Okay, good. Maybe he doesn’t hate me.
‘Unlike me.’ He gives a mock sigh. ‘I was always such a hit with the girls at school.’
I snort. ‘You were not! You could only speak to me via notes for years!’
He shrugs. ‘And yet,’ he grins, ‘here you still are.’
I feel an odd flutter in the pit of my stomach that I quickly try and squash.
‘I’m trying to help Felix with his confidence,’ he says. ‘That’s why we got him this job.’
‘That’s nice.’
He tips the dregs of his cider down his throat. ‘It’s what you do for family, isn’t it? Look out for each other.’
He meets my eyes and I feel my face flush. He gestures at my glass and I tip the remainder into my mouth and nod.
‘Oh, and for the record,’ he says, picki
ng up both glasses and standing up, ‘I don’t think Rachel’s life is as perfect as you might think.’
He saunters towards the bar and I frown.
What is that supposed to mean?
CHAPTER TWENTY
RACHEL
‘This one!’ William throws his arms into the air and scrabbles at the bookcase, his little pot belly sticking out under his Thomas the Tank Engine pyjama top as he stands on tiptoes.
‘No!’ Jasmine whines, throwing herself onto her bed. ‘I hate that story.’
‘Well, it’s William’s turn to choose,’ Fiona says, reaching forward and pulling the book from the shelf. William jumps on the balls of his feet as she hands it to him and leaps into his own bed. Fiona turns back to look at Jasmine, who has let out a huge groan. ‘You can read to yourself if you want.’
Jasmine picks up a book from her bedside table and opens it defiantly, shooting her mother a look as though daring her to challenge her.
I smile and sink onto a chair in the corner of the room. The children begged me to stay for a story after dinner. Fiona tried to politely make excuses for me, but I surprised myself by saying yes, not because I felt it would be rude not to, but because it sounded like fun.
‘You’ll be doing this soon,’ she says, smiling at me over the book that William is now reading aloud. ‘Do you know what you’re having?’
I’m about to answer ‘a baby’ when I realise that she’s talking about the gender.
Obviously you’re having a baby. What else would you give birth to? A duck?
I tuck my hands under my thighs.
I haven’t found out anything about the baby, other than that it’s healthy. The nurse asked if I wanted to know the sex, but I said no. I didn’t want to know too much. I was scared.
After the scan, I went to a shop and bought a yellow babygro, and when I got it home and laid it out in front of me, all I felt was an overwhelming sense of fear. How was I supposed to take care of something so small? How was I supposed to know what to do?
I never felt as though I’d be a bad mum, but in that moment I couldn’t squash the screaming realisation that I had no idea how to be a good one. So I tucked the babygro under my pillow and have been taking a little peek at it each night.
‘No,’ I say, my mouth dry. ‘It’s a surprise.’
I let out a gasp as the baby gives a kick, and Jasmine drops her book.
‘What is it?’ Fiona says quickly. ‘Are you okay?’
I clasp my hands onto my bump and give a shaky laugh.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘It just kicked. The baby, I mean.’
At this, Jasmine scrambles out of bed and runs towards me.
‘Can I feel?’ she cries, sticking out her hands as she reaches me. ‘Mummy?’ She whips her head round to give Fiona a desperate look. ‘Can I feel Rachel’s tummy?’
Fiona laughs as William carries on reading.
‘Ask Rachel!’ she says.
Jasmine turns her eyes back to me, her skinny arms still held out in front of her. I pause, trying to fight the urge to bark ‘No!’ and run away.
‘Sure,’ I say, ‘although it might not—’
My words are lost as Jasmine plants her hands excitedly on my stomach.
‘It might not kick again,’ I say. ‘I don’t know what made it do that.’
‘Try talking to the baby, Jasmine,’ Fiona says. ‘That’s what we used to do to William, remember?’
Jasmine nods intently, fixing her eyes on the bump as though she’s trying to communicate telepathically.
‘Hello, baby,’ she says, her voice giddy with excitement. ‘My name is Jasmine, we’re going to be friends and maybe I’ll show you— Oh!’ She squeals, her eyes wide as the baby gives another kick. ‘It kicked!’ she cries, turning to face Fiona and William. ‘The baby kicked, I felt it!’
At this, William leaps out of bed and charges towards me. I laugh as he sticks his hands straight on my stomach, and Fiona tuts loudly.
‘William!’ she scolds. ‘You need to ask Rachel first!’
‘I don’t mind.’ I smile. ‘I think the baby was talking back to you, Jasmine.’
Jasmine nods and leans closer to my bump.
‘Hello, baby. William is also here now, he’s my brother.’
‘Hello!’ cries William loudly.
‘We only met your mummy a few days ago, but we think she’s going to be the best mummy in the world. Except for our mummy,’ she adds quickly, shooting Fiona a big smile over her shoulder.
I stare down at Jasmine’s blonde head, a lump forming in my throat.
‘Come on,’ Fiona says, bundling the children away from me. ‘That’s enough excitement for one night. Rachel and the baby will still be here tomorrow.’
Jasmine and William climb back into their beds and I quickly attempt to blink the tears away. I get to my feet and follow Fiona to the door.
‘Right,’ she says as she waits in the doorway, ‘say goodnight to Rachel.’
‘Goodnight, Rachel!’ Jasmine and William chime in unison.
‘Goodnight, baby!’ William shouts, making Jasmine collapse back into giggles.
I laugh too, holding my hand up in a wave.
‘Goodnight, guys.’
*
‘Wine?’
Without quite meaning to, I shoot Fiona a look. She rolls her eyes at herself.
‘Sorry,’ she says, ‘of course. I keep forgetting you’re not Katy. You’re so similar.’
I take off my glasses and clean them with my sleeve as Fiona takes out a bottle of wine from the fridge.
‘I’m fine with my tea,’ I say, holding up the cup Fiona made me before the kids went to bed, ‘but thank you.’
She sits in the chair opposite me and splashes wine into her glass. ‘I only ever have one glass,’ she says, as though I’ve questioned her, ‘so I’m always ready to drive if, God forbid, anything happens.’
‘Doesn’t your husband drive?’ I ask as my eyes flick up to the large clock hanging on the wall.
It’s almost nine at night. Where is he?
‘Yes,’ she says, taking a sip, ‘but it’s easier if I know I can do it.’
We fall into silence and I take a mouthful of my tepid tea. Fiona pulls a face at her wine glass.
‘Oh,’ she says, ‘that’s very sweet.’ She turns the bottle round so she can read the label. ‘I think this is one I bought for Katy.’
I feel a flash of loyalty at Katy’s name. She sounded so tense earlier, more so than usual.
I really didn’t mean to cause her stress by asking her to house-sit. It didn’t cross my mind that she might actually need to spend time working.
‘I think Katy’s going mad that the Wi-Fi’s so bad in Wales,’ I say. ‘She loves working for you.’
Fiona lifts her eyes to meet mine, a look of disbelief on her face.
‘Really?’ she says. ‘I’m half expecting her to leave and go off to do something more exciting.’
‘She’s very loyal.’
‘Oh, I know.’ She takes another sip of wine and winces. ‘She’s an angel. She arrived in my life like an angel, actually.’
I turn my mug in my hands.
That’s a weird thing to say.
‘Really?’
Fiona nods. ‘I couldn’t believe it when she turned up for the interview. You know when you just meet someone and get an instant good feeling about them? I’ve got some rotters in my life, but Katy’s one of the good ones. She really is part of the family.’
My heart twitches.
Part of the family.
‘She’s too good for us, though!’ She laughs. ‘I tell her that every day. I say, Katy, you’re too good for us!’
‘She told me that she helped you with an event,’ I say. ‘She was so excited.’
Fiona leans back in her seat, and I can almost see my words skim over her head. ‘I don’t know where I’d be without her. She came just at the right time, when everything was about to fall to shit.’
/> As I open my mouth to reply, she looks at me as though snapping out of a trance.
‘God, Rachel, I’m so sorry,’ she says. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KATY
I lean back against Rachel’s sofa, my head spinning slightly as the taste of sweet cider lingers in the back of my throat. We stayed at the pub until it closed, drinking pint after pint until my head started to swim. By the end of the night, I’d forgotten all about my smeared eyeliner and frizzy hair. When I was with Isaac, it felt as though none of that mattered.
The familiar zap of longing pings through my stomach and I feel an instant shock of fear, like I have done pretty much every day this week.
I can’t have feelings for Isaac. I’m going back to London in three days, and we broke up for a reason. Although the more time I spend with him, the harder I’m finding it to remember what that reason was.
I take a deep breath, pulling my eyes open and looking at the cream walls dotted with picture frames. Rachel really has made the cottage perfect; it’s like stepping into a Laura Ashley brochure. But as I stare at the walls, my eyes linger once again on the gaps where photos have been taken down. It’s so obvious now; how did I not realise it the moment I arrived?
Isaac’s voice plays in my head as I stare at Rachel’s happy eyes beaming down at me from the single framed photograph of her and Danny.
I don’t think Rachel’s life is as perfect as you might think.
I frown, trying to work out what he meant. He swept to the bar as soon as he said it, and when I tried to question him further, he changed the subject. For a second I thought he almost blushed, as though he’d slipped up and was keen to move on, but he just said that he’d meant nothing by it.
House Swap Page 16