by Jane Green
‘Go on, Herkie, come on, Hogie,’ Kate says, beckoning them outside to the kids. ‘Let’s go and help Daddy.’
‘Vix? Is that you?’ Andy calls out from the hallway.
‘Yup. I thought I’d come down and see everyone,’ Vicky says, standing up and brushing herself off as the children come running in.
‘Auntie Vix!’ they yell, all leaping up into her arms, each one just as enthusiastic and energetic as the dogs, but perhaps a little bit cleaner, and Vicky welcomes them, giggling as they smother her with kisses and immediately take her hand to drag her upstairs to their bedrooms.
‘Come and see my dollhouse,’ Sophie says, pulling her towards the stairs.
‘No, come and see the play I did for Mummy and Daddy,’ says Polly, pulling her back towards the kitchen.
‘Auntie Vix, Auntie Vix, will you come and see my spy binoculars?’ Luke asks gravely, standing patiently at the bottom of the stairs.
Vicky throws her hands up in the air. ‘Okay, okay. One at a time. Why don’t I sit in the kitchen and Luke, you bring me your binoculars, Polly can perform her play and when you’re done I’ll come and see your doll-house, Sophie. You lucky girl, when did you get such a lovely present?’
‘Daddy made it,’ Sophie says, running upstairs. ‘And Mummy helped make some furniture.’
Vicky turns to Andy. ‘You made a dollhouse? Since when have you been that handy with a saw?’
Kate starts laughing. ‘Wait,’ she says. ‘It’s not exactly a de luxe version. More the nine old shoeboxes stuck together with Pritt stick version.’
‘I thought it sounded a bit too complicated for my brother.’ Vicky grins as Andy shakes his head.
‘As it happens I’ve become pretty damn good at DIY, haven’t I, Kate? Tell Vicky who made the chicken run.’
‘You didn’t!’ Vicky starts to laugh. ‘And what chicken run? Since when do you have chickens?’
‘We thought it would be a good idea for the kids to get fresh eggs,’ Kate says.
‘But won’t the dogs eat the chickens?’ Vicky looks dubious.
‘Ah yes.’ Andy looks pointedly at Kate. ‘I have tried to tell her that we’ll be lucky if the chickens last the week.’
‘And that’s why you’ve built such a strong run.’ Kate returns the look. ‘The dogs won’t be able to get in, will they, Andy?’
‘Hopefully not,’ he says. ‘Anyway, the chickens don’t arrive for another three weeks so we’ll let you know.’
‘Oh God,’ Vicky moans. ‘I’m so jealous.’
‘Jealous? Of what?’
‘You just have the perfect life here. Chickens. Children. Dogs. It’s not fair.’
‘Oh stop it,’ Kate says, refusing to let Vicky give in to an ounce of self-pity. ‘I’d kill to have a bit of your glamorous life for a while, as would all the women around here. Most of them would gladly swap lives with you in a heartbeat. I’d gladly swap lives with you in a heartbeat.’
‘Oh yeuch,’ Vicky grimaces. ‘That means I’d have to be my brother’s wife. That’s disgusting.’
‘Oh don’t be so ridiculous. I’m only joking, but I’m just saying that you’d be a damn sight happier if you enjoyed your life, because plenty of other people would kill for it.’ She lowers her voice and checks that Andy is out of earshot. ‘Don’t you think I’m longing for an adventure like the one you had last night with Jamie Donnelly? Look, I adore Andy and would never be unfaithful, but I miss the fun, and the dating, and the excitement of not knowing whether they’re going to call or not.’
Vicky nods as she listens, she looks up at Kate. ‘So what do you think?’ she grins. ‘Do you think he’s going to call?’
Vicky spends the rest of the afternoon playing with the kids in the garden, soaking up the sun, and drinking copious amounts of tea before they stick the kids in front of Shrek 2 and make a pitcher of Pimms.
Andy goes off for a while to see Bill, the chicken man, who is advising him on all things chicken-related, and brings Bill back to inspect the run, while Vicky and Kate stand on the sidelines nudging each other and giggling as Bill pretends to be impressed.
‘Oh come on, Bill,’ Kate whispers as they walk off, ‘seriously, is it any good? Shouldn’t I get a carpenter to come and check it out?’
Bill grins. ‘Nope, it’s absolutely fine. My first chicken run wasn’t nearly as good as this, and you’ll be okay. I’m more worried about the foxes than the dogs anyway, but Andy put the wire underneath the ground so they shouldn’t be able to get in.’
Andy’s chest visibly puffs with pride. ‘And you don’t think your husband’s up to much,’ he says.
‘All right, all right. I’m wrong. Well done, darling. You’re a chicken run genius.’
‘Do you want to join us for supper, Bill?’ Kate says, as Vicky moves behind him and shakes her head violently. The last thing she wants is to be set up with a chicken man.
‘Can’t tonight, but thanks, Kate. The kids are with their mum and they should be back soon. I promised them McDonald’s and you know what happens when you break a promise.’
‘Especially when it involves McDonald’s,’ Kate laughs.
‘I’ll call you during the week,’ Bill says to Andy, waving goodbye to all as he climbs up into his truck.
‘Such a nice man,’ Kate says as they take their drinks inside and start getting supper ready. ‘And sheer fluke we found him. Andy was in the pub last week talking about chickens and someone overheard him and put him in touch with Bill who seems to be the expert, and we’d never even heard of him before. And he’s attractive too, don’t you think?’
‘He’s okay.’ Vicky shrugs. ‘But how come you didn’t know him? I thought you knew everyone in the village.’
‘So did we!’ Kate laughs. ‘But evidently not. He had a weekend cottage in Sherborne but bought a farm down here a couple of years ago and now he’s here permanently.’ She looks at Vicky pensively. ‘I wonder if he sold his cottage? That would suit you perfectly, a cottage to come down to on the weekends. I should ring him and ask.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Vicky says firmly. ‘As long as I’m coming down to this neck of the woods I want to stay with you and my gorgeous nieces and nephew. And anyway, my Poise! salary probably wouldn’t stretch to a cottage in the country, although it’s a nice idea.’
‘Something to think about,’ Kate says, starting to peel potatoes. ‘Everyone’s got to have a dream.’
‘Now if you could find a cottage with a dreamy husband attached, that might be something worth thinking about.’
‘I thought you were going to marry Jamie Donnelly.’
‘Oh bugger,’ Vicky says, looking sadly at her silent mobile phone. ‘Why didn’t I give him my mobile?’
*
Vicky stays the night in Somerset, then takes the early train to Waterloo, going straight to the office. She never figured out how to pick up her messages from her answerphone at home, and now, as frustrating as it is, she’s pleased, because by the time she gets home tonight Jamie Donnelly will surely have called. Who knows, if she’s very lucky he may have called two or three times.
The light is blinking as she finally walks through the door, and she rushes over, pressing play, her heart sinking lower and lower as she listens to the messages. Deborah phoning to see if Jamie Donnelly has called. Her mother just phoning to say hello. Kate to tell her she’d left her entire make-up bag in the bathroom and she’d be sending it registered so hopefully Vicky would have it on Tuesday, and her accountant wanting her to call and make an appointment.
No Jamie Donnelly. And it’s now Monday night. But he’s probably been busy taping the new series of Dodgy, and he doesn’t want to appear too keen anyway, and just because he hasn’t called yet doesn’t mean anything because he’ll almost certainly call tonight. Even if he doesn’t she’ll give it until Thursday. That’s a reasonable time to wait. Even if you really liked someone you’d want to wait until Thursday, wouldn’t you? Just so you don’t appear too ke
en.
Vicky replays every event of Saturday night. The flirtatious comments, the way he kissed her, the way he cuddled her after they had sex. And he didn’t run away immediately, he read the papers with her – okay, not the whole papers but he read the Style section and flicked through the Culture – and he kissed her goodbye and surely he wouldn’t have stayed if he didn’t like her – I mean, who would do that? What kind of a man would lead a girl on in that way unless he was really interested?
By Thursday morning Vicky still has a shred of hope. Jamie Donnelly knows she works at Poise! – he could call her at work, you never know. She lowers her voice to a sultry purr every time she picks up the phone, and each time it is not him.
At lunchtime she takes the tabloids down to the café on the corner, grabs a sandwich and attempts to drown her misery in a Perrier as she flicks through the papers, keeping up with what’s going on in the entertainment world, what the women’s desks are writing about, hoping for inspiration, looking for ideas.
She turns to Bizarre and her heart stops. There, in the centre of the page, is a huge picture of Jamie Donnelly and Denise Van Outen. Kissing. Actually, not quite kissing. More like snogging. Vicky puts her sandwich down and swallows the wave of nausea rising up before reading the text, praying that this is an old photo, that it doesn’t mean anything.
At last night’s afterparty for the new smash
film, Forgotten Mountains, hot new couple
Jamie Donnelly and Denise Van Outen show
why they’re so sizzling. As they disappeared
into his flat, he said, ‘I’ve fancied Denise for
ages.’ All we can say to Jamie is: Is that your
dog or are you just pleased to see her!!
Why does this always happen to me? Vicky thinks, blinking back the tears. For it’s not as if Jamie Donnelly is the love of her life, but he represented a dream, and every time Vicky’s dreams threaten to become reality, something always happens, and she always ends up alone.
Self-pity washes over her as she sinks her head in her hands, pushing her food away, wanting to just get away from all this pain.
‘Vicky? Whatever is the matter?’ Vicky looks up to see the concerned face of Janelle Salinger, a rarity only because Janelle usually goes out for lunch, rarely goes to the local sandwich shops or cafés herself. On the odd occasion she has a craving for a KitKat or a grilled chicken sandwich, she will send her assistant over, although today her assistant is off sick, and she’s spent the last hour dreaming of sour cream and onion crisps, which are now nestling at the bottom of her green ostrich Prada bag.
‘Oh nothing.’ Vicky attempts a bright smile, closing the paper so Janelle doesn’t see, because of course Vicky couldn’t keep it to herself – it was Jamie Donnelly, for heaven’s sake, how was she supposed to keep a pull like that to herself? She’d started off vowing to just tell Leona, but then she’d ended up confessing to Stella, and before she knew it assistants she barely even knew were standing admiringly at her desk and asking if it was true that she was going out with Jamie Donnelly.
I wish, she had thought, but instead she had smiled serenely and said, ‘Oh I wouldn’t say that. We’re just seeing each other.’
And now clearly he is seeing Denise Van Outen.
‘I heard about you and Jamie Donnelly,’ Janelle says in a sympathetic voice, sitting down and noting exactly what Vicky had been reading and why she closed the paper. ‘You just saw the picture, didn’t you?’
At this show of sympathy Vicky’s voice finally breaks. ‘Oh God,’ she says, looking pleadingly at Janelle. ‘It wasn’t as if he was the love of my life, for God’s sake. It’s just that I’m thirty-five and it isn’t getting any easier and I hate being single and why the hell does this keep happening to me?’
Janelle nods in sympathy then places her hand on Vicky’s. ‘Vicky,’ she says. ‘I didn’t get married until I was forty. I was exactly where you are now. I never thought I’d find anyone but once I met Stephen it was just so right, and then I understood why none of the others before had worked out.’
But I don’t want to wait until I’m forty, Vicky thinks. I can’t wait another five years, and who’s to say it will even happen?
‘You will meet someone,’ Janelle continues. ‘Trust me.’
‘When?’ Vicky blurts out. ‘And how do you know? I don’t think I ever will. I’m going to end up with Eartha, pushing a bloody shopping trolley.’
‘Who’s Eartha?’
‘My cat,’ Vicky sniffs.
‘Oh. Maybe you’re romanticizing too much. Do you think perhaps that might be something to do with it? Because it’s not all a bed of roses. I think the problem with all you young girls today is you expect marriage to be like something out of a movie, and the minute it becomes boring, or bland, the minute your heart stops beating faster, you’re all running to the divorce court. Honestly, Vicky, you have a wonderful life being single, why don’t you just try and enjoy it, because once you start really enjoying it Mr Right will come along, and there are plenty of women who’d leave their husbands in a heartbeat to be single and have a fabulously glamorous life as the features director of Poise!.’
Vicky looks at Janelle in amazement, because Janelle is more romantic than the rest of the staff put together. She’s the one who comes in every Valentine’s Day spouting on and on about the benefits of sharing rose-petal baths with your partner, and how she and Stephen are still – yawn – as blissfully happy as the day they met.
‘That’s what my sister-in-law always says,’ Vicky admits eventually. ‘She says she’d swap with me in a heartbeat. I’d take her up on it except then I’d have to sleep with my brother.’ Vicky attempts a grin, but Janelle doesn’t smile. Her eyes have that faraway look in them that means she’s got an idea brewing.
‘Swap with a married woman,’ she says slowly. ‘What a brilliant idea! Not your sister-in-law – but it’s true, plenty of married women would want your job. We could run an ad in the magazine looking for a married woman who would swap, then,’ she flashes a brilliant smile at Vicky, ‘you could go off and see what it would really be like to be married.’
‘You mean like Wife Swap on TV?’ Vicky says dubiously.
‘Yes, but we’d take it further.’ Janelle’s voice quickens as she grows more excited.
‘You mean I’d have to sleep with the husband?’ Vicky is confused.
‘No, don’t be ridiculous. Not unless you fancied him. But I mean swap lives. Swap wardrobes, swap everything. Wear her clothes, go out with her friends. See if you could really experience what it would mean for you, a single girl, to be married with children, and see if a married woman could go back to being single. It’s brilliant. We always think the grass is greener on the other side, and this would be a real opportunity to find out.’
‘But why would a married woman leave her husband and children to do it?’
‘Because she’s bored, unfulfilled, would love to work for Poise!. Who knows why, a myriad of reasons, but I bet you if we advertise we’ll get hundreds of replies. Maybe even thousands…’ She sits silently for a few seconds, staring into space. ‘Life Swap!’ she announces loudly with a flourish. ‘We’ll call it Life Swap and if we hurry we can probably get it in the June issue. Oh Vicky,’ she leans over and gives Vicky a hug, ‘this is a genius idea. Well done. Quite brilliant.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ says Vicky, leaning back, trying to figure out what just happened as Janelle disappears off in a flurry of Prada. Oh God, she thinks, standing up wearily as she puts the Sun in the bin. Did I really just agree to a life swap? Am I out of my tiny mind?
But maybe it won’t be so bad, she decides, getting into the lift. After all, given this most recent Jamie Donnelly fiasco, could her life really get any worse?
Chapter Nine
Richard Winslow has a Sunday morning routine. Leaving Amber asleep in bed, he dresses the kids, piles them and the dog into the car, picks up doughnuts, muffins, orange juice and coffee a
nd heads down to the beach in the neighbouring town of Westport.
They start with breakfast at one of the picnic tables, Jared and Gracie ending up feeding the remains of the food to Ginger, the retriever, who spends the entire meal begging hopefully before happily devouring the leftovers. Amber keeps quizzing Richard as to why Ginger is so enormous given that he is walked every day by Lavinia and that he is not allowed to eat food from the table, but that of course is only when Amber is around, and Amber is so often not around for the children’s mealtimes, so often not around to see how the children delight in throwing food on the kitchen floor to be eagerly lapped up by a grateful Ginger.
Sunday is Richard’s time with the children. During the week he leaves the house too early and gets home too late to have any real quality time with them, and although he sometimes wishes he had just a bit of downtime to himself on the weekends, the idea of being with his children is so wonderful – occasionally far more wonderful than the reality, when they’re both screaming and fighting – that he sacrifices what little time he might have for himself and spends it with the kids.
They walk Ginger along the beach, then leave him tied to a bench as Jared and Gracie spend a good couple of hours climbing on the playground. Richard has now come to know the Sunday morning playground regulars – the other fathers who don’t see the kids during the week, who bring them down to the playground as an excuse for themselves to bond with the other dads.
And the children have become friends too. They have formed a big pack, the older boys and the younger ones who struggle to keep up, leaping off the huge slide, pretending not to be scared even as their little jaws wobble with fear.
