by Jane Green
She missed work. Missed Leona, and Ruth, and even Janelle. She missed being surrounded by people all the time: even on the weekends, even those days when she chose not to socialize, holed up in her little flat and watched television for hours and hours, DVDs of her favourite films, she still knew that she was surrounded by people, and if she ever felt lonely, all she had to do was walk out of her front door.
As quiet and peaceful as it was here, if she wanted to go anywhere, to see people, to do anything, she had to climb into Amber’s huge SUV and drive into town. Nobody ever dropped in, nobody seemed to walk anywhere. She had even tried a couple of impromptu playdates with friends of Jared’s, but their mothers were horrified at the very idea of their children coming back to Jared’s after camp that day – although they’d happily schedule something in the Thursday 3 p.m. window in three weeks’ time.
Her brief experience with the League had shown her that it was not something she wanted to be a part of, even as research, for the cliquishness and bitchiness reminded her overwhelmingly of her schooldays, and that was something she tried very hard not to remember most of the time.
For all its superficial perfection, Vicky could see that this life was exactly that: superficial. Her single life, with her eclectic group of friends, her disorganized wardrobe that was a combination of high street and the odd designer discount item, her beloved cat Eartha – oh God, how she missed Eartha – her single life may be nothing compared to this, it may be something that all these women were thrilled to have left behind, but sitting on Amber’s bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, trying not to shiver in the air-conditioned coolness of the room, Vicky suddenly realized that she wouldn’t swap her life for anything in the world.
Amber’s children were delicious, but they were not hers. And Richard was delicious, she thought sadly, but he was not hers either. It was an experiment that may not have gone horribly wrong, but has definitely taught her to appreciate what she has. The grass may look greener on the other side; that doesn’t necessarily mean that it is.
And perhaps because of what happened, perhaps because Vicky was embarrassed, and humiliated, and didn’t know how to face Richard in the morning, all she wanted was to go back home.
The next morning Richard has left for work by the time Vicky gets up, for which she is enormously grateful. Of course they will have to talk about it somehow, and she wishes he had told her what he had said to Gracie, for he must have said something, she obviously saw something that had to be explained, but Vicky will deal with it later, or so she thinks until Gracie drops the bombshell about her boo-boo.
Oh well, thinks Vicky, as she turns away from the table, busying herself making the coffee, at least I know what he said.
‘Where’s the boo-boo?’ Jared asks suspiciously.
‘It was on my nose,’ Vicky says, walking over to the table and crouching down. ‘I was swimming so fast I bumped my nose on the wall, can you believe that? Is it cut? Is it bruised? Do you see anything?’
Jared examines her nose carefully before shaking his head. ‘Nothing,’ he says, before turning his attention back to his bowl of Cheerios. Thank God. Vicky finally manages to exhale as Jared and Gracie start fighting over who gets to read the back of the cereal packet.
When Vicky gets back from dropping the kids at camp, there’s a message from Richard on the machine. ‘Hi, Vicky, I’m just letting you know that I have a crazy day at work today, and won’t be back until late tonight, so don’t worry about dinner. Have a great day and say hi to the kids for me. Bye.’
Nothing. No indication that anything has happened, that there is anything to talk about, and the cloud that has been weighing down heavily on Vicky’s shoulders starts to rise. Perhaps she is making far too big a deal out of it. Hell, these moments happen, and maybe they don’t mean anything. What’s important is not what did happen, but what didn’t, and judging from Richard’s ordinary-sounding message, nothing will again.
I’m not going to think about it any more, Vicky decides, picking up the phone and calling Deborah. I’m just going to pretend it never happened.
‘Hey, I was just thinking about you,’ Deborah says. ‘You know that Irish comedian Jamie Donnelly?’
‘Um… yes,’ Vicky says, sure that she hasn’t told Deborah about Jamie Donnelly.
‘Did you see the British papers?’
Vicky’s heart starts beating fast. ‘No – what? What’s happened?’
‘He’s only bloody shagging Teri Hatcher! Can you believe it? What would a gorgeous woman like Teri Hatcher see in a two-bit Irish playboy comedian like Jamie Donnelly?’ There’s a long silence. ‘Vicky? Vicky? Are you there?’
‘Yes,’ Vicky says as the tears start to well up.
‘Oh God, you probably think I’m pathetic,’ Deborah says. ‘But I’m completely addicted to showbiz gossip. Sorry, but it’s my secret shame. I go online every morning to read the British tabloids, and Spencer brings me back US and People every time he goes to the chemist for anything. Am I pathetic? Should I just shut up?’
‘No, no,’ Vicky manages. ‘It’s fine. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back, okay?’
‘Sure,’ says Deborah, wondering how she could possibly have offended Vicky. ‘Look, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?’
‘No, no, but there’s someone at the door. I’ll call you back. Promise.’ And Vicky puts down the phone, goes to Amber’s computer and goes online to the Sun where she sees the story for herself. And whilst Vicky never normally believes what she reads in the papers, the photograph of Jamie and Teri is there, in mid-snog, taken at the Soho House on Friday night. This time there are no explanations that could justify this. No ‘Teri and I are old friends’ rubbish. He’s a liar and a cheat.
‘Fucker!’ she yells at the computer screen, banging the table in anger. ‘You fucking fucker!’
‘Vicky?’ A frightened Lavinia pops her head round the door of the office. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘No!’ Vicky bursts into tears as Lavinia rushes over to put an arm round her in a bid to comfort her. ‘No it bloody isn’t. I want to go home.’
An hour later Vicky is sipping from a cup of tea, her tears finally having subsided. Great, she thinks. My period’s coming and I’m having the worst PMT I’ve ever had in my life, I almost jumped into bed with a married man, and the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with is now sleeping with Teri Hatcher. Teri Hatcher, for God’s sake. Who the hell can compete with Teri Hatcher? I don’t want to be here any more, work or no work, and I’m tired, and pissed off, and fed up, and if I wasn’t thirty-five years old I’d add that I want my mum.
Oh Christ, she mutters, as she dunks a biscuit into her tea. At least my day can’t get any worse…
‘Guess what?’ she says to the kids when she picks them up from camp. ‘I’ve decided that today is a no-classes day, so instead we’re going for a special treat. We’re going to go to the aquarium and we’re going to eat ice cream all afternoon!’
‘Yay!’ chorus Jared and Gracie from the back seat. ‘Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!’
It is for purely selfish reasons that Vicky has decided to go to the aquarium. She has opted out of all practices, all classes, all lessons today because she’s fed up with the routine. And after only two weeks, she thinks wryly. God alone knows how Amber puts up with it. And Vicky has always loved aquariums, finds something incredibly soothing about wandering round darkened rooms looking at fish. Even now she regularly goes to the London Aquarium by herself, and happily spends a few hours centring herself, always feeling infinitely better by the time she leaves.
They drive over to the Maritime Center in Norwalk, stopping at Mr Chubby’s en route for the first ice cream of the afternoon, then park in the car park where they join the masses of people all with the same idea – cooling off in the air-conditioned aquarium on a blisteringly hot day.
Gracie puts her little hand in Vicky’s, her other thumb firmly in her mouth as they wan
der round looking at the sea horses, stroking the stingrays, the kids bouncing with excitement when they find the tank full of the same fish as in Finding Nemo.
The turtles are enormous and majestic, the sharks eerily graceful, and as they step behind the jellyfish tank to sit and watch the jellyfish float up and down in their phosphorescent splendour, the children let out shouts of joy.
‘Daddy!’ they both yell, and run over to where Richard is sitting on a bench, gazing at the jellyfish, in his suit and tie, his briefcase by his feet, looking completely shell-shocked.
‘Richard?’ Now it is Vicky’s turn to be shell-shocked. ‘What are you doing here?’
And Richard, confident, gregarious, friendly Richard, for once seems entirely lost for words.
‘Let’s take the children for ice cream,’ he says eventually. ‘And I’ll explain.’
‘Ice cream! Ice cream!’ the children clamour, and even though they’ve just polished off a Mr Chubby’s special, Vicky concurs, because clearly Richard has some explaining to do, and if a little ice cream will help keep the children quiet, give Richard the time and space to say his piece, then so be it.
And the events of last night are well and truly forgotten. When Vicky does finally remember what so nearly happened, for a few seconds she wonders whether she did in fact dream it.
‘You what?’ Vicky says, the shock apparent on her face.
‘I lost my job,’ Richard says again, looking at the table, unable to look her in the eye.
‘But what do you mean, you lost your job? When? Why are you at the aquarium? I don’t understand. How could you have lost your job?’
‘I lost it six months ago,’ Richard says quietly as Vicky takes a sharp inhalation of breath and her mouth drops open in shock.
‘Six months?’ she repeats.
‘Yes. Six months ago. They’re downsizing. Last year wasn’t a great year, and they let a few of us go.’
‘But why doesn’t Amber know? I don’t understand how you can not tell anyone something like this. Six months? What, you leave for “work” every morning in your suit and it’s all a great big pretence? You spend your days here? That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘You’ve never been in my situation so don’t judge me,’ Richard says harshly and Vicky sits back and apologizes.
‘I have a wife and two children to support, not to mention living in Highfield, which isn’t quite as taxing on my pocket as Greenwich, but it’s getting there.’
‘But how do you… I mean, what about money? Do you have –’
‘The answer is not much. I got severance pay, sure, but not nearly as much as I expected, and not nearly enough to support our life here. We’re pretty much out of money now, and I haven’t been able to find another job, and I don’t know what I’m going to do.’
The fear suddenly shows on his face, and Vicky finds that she is no longer looking at Richard the man but at Richard the boy, and as she sits there her heart goes out to him.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispers. ‘But I can’t believe you haven’t told Amber. You’ve got to tell her.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But I don’t know how. She loves her life here, and she spends money like it’s water and there’s just nothing left. I’m putting more and more debt on the credit card and the stress I’m under is enormous. That’s why I go to the aquarium. It’s about the only place I can relax and not think about anything, just turn off and gaze at the jellyfish.’
Vicky smiles gently. ‘I know what you mean. But Amber loves you, she’ll understand.’
‘Of course she loves me, but we have to make big changes, and I’m not sure Amber is ready for that, I’m not sure that’s what she bargained for when she married me.’
‘I disagree,’ Vicky says. ‘She married you for better or worse, and anyway, Amber told me she didn’t come from money, so it isn’t as if she isn’t used to struggling a little bit.’
‘But that’s why she doesn’t want to go back there. She thought she’d be safe marrying a Winslow.’
‘And she is safe because you love her and isn’t that what really matters?’
‘Only in fairy tales. In real life what matters is that you love each other and you’re able to send your kids to private school, and if you choose public school then you’re able to supplement it with ballet and judo and Suzuki music classes and God knows what else. In real life you have to make sure your wife is dressed in the latest Pucci dress to keep up with the Suzys or Nadines,’ he says bitterly, ‘and you have to pay a fortune to the hottest interior designers of the moment just so everyone can come in and see that you were the idiots that paid a fortune for a heinous lilac living room.’
Vicky splutters with laughter. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry,’ she says, crestfallen. ‘I mean, what you’re saying is true, and it’s not funny, but your living room is rather heinous. I didn’t want to say anything…’
‘I know,’ Richard says, managing a small smile. ‘And all of that stuff means so much to Amber. I don’t know how to tell her we can’t afford it any more.’
‘What are you frightened of?’ Vicky asks gently. ‘What’s your worst fear?’
There’s a long silence. ‘I don’t know,’ he says eventually. ‘Maybe that she’ll leave.’
‘But you can’t carry on without her knowing. You have to tell her.’
‘And how do I do that during this Life Swap craziness? This isn’t the kind of thing that you can do over the phone.’
Vicky nods in agreement. ‘You know what?’ she says. ‘I think I’m done.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that we’ve been doing this for two weeks and I think it’s long enough. It’s a great experiment, and it’s taught me a couple of things. First, that it isn’t possible to really live another person’s life. Even if you’re wearing their clothes and doing all the things they do, you’re never really going to have a sense of how they live their lives; and secondly, it’s made me appreciate what I have. I always thought this was what I wanted, but now that I’m here I just want to go home. God knows how Amber is doing, but I’d be very surprised if she isn’t feeling the same thing. She’s left you and the children, for God’s sake; she’s probably ill with homesickness.
‘I’m going to call my editor in the morning,’ Vicky says firmly. ‘And tell her it’s enough. You need to tell Amber face to face and I need to go home.’
‘You would do that?’ Richard’s face is a combination of relief and fear.
‘I will do that. Just remember that old expression: there’s nothing to fear but fear itself. I promise you it won’t be as bad as you expect. You think that Amber is happy in Highfield but from everything she told me, she’s not as satisfied in her life as you think. God, no! Not you!’ Vicky says quickly, seeing Richard’s face fall. ‘Just this whole keeping up with the Joneses. It doesn’t make her as happy as you think. To be honest, my impression was she just doesn’t know how to extricate herself from it. Maybe this will be just what you need, both of you. Maybe you can start again somewhere else. Amber told me that the only reason she stayed in Highfield was because you needed to commute to the city.’
‘She did? I thought the only reason we stayed in Highfield was because she really loved it.’
‘Well at least this proves one thing,’ Vicky smiles. ‘The two of you really do need to talk.’
‘Darling!’ Janelle’s voice on the phone brings up a wave of affection in Vicky. ‘How is everything? And naughty you, phoning. You’re not supposed to be in touch with anyone here!’
‘I know, Janelle, and I’m sorry, but something’s come up,’ and Vicky proceeds to tell Janelle the story, only leaving out the part with her and Richard in the swimming pool.
When Janelle has stopped shivering with excitement – ‘Oh darling, what a fabulous story this is going to be!’ – she sighs. ‘Well I would prefer you to stay another couple of weeks but if you really think you’ve got enough for the story, then I suppose I co
uld talk to Amber and see how she feels. Such a shame, though, if she leaves. Stephen and I were planning on throwing a wonderful dinner party for her, although I suppose you could come instead and tell us all about it.’
Over in America Vicky rolls her eyes and grins. Nothing ever changes. ‘Would you talk to Amber and see if she’d come home?’ Vicky asks.
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Janelle says. ‘I can see her at your desk. Why don’t you ask her yourself?’
‘Amber Winslow,’ Amber picks up the phone sounding briskly professional.
‘Amber! It’s Vicky!’
There’s a pause. ‘I’m sorry. Vicky who?’
Vicky widens her eyes slightly. Two bloody weeks, she thinks, and now I’m Vicky who?
‘Vicky Townsley?’ she says, her voice slightly colder. ‘You know, your life swap?’
‘Oh Vicky!’ Amber gushes. ‘Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry. I thought you were a PR! Your phone never stops ringing with people calling from PR agencies. They’re driving me mad. How are you? And how are my children? And Richard? What are you doing calling me? I thought we weren’t allowed to make personal phone calls…’
‘I know all that,’ Vicky says. ‘And everyone is wonderful, they just miss you enormously. I think it’s been really hard on Gracie especially…’ Vicky hears Amber catch her breath.
‘The thing is,’ she continues, ‘I think I’ve really got enough. I mean, I’ve been here two weeks living your life, and whilst it’s been wonderful, I can’t see what’s going to happen in the next two weeks that will make the story any different or any better.’
‘So what are you trying to say?’
‘Well what I suppose I’m trying to say is, if you agree, could we cut it short and swap back now?’
‘How now?’ Amber asks. ‘You mean like tomorrow?’
‘Well yes. Not necessarily tomorrow, but sooner rather than later. To be honest, I just desperately miss my life, and I can’t see what either of us is going to get by doing this any longer. But obviously, if you disagree then we’ll stay.’
‘Disagree?’ Amber resists the urge to whoop for joy. ‘Are you crazy? I’m dying of homesickness and all I want to do is get back to my family. This is the best news ever! I’m coming home! Yahoo!’
