I decide to work from one end of the coffee table to the other, picking up the box file furthest left and settling down on the sofa with it. The box is only just keeping hold of its latch as the contents fight for freedom, and it pings open almost before I even touch the button. There’s an invoice on the top, dated two weeks ago. I need to mark the box accordingly and I’m wondering if the mini market on the high street sells sticky labels or even Sharpie pens as I idly flick through the papers, but all thoughts of stationery fall from my mind as I take in the absolute horror show before me.
What the hell?
This isn’t a box file of invoices. Yes, there are invoices in here, but there are also scribbled-on to-do lists, rough costings, quotes and contracts. It’s a jumble of paperwork and not one piece of it seems to be in any sort of order, not even date-wise. Grabbing the next box, I’m equally as horrified to find another administration mishmash. The third box is the same and I want to weep after a quick peep into the wallets. It’s a random, unorganised mess and I have to somehow make sense of it all. I’m going to need more than sticky labels and Sharpie pens to get this job done.
Panic is building up inside me, threatening to burst forth like the paperwork spilling from the box files. I’d thought I was in trouble when I’d been thrown into the deep end of this project without any kind of floating device, but it turns out it’s the paperwork that’s going to drown me.
I’ve read so many self-help books over the past couple of years and I’m trying to conjure their advice as my body threatens to give in to the distress of the situation. I can’t let this beat me. I have to focus on the big picture. My career. The promotion I will have more than earned if I pull this off. The new, Lee-free home I won’t have to dread going back to. I have to do this, somehow. There is no other option.
Gritting my teeth with determination, I grab the nearest box file and march over to the breakfast bar. I will sort this mess out, one sheet of paper at a time. Invoices will go in one clearly marked box, organised by date and then I’ll categorise every other bit of paperwork there is, no matter how long it takes me.
The panic subsides as I get to work. I have a clear plan and I’m focused on the task at hand, even if I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do with all this paperwork once it’s organised to within an inch of its life. I get through the first box relatively quickly, so I’m feeling pretty gratified with my efforts as I grab the first handful of papers from the next one. I can do this. I’ve spent the past three years organising Vanessa’s work life, so I can certainly bring a bit of order to this mess. I’m actually feeling on the verge of smug as I swiftly send each piece of paperwork to its corresponding pile on the breakfast bar like a Vegas poker dealer – whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, next set of papers, please! But one set of papers drains every bit of complacency away and I feel the panic start to simmer again. This is a to-do list, which isn’t unusual as Nicole has made lots of them, bullet-pointing every minute detail of the project, which will come in handy once I decipher her scribbled notes and diagrams. But this to-do list is different to the rest. It’s legible, for a start, and printed from a spreadsheet. And it’s also dated, each job broken down and allocated a time and date. This must be a culmination of all the scrappy to-do lists currently piled up on the breakfast bar, neatly presented and up to date. Which is terrifying because, according to the timeline, the project is currently three weeks behind schedule and there’s no way it’ll be ready in time for Vanessa’s all-important housewarming party. And if Vanessa did indeed fire Nicole for falling behind schedule, there’s no reason at all she won’t fire me when I fail to live up to her expectations too.
Chapter 16
This is not good. Not good at all. The only reason I’m here at all is because Vanessa is desperate for the party to go ahead as arranged, and although being behind schedule isn’t my fault as the delays didn’t take place on my watch, I know this won’t matter to Vanessa. She wants that party, no matter what, and if I can’t deliver a completed house, I will have failed in my mission and can kiss goodbye to that promotion and, like my predecessor, my job.
Still clutching the printed-out schedule, I walk zombie-like to the sofa and flop down, my whole body crumpling with defeat. Three weeks. I can’t make up that time. It would mean non-stop graft from the builders and no-nonsense management to keep them on an even tighter leash, and I don’t have it in me. Right now, those guys are scoffing bacon sandwiches and, more than likely, using the hallway as a makeshift wrestling ring because although I’m waltzing around the place pretending to be Vanessa, I’m not her and I don’t really have the prestige she has or the ability to terrify people into carrying out her bidding. Because if Vanessa were here, she’d have those guys working their little socks off until the job was done, with time to spare. She wouldn’t be sitting on the sofa about to sob because all her hopes and dreams had just flown right out of the window.
My fingers release their grip on the papers and they drop onto my lap, slowly sliding until they flutter to the ground. My promotion. Moving out of the flat. It’s all been snatched away and it isn’t even my fault. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have stood my ground, because at least then I wouldn’t have failed before I’d even really begun.
I need to speak to Vanessa and admit the original timescale isn’t going to happen. She won’t be happy – far from it – but I can’t bury my head in the sand, especially as she’s coming to visit on Monday and she’ll see for herself that the development isn’t as far along as it should be. Honesty has to count for something, right?
I know I’m kidding myself, as evidenced by my trembling hand when I reach for my phone. Vanessa won’t care about honesty. She’ll care that someone – anyone, it doesn’t matter who – has stuffed up her plans and she’ll have to push back the party. My thumb hovers over the call button. She’ll be livid at having to reschedule the party and I’ll be on the receiving end of her fury, however unjust. She’ll pour every last bit of venom down this phone line, and she won’t hesitate over getting rid of another project manager. But if I don’t let her know now, if I put it off until she sees for herself on Monday, I will still have to face her wrath eventually. I may as well get it over and done with, no matter how much I’m shaking at the prospect.
Taking a deep breath, I jab my thumb at the button, squeezing my eyes tight as I press the phone to my ear.
‘Good morning. Vanessa Whitely Events!’
My breath rushes out of my body so fast it makes me feel a little bit woozy, and I collapse against the sofa cushions. Although I’d dialled Vanessa’s direct number, it’s Emma’s upbeat voice that has answered, giving me a few more precious seconds before the onslaught begins.
‘Hi, Emma. It’s Rebecca.’ I try to sound brave but my voice starts to crack and I know I’m going to fall to pieces as soon as Vanessa is on the other end of the line. I haven’t felt this scared since my dad found out I’d only got a D in my mock GCSE for maths. Still, that had worked out in the end. Sort of. I’d worked really hard and managed to scrape a B in the final exams, even if Dad saw that as a failure just because my super-brainy sister absolutely smashed her way through her exams.
‘Is everything okay, chick?’ Emma’s voice is soft and soothing, which only makes me crumble even more. I know that if she were here in Little Heaton, she’d have her arms around me and a tissue at the ready while the kettle boiled for a comforting cup of tea in the background.
‘Not really.’ I draw my knees up to my chin and wrap my free arm around my shins, pulling them in tight. ‘I need to speak to Vanessa.’
‘She isn’t in the office at the moment. Tyler came to take her for an early lunch.’ Emma giggles and I find my lips twitching at the sound, even if I don’t manage an actual smile. ‘Although I don’t think they actually had food in mind. I don’t expect her back for a while, if at all today.’ There’s the sound of clicking in the background. ‘In fact, it looks like she’s cleared her diary for the afternoon. Wow, I didn’t think she even
knew how to work her diary. She’s had me doing everything for her this week. Honestly, I don’t know how you cope with her. I’m exhausted! When are you coming back again?’ Emma giggles again, clearly kidding about that last part, but it only reminds me of the mess I’m in.
‘I’m not sure I will be, actually.’ I take a deep, shaky breath and will the tears to hold off for now.
‘What do you mean?’
Squeezing my eyes shut again, I take another deep breath before I tell Emma about the files, including the plan that is way behind schedule, and the real reason Nicole needed replacing at such short notice. Of course, I don’t let slip that I’m pretending to be Vanessa.
‘Oh, chick.’ Emma tuts. ‘Don’t you feel bad about any of this. It isn’t your fault at all. You know that, don’t you?’
‘It doesn’t matter what I think. Vanessa is going to be so mad, and we all know how unreasonable she can be. I’m going to get it full-force, whether it’s my fault or not.’
‘Hmm, you’re probably right.’ Emma’s words are like a punch to the stomach, even though she’s only echoing my own thoughts. ‘But maybe she doesn’t have to know.’
I snort. ‘I think she’ll be a tad suspicious when she and her guests arrive for a housewarming party and they find the house is only half-finished.’
‘Not if you get the project back on track.’
I laugh, but the sound is void of any hint of humour. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re three weeks behind.’ Springing forward, I grab the schedule from the floor. ‘Next week, we’re supposed to be installing the white goods, except there isn’t a kitchen to install them in. The floor isn’t even finished yet!’ I frisbee the schedule towards the coffee table but it sails past and smacks into the log burner. If only I’d figured out how to light it, because burning the damn thing would at least be cathartic.
‘Come on, Rebecca.’ Emma’s soothing tone has disappeared and has been replaced with something more robust and rousing. ‘You’ve got this. You’re the most organised person I know – I’m sitting in Vanessa’s office right now, so I can see what a tight ship you run. Vanessa would be lost without you on a permanent basis, even if she doesn’t realise it.’
‘But being a PA and a project manager are two completely different things.’
‘Are they that different, though? Okay, so you have to manage a slightly bigger team, but you’re organised and hardworking and far more capable than you think you are. You’re so talented, which is why you can’t give up now.’
‘You really think I can do this?’ It would be nice not to unleash the dragon in Vanessa, and it’d mean I could show her that she can trust me with more than filing, but there’s so much to do and not enough time to do it in. I’d have to redo Nicole’s schedule, set new goals and ask an awful lot of Vincent and the team. I’d have to go into full-on Vanessa mode to get the job done, especially with Oliver, who clearly despises me already. I’d have to be bold and demanding and everything I’m programmed not to be.
‘I really think you can do this.’ Emma’s tone is firm and I find myself nodding along.
‘I can do this.’ I stand up, my free hand planted on my hip. ‘I’m going to do this.’
Emma whoops. ‘Good girl!’
‘There’s just one problem.’ I slump onto the sofa again. ‘Vanessa’s visiting on Monday. She’s bound to want to look at the plans and see where we’re up to.’
‘Leave that with me, chick.’ I can hear the tapping of a keyboard in the background. ‘I’ll create a diversion or an emergency or something to keep her away.’
‘You think you can pull it off?’
‘Absolutely. You concentrate on getting that house party-ready and leave Vanessa to me.’
A minute or two ago, I was in desperate need of a comforting hug, but now I’m all fired up. I’m going to do this. I’m going to channel every bit of Vanessa Whitely that I can and whip those boys into an efficient, diligent dream team. The party is firmly back on track – and hopefully it’ll bring that promotion with it.
Chapter 17
I spend the rest of the morning organising the files, and I pore over every to-do list, deciphering Nicole’s own brand of shorthand code, until I have a better grasp of where we’re up to in the development. The white goods are being delivered on Thursday, to be installed in a kitchen that was supposed to be fitted and plumbed in three weeks ago. According to Nicole’s paperwork, the plumber and electrician are due to start work on the kitchen, bathrooms and heating system on Monday, after already being rescheduled due to the backlog of work still to be done. The fixed flooring needs to be completed before they arrive, otherwise it’ll mean more delays.
‘Nope.’ Vincent shakes his head when I ask if the flooring will be finished for Monday morning. ‘No way. We’re looking at Tuesday at the earliest.’
Tuesday is no good, and there’s no way Vanessa would accept the answer being given if it didn’t suit her agenda. Lifting my chin, I adopt Vanessa’s no-nonsense tone. ‘The thing is, Vincent, we can’t go ahead with the kitchen and bathrooms until the floors are laid.’ Why Vanessa couldn’t stick down lino like the rest of us instead of having ceramic tiles and flagstones laid, I’ll never know. ‘So we’re going to have to work something out.’ I narrow my eyes ever so slightly as I observe the builder, the silence growing uncomfortable around us. It’s a trick Vanessa uses, and it always works back in the office. Her silent rages are far scarier than her most boisterous rantings.
‘I suppose we could put some overtime in.’ He scratches at his armpit. ‘Stay behind a bit later in the evenings.’
‘That’s a start.’
‘A start?’ Vincent frowns. ‘What else do you want us to do?’
I smile at Vincent, but there is no warmth there. ‘I’m so glad you asked, Vincent. And here come your workforce, just in time.’ Todd, Harvey and Oliver have wandered into the hallway to go on their lunchbreak, but I’m not ready to let them go just yet. ‘Gather round, guys. It’s about time you learned what Vanessa Whitely is all about.’
*
My legs are still a little wobbly as I make my way across the canal’s footbridge, as though my kneecaps have been replaced with soggy sponges, but I allow myself a small whoop of victory after making sure there’s nobody in sight, my bunched fists thrown up towards the cloudy sky. I did it! I went into full-on Vanessa mode, telling those builders what was to happen next, leaving no doubt that my wishes were their command. Every last flagstone and ceramic tile will be laid by Monday morning, no matter what. If it means working well into the night, so be it. If it means starting at the crack of dawn, they will do it. And if they have to work every single hour during the weekend, that is what they will do. The builders did their best to wriggle out of the last one, but I was firm. Unmoving. I was bloody amazing. I may as well have been possessed by the actual spirit of Vanessa the way I stood my ground and I couldn’t be prouder of myself, even if the confrontation has shaken me to the core. I hid my uneasiness at the conflict well, keeping my trembling hands tucked under my armpits as I crossed my arms in a steady stance until I was out of sight. Only then did my body crumple, with only the wall to the side of the house keeping me upright. A few deep breaths and a wipe of my brow later and I was ready for the next stage of my plan. Just about.
My knees have stopped knocking by the time I make it to the high street, where I rush straight to the charity shop. If I’m going to do this, if I’m going to drag this project back on track, I need to be in Little Heaton for the duration. I can’t waste time trekking back to Manchester, which means I’m going to need a few more outfits to tide me over. My fingers are mentally crossed as I push the door to the charity shop open, hoping that the bag of clothes out the back is still here and hasn’t been snapped up, because I’m going to struggle otherwise. I’m all for staying in the village but if it means sporting calf-length pleated skirts in a palette of beiges and browns and scratchy jumpers, I’ll have to re-evaluate my plan.
I head for the window display, hoping to see another modern outfit on the mannequin but she’s dressed in an embroidered blouse and a voluminous skirt that I can’t imagine was ever in fashion. I can’t see anything contemporary on the rails, so either the bag of clothes hasn’t been sorted out yet, it’s all been sold, or the leather skirt was an anomaly.
‘Looking for anything in particular?’
I turn away from the rail of woollen cardigans to see Mrs McColl striding towards me. There’s a moment of recognition, where she blinks rapidly at me before she twitches the briefest smile at me like she’s got a tic.
‘I didn’t expect to see you in here.’ She changes course, circumnavigating a rail of bedding and curtains and stopping in front of a bookcase. ‘Thought you’d be into all that designer gear. Not that you’ll find any of that in Little Heaton.’ She tuts loudly as she picks up a haphazard pile of novels and slots them back into place on the shelf.
I shrug. ‘I like to support local businesses, especially charities. That’s why I’ve been helping out at the animal sanctuary.’
Mrs McColl dusts off her hands as she walks towards me again. ‘I suppose you have shown your charitable side, though from what I’ve heard, it isn’t in abundance very often.’ There’s that tic of a smile again, as though she hasn’t just insulted me. I guess she’s heard about the Nicole thing too. ‘Now, what can I help you with today?’
‘I bought a leather skirt and a top this morning.’ I point towards the window, even though the mannequin now looks like her earlier guise’s great-aunt.
‘And you wish to return them?’ Mrs McColl heaves a sigh as she heads towards the counter. ‘I take it you have the receipt? Because I can’t give you a refund without one, I’m afraid.’
The Accidental Life Swap Page 10
