I flop my arms over my head, arching back against the plumped pillows.
But if he meant nothing by it, why did he say it? And how does he know more about my sister than I do? I mean, she’s my twin! I know we don’t see each other very often and we rarely speak properly any more, but we’re still sisters.
I feel a knot of worry in the pit of my stomach and I chew my lip. How can Rachel’s life not be perfect? I’m experiencing it right now. Her house is spotless and filled with expensive, beautiful things. There was even a cherry cake waiting for me when I arrived on Sunday. She married the love of her life, her job pays brilliantly; she got everything she ever wanted.
As I take in the cottage, smiling at each of Rachel’s neatly placed things, I sit up slightly. Where is Danny in this house? I know he’s away a lot, but it doesn’t even look like a man lives here any more.
My eyes land on another photo of Rachel, but this time I’m in the photo with her. It was taken the summer before I left to go to university. We’re both laughing, standing on the top of a hill and brandishing our arms in the air as rain clings to our coats. We’re covered in mud and gripping fiercely onto each other.
She didn’t used to be so perfect. As I look around, I realise that photo is the only sign that Rachel is a real, flawed person. Her house is more like a museum. Suddenly it dawns on me that maybe that’s the point.
I pick up my phone and quickly unlock it. It’s almost midnight, but I somehow know that Rachel is awake, and for the first time in years, I need to hear how she is. I need to check that she really is okay.
I dial her number and wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RACHEL
I jab the key into the lock and click the door open. I don’t know what time it is. Fiona and I ended up sitting up talking for hours. Her husband never came home, or if he did, he didn’t bother us.
I haven’t seen him once since I arrived.
As I start to walk towards the kitchen, a beam of light flashes from the settee. I step towards it, frowning as I realise that my phone is ringing.
Who is calling me at this time?
I pick up the phone and my stomach lurches as Katy’s name stares up at me from the screen. Out of nowhere, a feeling of guilt for spending the evening with Fiona washes over me – the only thing Katy asked me not to do.
Well, not the only thing she asked me not to do, considering I’m literally standing in her home. But, you know, the most recent.
For a second, I think about letting the call tick over to voicemail. I could easily be asleep. But why is she calling me at this time? What if something’s wrong? The only person she really knows in the village is Isaac, and God only knows if they’re getting on.
I swipe the call and hold the phone to my ear.
‘Hello?’
‘Oh!’ Katy’s voice spills into my ear. ‘You’re awake.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, wrapping my arm around my stomach as if Katy can see me through the phone. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ she says quickly, ‘I’m fine. Are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ I reply, as I sit down on the sofa, my back stiff.
‘Good.’
We drift into silence and I grip the phone to my ear, my hand damp.
‘So,’ Katy says, ‘have you seen Fiona today?’
The guilt twitching inside my throat spikes.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Have you managed to get on the internet yet?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘I didn’t really work today. I did manage to get a connection at the pub, but it’s not very good.’
‘The Ship?’ I say. ‘Have you been at the Ship?’
I hear her laugh. ‘Yeah, a bit.’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘you could always give me a message to pass on to Fiona.’
‘No, that’s okay.’ Katy cuts across me. ‘I have emailed her, but she hasn’t replied, that’s all. I just wanted to check she’s okay.’
‘Oh,’ I say, ‘yeah. She’s fine.’
We fall back into silence. I open my mouth to try and speak, but nothing comes out.
Is this why she called me in the middle of the night, to ask questions about Fiona? Is she that anxious about her job?
‘Rachel,’ she breaks the silence, ‘are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ I say automatically, ‘I’m fine. Are—’
‘No,’ Katy says, ‘are you really okay?’
I freeze, my mouth dry as the opportunity I’ve been waiting for opens out in front of me.
Tell her. Tell her you’re not fine. Tell her about Danny. Tell her about the baby. Ask for her help. Tell her how alone you feel. Tell her everything.
The thought oozes through my mind and I hold the phone to my ear, feeling paralysed.
‘Yeah,’ I say eventually, hearing myself speak in a calm, upbeat voice, ‘I’m fine. What about you?’
Although it’s small, I hear Katy sigh.
‘Yeah,’ she says, ‘I’m fine too.’
The silence creeps in around us once again and the guilt of another lie that I’ve freely told my sister screams through my body.
Why can’t you just tell her?
‘Well,’ Katy says, ‘I’d better go to bed, it’s late.’
I feel a stab of desperation.
Don’t go. Don’t hang up.
‘Sure,’ I say, ‘and I’ll speak to Fiona if you want. Check she got your email.’
‘Sure,’ Katy says, her voice now sounding tired, ‘whatever.’
Am I ever going to be able to tell her?
The line goes dead and I drop my arm to my lap, my heart hammering in my throat as the silence of the flat hangs around me and the familiar, unbearable fear of being alone sinks into my skin. Before I can stop myself, I pick up the phone again and jab a quick, desperate text to the one family member I haven’t tried to speak to.
I send a message to my dad.
*
When I wake up the next morning my head is hammering and my mouth feels like sandpaper. I properly cried last night; not the odd tear that I brush away before anyone can see, but real crying. I let it all out. I must have fallen asleep eventually, and as I turn my phone over, I see that it’s 10.05. I guess I’ve got over my pregnancy insomnia.
I swallow, trying to fight the feeling that I might be sick. I need to eat something, even if I feel like I’m being eaten alive by anxiety; the baby needs feeding.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I swing my legs round and shuffle down the ladder.
Katy knows something. She always asks me how I am, but not like that. She sounded like she really wanted to know. She can’t know I’m pregnant or she would have said, but she knows something isn’t right.
Why couldn’t I just tell her? Maybe Peggy and Isaac are right: Katy might be thrilled to be an auntie and be looking for a reason to move back to Wales. She might be having a great time there; she might want us to be real sisters again.
Even as these thoughts swirl through my mind, my chest starts to tighten, but before I can unpick my fears even further, I hear my phone vibrate.
I haven’t heard back from Dad. Truthfully, I’m not even sure if the number I have for him works any more. Every now and then I get a message from him saying his number has changed, but I can’t remember if I ever bothered to save it. I didn’t want to speak to him. It would serve me right if he now didn’t want to speak to me.
I pick up my phone and Peggy’s name flashes on the screen with a text message.
Hello love! Know you’re not in, but I’ve got all these bits I bought so am going to drop them round on my way to work. I’ll give your plants a water too, as I know how demanding your orchid is! Lots of love!! Xx
I grab my phone and dial her number, clamping the phone desperately to my ear.
And now I really feel like I’m going to be sick.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
KATY
I sink into the bath, beaming with delight as the fat bubbles gleam under the champagne ligh
t of Rachel’s bathroom. Now I can understand her obsession with lotions and potions; this is paradise. Is this what she does every morning? Maybe I should start the day with a luxurious bubble bath! Perhaps that’s the secret to happiness.
I also snuck her weird boyfriend pillow into my bed last night and slept with my legs hooked around it, and let me tell you, I’ve never experienced comfort like it! How could I have judged her for her collection of pillows and lotions when this is what the reality is? She lives like a queen!
She’ll be having a terrible time in my lodge, where I only have one pillow that isn’t lumpy and the only shower gel I own is that intense mint-flavoured one that I got half price that gives you thrush if you use it too generously.
Gosh, Rachel gives me the most relaxing sleep of my life and I give her a yeast infection. She would never let me live that one down.
I take a sip of my tea and shut my eyes, her jumpy voice replaying in my mind.
There is definitely something going on with her that she isn’t telling me. We don’t speak on the phone often, but when we do, she always sounds calm and serene. She trills about Danny and the cottage and her fabulous job, and I harp on about the glamorous life of a successful cosmopolitan events exec, and then we hang up. I’ve never heard her so tense before.
I also can’t shake the feeling that something is odd about the missing pictures. Why would she take them down? Rachel loves photos and—
I jolt out of my thoughts as I hear the door slam downstairs. Without quite meaning to, I slop the remainder of my tea into the bath, then scowl down at the water. Great, now I’m essentially sitting in a teapot.
I scowl. Was that just the wind? Did I leave the back door open? Or—
‘Well hello there, Bruno! How are you, my darling boy?’
I jerk up to sitting as a Welsh voice sings through the house.
Who the hell is that?
As carefully as I can, I climb out of the bath and wrap a towel around myself.
A burglar? It can’t be! How many burglars know Bruno and refer to him as their ‘darling boy’? Rachel doesn’t have a cleaner, does she? Surely she would have warned me if someone was going to pop round and let themselves in?
I shove my pyjamas back on and stick my head out of the bathroom door, my head spinning.
‘Now, let’s see how that orchid is doing, shall we?’
I open my mouth to shout out, and then close it again as I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to hide under the bed.
This is ridiculous! This is my cottage. I mean, yes, Rachel lives here, but it is technically half mine too, and there is a stranger in it. I can’t just hide. I must confront them!
With a fresh surge of determination, I wrap my dressing gown round my body and creep down the stairs, instinctively grabbing my can of deodorant as I go. You know, just in case she’s a psychopath and I have to spritz her in the eyes. I freeze as a mobile starts to ring.
‘Oh, speak of the devil,’ the woman trills as the phone is silenced. ‘Hello, love! Yes, I just got in.’
She trails off and I peek through the banister at the back of her auburn head. She’s wearing a paisley dress and large dangly earrings. She doesn’t look like a serial killer.
But then that’s what they’d want you to think.
‘Okay, calm down,’ she says softly into her phone. ‘What are you talking about?’
My fingers tense around the can of deodorant.
Who is she on the phone to? An accomplice? Trying to talk her out of the crime? Getting cold feet?
I hear her sigh.
‘I really think you’re worrying about nothing, love.’
I creep down another stair, determination rising through me.
They are not worrying about nothing, because I will call the police quicker than James Bond! Not that he ever called the police, actually, but if he did, I’m sure it would be pretty fast.
‘Okay, okay,’ she says. ‘I’ll go, and don’t worry, I won’t say anything. Maybe go back to bed and get some rest. Bye, love.’
My eyes widen.
She’s going? The accomplice talked her out of it?
She rubs her forehead with her thumb and forefinger, and then before I have a chance to move, she turns on the spot and screams at the sight of me. Her high-pitched squawk triggers a terrified shriek of my own, and for some reason I let out a manic spritz of the deodorant into the air. The woman clutches her chest and stares at me, her gaze running over my body, and I feel my face flush. Now that I can see her kind eyes and the carrier bags at her feet, she doesn’t look like a serial killer. She looks like Mrs Tiggywinkle.
‘Who are you?’ I blurt, my heart racing in my chest as I lower the deodorant can. She looks dubiously at me.
‘I’m Peggy,’ she says. ‘I’m a friend of Rachel’s. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you were staying here. You must be Katy. Gosh,’ she smiles, ‘you really are identical, aren’t you?’
Her warm voice wraps around me like a hug, and I feel a wave of guilt.
God, imagine if I had blinded this poor woman with Dove Rose Infusion?
‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘I’m Katy, hi.’
Her eyes linger on me, and for a second it looks like she might burst into tears.
Oh God, did I really frighten her?
‘I’m sorry I scared you,’ I say quickly. ‘I just heard someone downstairs and . . .’ I trail off stupidly, not wanting to admit that I’d revved myself up for doing a tuck-and-roll through the living room and enveloping her in a curtain like a bewildered seaweed wrap.
‘No,’ she waves her hand in front of her face, ‘it’s fine. I’m sorry I let myself in.’ She laughs. ‘Rachel is used to me by now.’
We fall into silence and I shuffle my feet awkwardly.
‘So,’ I say eventually, ‘is there something you needed?’ I gesture down to the carrier bags, and she jumps slightly.
‘Oh!’ she says. ‘No. I just came to water the plants, but if you’re here, then I’m sure it’s all being taken care of.’
She smiles at me and I nod.
Must remember to water the plants.
We drift back into silence and I shuffle my feet, feeling like an actor who has forgotten their lines.
‘Er, would you like a cup of tea?’ I offer awkwardly.
Obviously she’ll say no, but it feels rude not to offer her something and I—
‘Oh, I’m gasping for a tea!’ she coos, turning and bustling into the kitchen.
I blink after her, tugging on the cord of my dressing gown.
‘I’ll just go and get changed,’ I call after her. ‘Sorry, I wasn’t expecting—’
‘So Rachel tells me you live in London?’
Peggy reappears, her eyes glittering as though I’ve cartwheeled straight from a speakeasy with an elongated cigarette holder and white silk gloves.
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying not to blush as she glows back at me.
She looks so happy to see me, and she’s never even met me before.
‘I work in events,’ I add.
She drops onto the sofa and pats the space next to her. I shuffle over, trying to control my hot face as I plonk myself down in my fleece pyjamas.
I’ve had more people see me in these stupid pyjamas in the past few days than I have in the two years I’ve bloody owned them.
‘How do you know Rachel?’ I ask.
‘We work together!’ Peggy says happily. ‘I’m the office manager, so I take care of everything really. Me and Rachel just clicked! She reminds me so much of my daughter, Tabitha. She’s just had a baby, you know, but I don’t see much of her. She lives far away.’
She pauses for breath, and I’m about to reply when the kettle clicks and Peggy springs back up, making another cooing sound.
‘How do you take your tea, love?’ she calls from the kitchen. ‘Same as Rachel? Just milk?’
‘I . . . Wait!’ I cry, leaping to my feet before I can stop myself.
Finally I can get to the
bottom of this one.
‘Milk?’ I repeat. ‘Isn’t Rachel a vegan?’
The rogue Smarties, the stash of sausage rolls in the freezer, the stockpiling of Mr Kipling . . .
Peggy grips the carton of milk in her hand, her wide eyes blinking at me as though I’m holding a glaring light over her head.
‘I don’t think so, love,’ she says eventually, searching my face for the correct answer. ‘Are you a vegan?’
I want to laugh.
Have we both been lying to each other about being vegan?
‘No,’ I say, taking the milk off her and putting it back in the fridge. ‘I’m not vegetarian either,’ I add.
Peggy hands me my tea and we both walk back into the sitting room.
‘Why did you think she was a vegan?’
I feel my face redden.
Hmm, because lying to each other is actually quite normal for us?
I shrug, picking up a biscuit and ramming it in my tea. ‘Oh,’ I say lightly, ‘just thought she was.’
Peggy nods, holding her cup to her pink lips.
‘Have you spoken much to Rachel recently?’ she asks.
Yes, but she barely speaks to me without being on autopilot.
‘Yeah!’ I say at once. ‘We spoke last night.’
Peggy picks up a biscuit, and I realise that her cheeks have started to mirror mine.
‘Good,’ she says. ‘She’s lucky she has a sister she can talk to.’
I open my mouth to reply, but the words can’t quite make it out.
She’s not lucky; she has a sister she doesn’t want to talk to, and I need to work out why that is.
*
Bruno bounces around my feet, hardly able to believe his luck that I’m willingly taking him out for a walk, even though we’ve done it every day since he ran away.
‘Calm down,’ I laugh, kneeling down to clip the lead onto his collar. As soon as I get close, he plants his rough wet tongue on my cheek and I scrunch up my face.
‘Bleurgh!’ I cry, although I’m still smiling. ‘Bruno, no. Not the face!’
I get to my feet and zip up Rachel’s coat, catching sight of myself in the large wall mirror.
House Swap Page 17