Swapping Lives

by Jane Green

  ‘Jamie, I thought you weren’t coming,’ she says, pulling him in. ‘And Daniel? Whatever are you doing here? It’s a lovely surprise but a bit late, isn’t it? I’ll call you tomorrow,’ and she leans up to give him a kiss on the cheek, whispering, ‘Sorry, Dan, I’ll explain tomorrow,’ and she practically pushes him out of the door as she goes back inside to wrap herself around Jamie Donnelly.

  Daniel does not feel good. Not because she chose Jamie Donnelly. Christ, put him in the same position and he’d choose Jamie Donnelly too. But Vicky’s never rejected him before. And she looked so cute in her bathrobe, no make-up on, all squeaky clean and cuddly. Oh God. Don’t have him start falling for her now.

  ‘Where were you?’ Vicky breaks away from Jamie and goes to sit on the sofa. ‘It’s eleven o’clock. I thought you were coming at nine?’ She hears the whine in her voice and quickly corrects herself.

  ‘I feel awful,’ Jamie says, taking both her hands in his and looking deep into her eyes. ‘The meeting went on for hours and I couldn’t get away. The only thing that kept me going was that I was going to see you later. I’m so sorry. I promise you it will never happen again. Will you forgive me?’ And he takes her face in his hands and kisses her ever so gently.

  ‘You’re forgiven,’ she says when he pulls away. What choice does she have?

  And lying here on her Virgin flight, Vicky alternately smiles dreamily and shivers with lust as she replays every moment of the night. They made love – and for Vicky it was making love, so much more than a shag, than just sex– three times, and each was better than the last. But more than the sex, he cuddled her again. She went to sleep in his arms and they had breakfast together and the intimacy and warmth between them was not, could not, have been something she imagined.

  And the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, the way he stroked her hair was not the way you treat someone who is merely a quick screw. She knows this is different. Knows this has real potential. So can you blame her for barely giving work a second thought, for bringing along all the notes she has taken during her now numerous phone calls with Amber Winslow, but not even glancing at them, not when Jamie Donnelly is taking up all the space in her head.

  By the time she lands at Kennedy Airport it’s lunchtime, and the long line of people snaking slowly through immigration brings her back to reality. Here she is. In America. About to meet her potential life swap, because frankly if not Amber Winslow, then who? The only other possibility after meeting the others was the lovely Sally Lonsdale, but as much as Vicky liked her, liked her family, Sally Lonsdale’s life is not, has never been the one Vicky would choose for herself.

  The car service drives her up the Merritt Parkway, through Westchester, and finally past a sign saying Welcome to Connecticut. Vicky spends the time reading her notes, blotting out the bags under her eyes with Touche Eclat – thank God for freebies on the magazine – and admiring the scenery.

  For it is beautiful. Even from the highway Vicky can see numerous picture-perfect clapboard houses, swimming pools in the garden, trees and greenery everywhere. And soon they come to the exit for High-field, off the ramp, twisting left and right, along tree-lined country roads until the woods open out to flat green meadows, huge mansions sitting at the end of each driveway. Turning into Sugar Maple Lane, the sleek black town car finally grinds to a halt outside a large, beautiful mansion, white clapboard and stone, with black shutters, an asphalt driveway, a full-size professional-looking basketball hoop.

  A vastly overweight golden retriever barks lazily as Vicky opens the door, then ambles over to greet her as the front door opens and Amber Winslow runs down the front steps to shake Vicky’s hand warmly.

  ‘Oh I can’t believe you’re here!’ she says. ‘I can’t believe you came all the way to the States to meet me, and I’m so excited, there’s so much to show you. Oh, I should stop talking. Come in, come in. Come in and make yourself at home.’

  And Vicky steps into the foyer of what is looking increasingly likely to be her new home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Vicky whispers to Janelle on the phone, tucked away in the Amberley Jacks living room.

  ‘What do you mean? What’s Amber like?’ Janelle says, rifling through the papers on her desk until she finds the photos that Vicky left for her before she went away.

  ‘She’s lovely, but more to the point the house is incredible! I swear to you, Janelle, I would kill to live like this. I want her life. I want this house. It’s huge and there’s a swimming pool and the beach is a couple of towns over, and even though it’s June it’s almost eighty degrees! I want to stay here forever.’

  ‘Well thank God, is all I can say.’ Janelle breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Because really I don’t know what we would have done if this hadn’t worked out. And what about the whole Desperate Housewife angle? Is she a Desperate Housewife?’

  Vicky drops her voice even lower. ‘Well she’s completely perfect. She has those perfect, even, huge, gleaming American teeth. Her body looks as if she works out in the gym at least once a day, and I’d say she’d give Teri Hatcher a pretty good run for her money.’

  ‘I love it!’ squeals Janelle. ‘And what about her family?’

  ‘I haven’t met them yet. I only just got here, just wanted to let you know I’d arrived safely, and you asked me to give you first impressions. I’ll email you as soon as I’ve got more to tell you.’

  Vicky replaces the phone and walks back to the kitchen, a kitchen, incidentally, that is pretty much the same size as Vicky’s flat, to find Amber busy putting out a plate of delicious-looking muffins.

  ‘I’ve made some coffee,’ Amber says, pouring out a cup. ‘And please have something to eat.’

  Vicky polishes off a muffin before Amber even has a chance to sit down.

  ‘Are you not having anything?’ she says to Amber, sliding the plate towards her.

  ‘Oh no!’ Amber says in horror. ‘I don’t eat refined sugar and I’m currently restricting my carbs. My trainer worked out this new diet for me, and muffins unfortunately aren’t on my food plan.’

  ‘Oh.’ Vicky suddenly feels enormous.

  ‘But don’t feel bad,’ Amber smiles. ‘Have another one. Please.’

  ‘Oh no. No. I’m fine. Well I suppose at least that explains your amazing figure.’

  ‘I have to work pretty hard at it.’ Amber grins. ‘Hence the gym in the basement. Do you want me to give you a tour of the house? The kids are up in the playroom with Lavinia so we can go in and see them too.’

  ‘I’d love it,’ says Vicky, who’s been dying to see the rest of the house since she arrived, so off they go.

  *

  There’s a family room off the kitchen, a Great Room – the American equivalent of a living room only ten times the size – with the highest ceilings Vicky has ever seen in a private house, a formal living room – the room in which Vicky made her phone call, a dining room that could happily sit twenty people, a walk-in pantry that’s the size of Vicky’s bedroom, a guest bedroom and bathroom and his ’n’ her offices, cherry-panelled with French doors onto the wrap-around porch.

  And that’s just the ground floor.

  Upstairs are mile-long corridors, with bedrooms off, a master at one end with a bathroom that’s the size of the bedroom, two enormous dressing rooms, and its own sitting room.

  It’s only after Vicky has seen all six bedrooms, all of them with ensuite bathrooms and walk-in closets, that she realizes there’s still no sign of the children.

  ‘We’ll go to the playroom last,’ Amber says. ‘Let’s do the basement first.’

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Vicky says, trying not to gape at the basement complete with gym, wine cellar and a media room made to look like an authentic 1920s cinema, with plush red-velvet seats and a popcorn machine in the corner.

  Vicky knows that everything is supposed to be bigger and better in America, but this is ridiculous. No one she knows lives like this. No on
e except perhaps the Queen and the Beckhams, and they don’t really count.

  Because, really, who lives in houses like this other than royalty and celebrities? Who could possibly afford to maintain a house this size, never mind have an actual cinema, albeit a small one, in their own home! A cinema! With popcorn!

  ‘I just have to ask you something.’ Vicky turns to Amber, who is showing her around as if it’s completely normal, as if her house is nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special. ‘Are you fantastically rich? I know that’s rude. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ Amber says. ‘And no. We’re not – how did you say it? – fantastically rich. My husband is a trader, and I’d say he does fine, but there are loads of people in Fairfield County who have far more money. Why do you ask?’

  ‘This house,’ Vicky gasps. ‘It’s just spectacular. It’s enormous. I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  Amber pauses, wondering how much to tell Vicky. Oh what the hell. ‘You probably won’t believe me,’ she smiles, ‘but I grew up in a trailer.’

  ‘What do you mean, a trailer? You mean like a caravan?’

  ‘Basically, yes. I grew up in a trailer park with a single mother and nothing. Literally, nothing. My clothes were all hand-me-downs from friends and neighbours. If you’d told me that one day I would live in something like this I would have known you would need to be certified.’

  Vicky gasps again. ‘But how in the hell did you go from that to this?’

  ‘With a lot of hard work and determination. Richard comes from a completely different background, and he works hard too, but I never ever thought I’d live like this. So much of the time I take it for granted, but when I see your face, it becomes fresh again.’

  ‘So is this the biggest house of everyone you know?’

  ‘Good gracious, no!’ Amber laughs. ‘In fact you’ll find that most of these new houses look pretty much the same. Some are just a bit bigger and some a bit smaller. We can go and see some friends, maybe tomorrow, so you can compare.’

  ‘I’d love to,’ Vicky says dubiously, doubting that anyone could live in a house that’s bigger.

  ‘Let’s go and see the kids,’ Amber says, pausing outside a doorway that leads to yet another wing of the house, where Vicky finds an entire nanny suite complete with kitchenette and living room, and of course the playroom.

  ‘Mommy!’ Jared looks up happily from his drum kit in the corner.

  ‘Jar, honey, come and say hello to Miss Townsley,’ Amber says.

  Vicky gets down on one knee so she’s on the same level as Jared. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she says, shaking his hand solemnly. ‘As we were walking down the hallway I heard some excellent drum playing. Were you playing a tape?’

  ‘No!’ Jared shakes his head. ‘That was me.’

  ‘You?’ Vicky looks puzzled. ‘It can’t have been you. I heard some seriously good drumming. I think it was a drummer in a rock band. You must have been playing a CD.’

  ‘No!’ Jared says, running back to the drum kit. ‘It was me. Listen,’ and he bangs the drums and cymbals, making a hell of a racket while Vicky opens her eyes wide and applauds.

  ‘Wow!’ she claps. ‘It was you. You’re fantastic at that. Do you play anything else?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jared says confidently. ‘I play the piano too. Do you want to hear?’ And with that he takes Vicky’s hand and leads her down the hallway towards the living room while Amber follows, astonished at how quickly Jared seems to have taken to Vicky, how good she clearly is with children.

  ‘You said you don’t have children of your own?’ she asks Vicky as they’re going downstairs.

  ‘No, but nieces and a nephew whom I adore.’

  ‘You’re obviously used to kids. It’s very rare for Jared to take to people like that. Jar, where’s Gracie?’

  Jared shrugs as he opens the living-room door. ‘Don’t know.’

  ‘Well where’s Lavinia?’

  ‘Laundry room,’ he says, as he starts banging the keys of the piano.

  ‘Vicky, will you excuse me just a minute?’ Amber says. ‘I’m going to find Gracie.’

  As Jared bangs out his next song, the door of the living room opens and a vision in chocolate stands there. She’s about three foot tall, bobbed hair with a giant pink bow in the side, a smocked dress that looks as if it is supposed to be pink, huge brown eyes that open wide when she sees Vicky, and she is almost entirely covered, from her nose to her knees, in smeared chocolate.

  Behind her comes the overweight retriever, wagging his tail furiously as he licks the little girl’s fingers, then attempts to eat her dress.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Vicky says, unsure of what to do. ‘Um, has your mummy seen you?’

  The little girl shakes her head.

  ‘Grace!’ Jared climbs down off the piano stool and stands sternly in front of his sister. ‘Where did you get chocolate from? And Ginger’s not allowed chocolate. It’s very dangerous.’

  ‘No!’ Grace frowns then dives into the very expensive-looking sofa, leaving streaks of brown all over it.

  ‘Oh Christ,’ Vicky mutters. It’s one thing to deal with family, but these children are not family, and she’s really not sure what she should do. She thinks about picking Grace up to take her out of the room, but Grace doesn’t know her.

  ‘Come on, Grace,’ she says, holding out her hand, and Grace slides a sticky, chocolate-covered hand into hers. ‘Let’s go and find your mummy.’

  Amber’s hands fly up to her mouth. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she says. ‘Gracie, what have you been eating?’

  ‘I did eat the chocolate that is in the pantry,’ Grace announces seriously, pulling out a kitchen chair.

  ‘Don’t touch anything!’ Amber shrieks, as Vicky stands by, feeling helpless.

  ‘Do you want me to clean her up?’ Vicky says.

  ‘No, don’t worry, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Mom?’ Jared comes running into the kitchen. ‘Grace fed chocolate to Ginger.’

  Amber’s face falls. ‘You did?’

  Grace shakes her head. ‘No, I did not feed Ginger. Ginger and I did eat the chocolate together.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Amber sighs. ‘How much chocolate? Where did you get it from?’

  Grace leads her into the pantry where Amber discovers that Grace and Ginger have polished off almost the entire stash of chocolate on the top shelf. The evidence is still in the pantry – a box in the middle of the floor, that Grace had used to clamber up, then climbing the shelves like a ladder.

  ‘Grace!’ Amber admonishes sternly. ‘I’ve told you before, you are not allowed to help yourself to food in the pantry. And why did you let Ginger have chocolate?’

  ‘Chocolate is very dangerous for dogs,’ Jared interjects sternly to Grace, whose lower lip starts wobbling. ‘Now Ginger’s going to die and it’s all your fault.’

  ‘Oh Jared, stop it!’ Amber says, as Grace begins to cry, although he has a point. ‘Right.’ She wets some paper towel and cleans Grace’s hands and face, then pulls her dress over her head.

  ‘Lavinia!’ she yells, and a middle-aged Jamaican woman comes into the room, nodding coolly at Vicky.

  ‘Lavinia, I’ve got to take Ginger to the vet. Will you stay with the kids?’

  ‘No, Mommy!’ Gracie now starts wailing and attempting to cling on to Amber’s legs, and Lavinia attempts to prise her free. ‘No, Mommy! No, Mommy! Stay with me!’ Grace’s voice rises to a shriek, and Amber feels her patience coming to an end, particularly because Ginger is suddenly looking rather ill.

  ‘Lavinia, get them out of here,’ she snaps, as Jared starts crying too.

  ‘I’ll stay with them,’ Vicky says. ‘Don’t worry, you just take Ginger. We’ll be fine.’

  ‘Oh my gosh, I’m so embarrassed,’ Amber says, as she bundles Ginger out of the door. ‘I promise you they’re not normally like this. They’re normally the perfect children. I can’t believe the impression we must be making.’

 
‘They’re gorgeous,’ Vicky says. ‘Off you go. Don’t worry about a thing.’

  ‘Mrs…’ Jared stops. ‘What’s your name again?’

  ‘It’s Vicky.’ Vicky smiles. ‘My friends call me Vicky, so you can call me Vicky too.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jared looks worried. ‘But Mom and Dad say I have to call grown-ups Mr and Mrs.’

  ‘Well I understand that, but I like being called Vicky.’

  Jared still looks doubtful, and suddenly his face lights up. ‘I know!’ he says. ‘I’ll call you Mrs Vicky!’

  ‘Ah. The thing is I’m not married, so if you were going to call me anything it would be Miss Vicky, although,’ she leans forward and drops her voice to a whisper, ‘I’d still prefer it if you called me Vicky.’

  ‘If you’re not married does that mean you haven’t got kids?’

  ‘Nope, no kids.’

  ‘And no daddy?’

  ‘Nope. Just me.’

  ‘Do you want kids?’

  ‘Oh yes. I love kids.’

  ‘I have a daddy.’

  ‘Yes I know. I’m looking forward to meeting him.’

  Jared studies Vicky. He likes her. He just can’t figure out who she is. ‘Are you a friend of my mommy’s?’

  ‘Not exactly. But hopefully we’ll become friends.’ Vicky hesitates, wondering whether to even try and explain that she may be coming to stay here for a little bit while their mother goes on holiday, but no, that’s for Amber to explain.

  ‘So, do you like basketball?’ Jared says hopefully.

  ‘Well I’ve never played but I’ve always wanted to learn. You look as if you’re really good at basketball, do you want to take me outside and teach me?’

  ‘Yeah! Cool!’ Jared says, as he runs out to the mud room and puts on his shoes.

  By the time Amber gets home with a two-week supply of charcoal tablets for Ginger, Vicky has shot hoops with Jared, has sat at the kitchen table with Jared and Gracie while they have their dinner – chicken nuggets and French fries followed by ice cream in a cone – has played with them in the garden, climbing to the top of the swingset with them and pushing Gracie high on the swing, and has helped Lavinia bath both of them.