Life Swap

by Jane Green

Amber splutters with laughter. ‘Goodness. You just don’t stop, do you?’

  ‘Not when I see something I want.’

  Amber decides to try another tack. She is, after all, a mother, and here is a man acting much like a wilful child. ‘Come along, Daniel,’ she says sternly. ‘Come and sit in the living room. After you’ve finished your tea I think you ought to have some strong coffee to sober you up, and then I’ll send you home.’

  ‘Oooh, yes, teacher,’ Daniel grins, and Amber shakes her head and sighs. ‘So how come your husband let you come over to England for a month?’

  ‘I thought you’d forgotten all about this swap?’

  ‘It’s all coming back to me now. But seriously, what kind of man would let a woman as delicious as you out of his sight for that long?’

  ‘Well, truth be told, he didn’t want to. This was something I did without his knowledge, and once Vicky picked me I felt it was something I had to go through with, but trust me, he wasn’t happy about it at all.’

  ‘And how do you think Vicky will be getting on with him?’

  ‘Despite your inference, my husband is as faithful as I am. It’s not like either of us to have an affair.’

  ‘Who’s suggesting affair? I was thinking about one joyful night of passion.’

  ‘With you and your beery breath?’ Daniel’s flirting is making Amber more forward than she is used to, and for a moment she feels just like a single woman, a powerful woman used to using her sexuality to get what she wants, or doesn’t want. In fact, for the first time since she arrived Amber suddenly has a flash of what it really means to be Vicky, what being a single woman living in the city is really all about, and it is just as heady and empowering and exciting as it was all those years ago when Amber herself was single.

  ‘I would brush my teeth for you.’

  ‘Oh please!’ Amber laughs. ‘Will you just grow up?’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Daniel holds his hands up in defeat and laughs. ‘So should I assume I won’t be staying the night?’

  ‘Not unless you’re comfortable staying on the sofa.’

  ‘Sounds fine to me,’ Daniel says. ‘Is there room for both of us?’

  ‘Oh very funny. Look, it’s very late and I’m very tired, and in the morning I’m catching a train down to Vicky’s brother and sister-in-law in the country. I really think you ought to go home.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Point taken. I know when I’m not wanted. But how about this: dinner on Sunday night? I bet you haven’t seen the neighbourhood at all.’

  ‘Actually I think I know it pretty well. I’ve been shopping at Waitrose, had lunch at Giraffe, been to Selfridges, had coffee at Providores…’

  ‘Ah. Well how about other neighbourhoods, then? Why don’t we go out for dinner so I can introduce you to some proper British food?’

  ‘Do you mean steak and kidney pie and trifle?’ Amber asks dubiously.

  ‘No. Well I mean maybe there’s steak and kidney pie on the menu, but I could just take you to a great restaurant. We could get to know one another a little bit. Come on. How about it?’ Amber hesitates and Daniel finally utters the words to make her change her mind: ‘If you were Vicky you’d say yes without a second thought.’

  ‘If I were Vicky I wouldn’t be sending you home now,’ Amber bats back quickly.

  ‘Ah yes. Good point. Does that mean I can stay?’

  ‘No it does not. Goodnight, Daniel.’

  ‘How about dinner on Sunday?’ he pleads as she ushers him to the front door.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Amber says. ‘Let me think about it.’

  ‘Oh God,’ groans Daniel just as Amber is shutting the front door on him. ‘Nothing I love more than a woman who plays hard to get. Do you know, I could fall in love with you?’

  ‘Oh behave,’ Amber echoes Austin Powers as she closes the door, and is then surprised to find herself grinning as she walks down the hallway and goes into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

  ‘Amber!’ Kate folds her arms around Amber, who, unused to this display of warmth, particularly from the English whom she had always thought of as extraordinarily reserved, attempts to hug her back. ‘Oh so lovely that you’re here! And look how glamorous and gorgeous you are. Our little town won’t know what to make of you! Kids! Come and say hello to Amber.’

  Luke, Polly and Sophie, who had been hanging back behind Kate, now step forward sheepishly and say hello.

  ‘Oh my gosh!’ Amber can’t help herself. ‘They speak in perfect little British accents! How adorable!’

  ‘I can speak in an American accent too,’ Luke says.

  ‘Go on,’ Amber encourages. ‘What can you say?’

  ‘May the Force be with you,’ Luke says, in a hybrid mid-Atlantic accent, and Amber applauds.

  ‘Good job!’ she says. ‘That was perfect.’

  ‘Come on.’ Kate links her arm through Amber’s and leads her to the car. ‘Andy’s at home dealing with the chickens. Unfortunately the coop isn’t as secure as we thought and a fox got in last night and got three of the chickens before the dogs scared him off.’

  ‘Miss Martha and Dottie and Darth Vader are all in heaven now,’ says Sophie, slipping her hand into Amber’s as they walk along.

  ‘Darth Vader?’ Amber raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Ah yes. I think it’s clear that Darth Vader, or Miss Vader as she is – sorry, was, sometimes known, was Luke’s.’

  ‘That’s an interesting name,’ Amber grins at Luke.

  ‘I know. She was my first, but it’s okay because I’m going to get another chicken and this one’s going to be called Dash.’

  ‘Dash?’

  ‘Yes. From The Incredibles.’

  Kate shrugs and rolls her eyes as they reach the beaten-up old Saab. ‘It’s his latest obsession, just out on DVD.’

  They drive along country roads and Kate points out country pubs, local farms and where she does her shopping.

  ‘That’s our school!’ The kids bounce up and down in the back seat, leaning forward to stretch an arm across Amber to point out something else. ‘That’s our playground! That’s where I do ballet!’

  ‘Is this making you feel more at home now?’ Kate laughs, turning to look at Amber as they sit at a traffic light.

  ‘Apart from the English accents, absolutely,’ Amber grins, and it’s true. Now she feels like she belongs again. Back in a family, albeit not her own.

  Andy is waiting outside the house as they pull up, hooting for the dogs to get out of the way.

  ‘Hello!’ he says, shaking her hand warmly, and smiling down at her. ‘Should I be calling you Amber or Vicky?’

  ‘I think Amber is perfect,’ Amber says.

  ‘Good. So, Amber, why don’t you come into the kitchen and sit down for a nice cup of tea?’

  Amber is pulled upstairs midway through her cup of tea to go and see Polly and Sophie’s bedroom, and then the children insist she come with them to the vegetable patch at the back of the garden to help them pick peas for lunch, and Luke wants to show her where Darth Vader will be buried.

  ‘Buried?’ Amber whispers to Kate. ‘Aren’t you going to eat the chicken?’

  ‘Unfortunately not. These chickens were layers rather than roasters, plus none of them would have been plump enough, but I do rather fancy being entirely self-sufficient. I think Dash and her two companions will be roasters, although God knows what the kids will say when Dash suddenly appears on the supper table surrounded by roast potatoes and garlic.’

  ‘Come on!’ Luke’s head appears round the kitchen door. ‘Amber, hurry up!’

  The four of them pick the peas then come back in to find Kate preparing a huge salad.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ Amber asks, standing helplessly behind Kate.

  ‘The kids like shelling the peas and the salmon’s all ready to go in the poacher. I think we’re all done. Andy’s going to do drinks, but maybe you could set the table outside? Would that be okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ and Kate points out
where Amber will find everything.

  ‘What kind of help do you have during the week?’ Amber asks when the six of them have finished lunch, the kids having run off down to the stream at the bottom of the garden to throw stones, the grown-ups still drinking wine, and talking about coffee, although all of them are far too comfortable lazing in the sun to get up and go inside to put the kettle on.

  ‘Help? I have Mrs Reilly who comes twice a week to clean the house and help with the laundry.’

  ‘And for the kids?’

  ‘Well she’s wonderful with the kids, but she’s not a nanny, if that’s what you mean. She’s my lady who does.’

  ‘Does? Does what?’

  ‘You know. Clean.’

  ‘So who helps with the kids?’

  ‘You’re looking at her,’ Andy laughs. ‘Kate is wife, mum, nanny, gardener, chief washer-upper, decorator.’

  Kate laughs at the expression on Amber’s face. ‘Don’t look so horrified, Amber. I’d love to have help but we couldn’t afford it.’

  Andy looks stricken for an instant. ‘Would you really love to have help with the kids?’

  ‘No, not really, darling. Only when they’re tired and whiny. The truth is I did have a maternity nurse for Sophie and I couldn’t stand having someone else look after my baby. I know it must be a complete luxury to have an au pair or a nanny, and it’s not that I think there’s anything wrong with it, I just don’t think I would feel in control of my life if other people were looking after it instead of me.’

  ‘That’s it!’ Amber says suddenly. ‘That’s how I feel! Kate, you’ve just put your finger on it.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that I’m not in control of my life. I have a full-time nanny, a cleaning team that comes three times a week to thoroughly clean my house, a gardening team, a swimming pool man. Other people decorate my house, the nanny does the cooking. Oh my gosh,’ and she goes quiet as she thinks about the reality of her life. ‘I’m living my life but I’m not involved in it. That’s exactly what’s wrong with me.’

  ‘But if you’re not involved in it, how are you really living it?’ Kate asks gently.

  ‘That’s the point.’ Amber shakes her head, the weight of the realization sitting firmly on her shoulders. ‘I’m not living. I’m just existing, I guess, as though I’m caught in limbo, watching my life play out in front of me like a movie! Oh my God, do you have any idea how huge this is? I mean, look at you. You look after your own kids, you made this delicious lunch yourself, you’re in charge of your life.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I’m the one in charge,’ Andy jokes as Kate rolls her eyes.

  ‘It’s not always this perfect,’ Kate laughs. ‘You happen to have come down on a glorious English summer’s day when the children are behaving perfectly. On days like this anyone could do it all. It’s when it’s raining and we’re all stuck inside and everyone’s miserable and all I want is someone to come and take the children away to give me some peace and quiet.’

  ‘I guess it’s all about balance,’ Amber says quietly. ‘And right now the balance in my life is completely off.’

  ‘Well here’s to balance,’ and Andy pours everyone another glass of wine.

  ‘And to more glorious summer days.’ Kate smiles and they toast one another again.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Is it really possible to walk in another woman’s shoes? Vicky types on her laptop as she sits at the desk in the kitchen on Friday morning while Lavinia clatters around behind her, tidying up the kitchen after the daily bomb has hit during breakfast.

  The children are in camp, and whilst Amber would normally be at the gym at this time, Vicky has decided that given her now-healing-but-still-painful sunburn, the gym will have to wait until Monday, and given how quiet the house is – the Brazilian cleaning team isn’t due to arrive for another half-hour – it’s the perfect time to start writing the diary of her time here.

  Because the whole experience is quite different to what Vicky expected. She hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to step into someone else’s life, although she imagines Amber is having an easier time, having already lived a single girl’s life, knowing fairly well what it entails.

  But this, pretending to be married, feels just that. A pretence. Most of the time Vicky feels as if she’s watching a movie, except she happens to be playing the starring role. It isn’t helped by the fact that she is in America, where everything is foreign, and exciting, and that much more glamorous than it would be in, say, Penge, or Surbiton. No, the English suburbs could learn a lesson or two from the American suburbs, particularly here in Connecticut.

  Vicky has never seen such perfection in her life. From the way the women dress – their perfect pink and green floral Lily Pulitzer pants with oh-so-cute Jack Rogers sandals – to the home-baked pies and tarts they bring along to dinner parties, although this much is hearsay from Deborah, Vicky not having yet been invited to any dinner parties, although she’s hoping for an invitation soon.

  And thank God for Deborah, Deborah who has felt like the port in the storm, who has already been over more times than Vicky would like to think about to help Vicky out when she gets stuck.

  On Monday the oil company came to refill the tank, and Vicky had no idea where to direct them, and couldn’t get hold of Richard. Deborah came to the rescue. On Tuesday the cleaning team stood in the kitchen waiting patiently and smilingly for their money. Vicky had no idea where it was, so Deborah dashed over with some money for which Richard promptly reimbursed her, showing the faintest sign of irritation that Vicky hadn’t known where to look. (Didn’t Amber tell you, for heaven’s sake? he said, gesturing to a drawer in the desk of the kitchen, at the back of which was a large envelope stuffed with bills, labelled ‘House Cash’. Well, no.) Now Vicky realizes why Amber’s notes were so short. Because she had forgotten almost everything. Vicky had no idea the tick-control people were coming to spray the garden, and no one could play outside. That happened on the day she had promised Jared and Gracie a picnic for supper, and then had to renege when the giant truck pulled up and a big burly man warned her not to go outside for the rest of the day.

  And ticks? Whoever heard of ticks being such a problem? But everywhere she goes people are clucking and discussing the terrible Lyme disease, that’s passed to humans from deer ticks. Amber hadn’t mentioned anything about checking the children at bathtime every night, looking for teeny tiny ticks that Deborah says are about the size of a freckle, which terrified Vicky because how on earth is she supposed to differentiate between a tick and a freckle when she’s never even seen a tick, and is convinced she wouldn’t know a tick from a freckle if her life depended on it…

  It’s only after a few days that Vicky realizes why Amber doesn’t mention anything about checking ticks at bathtime, or only giving Jared butter sandwiches because he won’t eat anything else, not even egg mayonnaise (which surely all children adore), and she doesn’t tell Vicky not to give Gracie peanut butter sandwiches – a lesson which she learnt the hard way after the chief counsellor of Gracie’s camp called her in and sternly admonished her, announcing that the camp is a nut-free zone due to several children having severe nut allergies.

  Vicky realizes that Amber doesn’t mention this because Amber doesn’t know. Lavinia, the nanny, is having more free time this week than she’s had in years, and as a result she’s decided that Vicky is not the enemy after all, and has slowly opened up to her, informing her of quite how little time Amber spends with the children.

  Who makes the kids’ lunches in the morning? Lavinia. Who baths them every night and checks for ticks? Lavinia. Who drives them to most of their activities, other than the ones at which friends of Amber’s will be? Why, Lavinia of course.

  And yet the children are lovely, far better behaved than Vicky had expected, and she can’t understand why Amber, who also seems so nice, and professes to love her children so much, doesn’t spend more time with them.

 
; ‘Oh she’s very busy,’ says Lavinia who, despite being overworked and underpaid, is loyal and likes her bosses. ‘All that charity work. Raising money for the church. She’s a busy lady.’

  And therein lies the problem. No matter how hard Vicky tries to emulate Amber, she can’t quite see how Amber is so busy. There has been plenty of time for Vicky to dream of drifting around the swimming pool – she’s hoping that next week her skin will be tough enough for her to put that particular plan in motion, with factor 30 sun cream in future. There has been plenty of time, period. Time in which Vicky ambles around the enormous house, wondering whether she should perhaps do some dusting, before remembering that a cleaning team takes care of that. Maybe she should do the children’s laundry, but Lavinia wouldn’t hear of it.

  So she has cooked the children, and Richard, lavish meals. Not known for her cooking skills, even Vicky knows how to follow a recipe, and she has produced all the nursery classics she loved so much when she was a child.

  Richard is delirious with joy. He’s far more used to cold pizza or take-outs from various restaurants around town, and this past week he’s been sitting down to proper home-cooked meals.

  The children on the other hand are not quite so happy. In fact they are downright suspicious of this foreign food. Toad in the hole was the biggest success thus far, and only because they had huge fun playing with it, trying to put the sausages back perfectly in the batter, both of them refusing to take a single bite. Even macaroni cheese, which Vicky was convinced they would love, was a disaster. She made it with three different cheeses, a hint of mustard, a sprinkling of nutmeg, and even Vicky was astounded by how delicious it was.

  ‘This isn’t macaroni cheese,’ Jared announced, staring suspiciously at the dish Vicky had put on the table.

  ‘Yes it is, Jar. I made it myself.’

  ‘But it’s the wrong colour,’ he said, pushing his plate away.

  ‘Just take one bite. It’s absolutely delicious,’ Vicky said, demonstrating by gobbling up two mouthfuls herself, and making ecstatic noises of joy when she finished. ‘Mmmm. Mmmm. Yummy. That is so yummy.’