‘Vacant land?’ Vanessa runs a hand along the smooth, cool marble of the island, but her eyes are on the kitchen’s matching bi-fold doors. Or rather on Franny, who is nibbling at the overgrown grass.
‘The land between your property and the sanctuary is empty, so Stacey and Oliver are going to buy it and expand. There’ll be a new fence – a better, stronger one that Daisy won’t be able to exploit. There didn’t seem to be much point in putting up a new one before your garden was landscaped anyway. Oliver and Vincent agreed it would be best left until then.’
‘But it will be sorted before the party?’ Vanessa absently opens and closes a cupboard door.
‘The auction is next weekend.’ I hold up my entwined fingers. ‘So, if all goes well, the fence will be in place well before your guests arrive.’
Vanessa nods, eyes still on the donkey. ‘Right. Well, I think I’ve seen enough for now.’ She glances around the kitchen. ‘Are you sure the house will be ready in time? It seems like there’s an awful lot to do …’
‘Absolutely.’ I steer Vanessa back into the hallway at a gallop, heading straight for the front door before she changes her mind and asks to see upstairs. ‘This is just how refurbishments go. Slowly, slowly and then boom!’ I clap my hands together, but not too loudly in case it arouses intrigue from upstairs. ‘It comes together all at once.’
‘Hmm.’ Vanessa bites her lip. ‘I’ll pop over again next week, just to keep tabs on the progress. I need to get a feel for the place anyway so I can plan the party. Get Emma to book a time in the diary, okay?’
I nod, practically pushing Vanessa out of the door. If I can get her into her car without encountering the others, I’ll have survived to fight another day. I’ll worry about her next visit later.
‘You would tell me, if there was a problem, wouldn’t you?’ Vanessa is at the bottom of the steps. So close to her car, fob in hand.
‘Of course I would.’ The smile plastered to my face is making my cheeks ache. ‘But there’s absolutely nothing to worry about. Everything is on track.’
Vanessa nods once before she pushes down on the fob. I hold my breath until she’s climbed into the mini, checked her make-up in the rear-view mirror and set off along the drive. I’m almost blue in the face by the time the breath gusts from me and I suck in a lungful of fresh air, but at least she’s gone and I haven’t been rumbled.
*
I survived Vanessa’s visit, but I can’t completely relax just yet, even as I slide into a hot bubble bath later that evening. My body unwinds, my muscles unclenching as the water soothes them, but my mind is still a hive of activity as I try to figure out a way to explain to everyone who I really am. Because although I got away with it today, I doubt I’ll be so lucky next time. I have to come clean about my true identity, sooner rather than later, and definitely before my subterfuge is exposed. I’m hoping the builders will see the funny side, and that they’ll continue to give me the respect they show ‘Vanessa’.
Oh, who am I kidding? There’s still so much to do before the party deadline, and there’s no way I can keep them under control as my true self. Rebecca Riley has the authority of a wet blanket and Harvey will have Todd in a half nelson on the hallway floor before you can say ‘false identity’.
It’s all too tempting to let myself slip under the bubbly water, but fortunately there’s a knock at the front door that has me hauling my body from the tub. Wrapping myself in the nicely warmed towel from the rail, I head for the door, glad of the fire I lit earlier as I step into the toasty living room. Thanks to Oliver’s guidance, I haven’t set fire to the guesthouse in my bid to keep warm.
Checking the towel is secure, I open the door to find Oliver on the doorstep, brandishing a Battleships box.
‘We need a decider.’ He pushes the box towards me at the same time he registers the fact I’m wearing nothing but a towel. His face blanches as he takes a step back, his jaw almost dropping to the gravelled driveway, and I’m not sure whether he’s embarrassed or appalled by the sight of my near-nakedness. Either way, I jump behind the door so only my head is peeking out, which is probably what I should have done in the first place.
‘Sorry. I didn’t know that you, um …’ Oliver is scratching at the back of his neck but he stops to waft a hand in my direction. ‘I shouldn’t have just come here unannounced like a complete turnip. I’ll, er …’ He backs away further and is about to turn around when I open the door the tiniest fraction more.
‘Wait. You’re right, we do need a decider.’ Our board game scoresheet is currently one all after my victory at Scrabble in the pub last night. ‘And Battleships is an … interesting tiebreaker. Come in.’ Clamping a hand over my chest to ensure the towel remains in place, I swing the door open fully and step aside. ‘Give me five minutes? You can even put the kettle on while you wait.’ I grin at Oliver to mask how awkward I feel in my undressed state. It’s been a long time since anyone has seen me wearing so little, other than Lee who doesn’t respect boundaries.
Scuttling into the bedroom, I cringe when I spot my reflection in the full-length mirror attached to the wardrobe’s door. My skin is blotchy from the heat of the bath (plus the embarrassment reddening my cheeks further) and my hair is piled on top of my head like a particularly haphazard pineapple. No wonder Oliver had wanted to run a mile!
Pulling the bobble from my hair, I run my fingers through it as I head to the wardrobe and fling the door open. I’m all set with professional pieces but I really could do with something more casual to wear on occasions such as these. I’d had no idea I’d have anything resembling a social life when I’d shoved a few items in my holdall so a couple of pairs of leggings and a T-shirt or two will be on the top of my list when we go into town at the weekend.
I make do with a shirtdress and give my hair another ruffle before joining Oliver in the living room. He’s set up the game on the coffee table, placing two of the plumpest cushions on the floor at opposite sides, and there’s a steaming cup of tea waiting for me.
‘Have you eaten?’ I haven’t yet and my stomach is quietly grumbling. If I leave it much longer, it’ll be a full-on roar. ‘I can’t offer Michelin-style cooking, but I do have a selection of ready meals.’ I open the fridge with a flourish. Oliver joins me in the kitchen, his eyebrows rising when he clocks the rows of plastic trays.
‘You really don’t like cooking, do you?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t mind cooking. I’m no Nigella, but I usually do better than this.’ I point at the trays I stocked up on earlier. ‘But I’m not sure I trust the so-called fresh food from the mini-market. Furry tangerines may be a delicacy in Little Heaton, but I’ll pass, thanks.’
Oliver pulls a face. ‘I see your point. But we do get online deliveries, you know.’
‘You do?’ Why did nobody tell me this before I’d consumed more mediocre shepherd’s pies than you could shake a stick at? ‘Can you get Waitrose to deliver here?’
Oliver shrugs as he reaches for a lasagne. ‘I’m more of a Tesco man myself, but probably.’
‘Vanessa will be ecstatic if they do.’ I close my eyes as I realise what I’ve done. Bugger. ‘Because Vanessa can’t live without her Waitrose groceries.’ I place a hand on my chest and giggle, as though I’m some kooky idiot who talks about herself in the third person. Luckily, my phone starts to ring from where it’s charging on the breakfast bar and I lunge at it, flashing Oliver an apologetic face as I scuttle off to the bedroom, not because I want privacy for the call but because I need a moment to compose myself before I combust through sheer mortification.
What an idiot.
‘Emma, hi.’ I try to sound upbeat, but it’s quite difficult when you’re cringing so hard your face is in danger of turning itself inside out. ‘Where are you? It’s really noisy.’ I can hear the cacophony of numerous conversations taking place in a small space, made worse by an echo amplifying the din.
‘Sorry, I thought it would be quieter in the loos, but I think the entire female p
opulation of the Greater Manchester area has squeezed itself in here. Give me a sec.’ I can hear Emma excusing herself and I can imagine her battling through the crowds. The noise is suddenly deafening, and I’m about to tell Emma it’s much worse when it dies down again and all I can hear is the occasional car driving past.
‘Better?’
‘Much.’ I flop onto the bed, laying back so I’m looking up at the ceiling. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m outside the club. It’s way too busy inside. It’s like Black Friday in there, but with free drinks instead of discounted TVs.’
‘You’re at a club on a work night?’ That isn’t like Emma at all. We sometimes go for an after-work drink, but it’s only ever a quick one in a pub close to the office.
‘I know, madness, isn’t it?’ Emma giggles. ‘It’s this mega exclusive place, where all the celebs are supposed to start hanging out. It’s the opening night and Tyler managed to get us all tickets. Sonia’s trying to cop off with some bloke from Emmerdale.’ Emma giggles again and I feel a pang of jealousy that I’m not there with them. I don’t particularly want to hang out with celebs, and I definitely don’t want to watch Sonia snogging a soap actor (or trying her best to), but I do want to feel like part of the team. I feel out of the loop. Forgotten.
‘Anyway, I’ve only just got your message to ring you back. Sorry. It’s so manic at the moment.’
I sit up on the bed, pulling my knees up to my chest. My Mickey Mouse plasters are starting to curl at the edges after my bath. Am I pathetic for mourning the days when I was a top priority for my best friend, before she started to shine in the eyes of our boss while I’m tucked away out of sight and mind? Yes, I probably am pathetic.
‘Vanessa’s free on Tuesday next week if that’s okay with you?’
I start to pick at the Mickey Mouse plaster. ‘Sure.’
‘Is everything okay?’ Emma’s voice is so soothing, so like my usual, comforting best friend, it makes me feel pathetic all over again.
‘Everything’s fine.’ I try to pump some cheer into my voice, to be more gracious. I shouldn’t begrudge my friend her chance to shine. ‘I’m just tired. You go and enjoy your night. Make the most of it.’
‘Are you sure?’ Emma is hesitant, and I know that if she were here, she’d have her arm around me, doing everything in her power to make me feel better.
‘I’m sure. In fact, I’ve got a date with a ready meal and a game of Battleships.’
Emma puffs out a confused-sounding laugh. ‘Okay. That sounds … fun. I’ll give you a call tomorrow. Fill you in on how Sonia gets on with her soap star.’
‘I can’t wait.’ Hopping off the bed, I say goodbye to Emma and head back into the living room to kick some Battleships butt, which does sound fun and more up my street than the opening of some swanky club.
Chapter 25
‘Why don’t we make this more interesting?’
We’re sitting on the sofa, facing each other from opposite ends while our feet meet in the middle, because it was too uncomfortable sitting on the floor, even with plump cushions. My feet are bare while Oliver is wearing thick woollen socks, and the urge to dig my toes into the baby-soft wool is strong but I force myself to focus on Oliver’s words instead.
‘How do you mean?’ I reach for my glass of wine, careful not to flash my battleship placements to Oliver.
‘Why don’t we make a new rule?’ Oliver eyes me over the top of his Battleships board and I pull a face. We’re a few moves into the game but there hasn’t been a hit yet.
‘We’re not playing strip Battleships.’ I shake my head and plonk my wine back down on the coffee table, in case I drink too much and actually agree to go along with it. ‘No way.’
Oliver barks out a laugh. ‘That isn’t what I was going to suggest, but now you mention it …’ He grins at me over the board so I toss a scatter cushion at him. It misses by a mile, landing behind the sofa, which makes him laugh even harder.
‘What new rule then?’
Oliver shifts into a more comfortable position, his foot brushing against mine. The wool really is super-soft. ‘I was thinking that whenever one of our ships is sunk, we have to tell the other person a secret or confession.’
‘What, like truth or dare?’
‘I guess.’ Oliver shrugs. ‘But without the dares.’
‘What if I don’t have any secrets?’ This is obviously a hypothetical question, because I have a massive secret, but I’m not sure a game of Battleships is the best scenario for admitting I’m not really Vanessa.
‘Then I’ll ask you a question and you have to answer honestly.’
‘Why would we do this?’
Oliver shrugs. ‘I guess I’m intrigued by you.’
‘By me?’ I snort. Why would anybody’s interest be piqued by me?
‘Yes, by you. I want to see what makes you tick, because I can’t work you out. I’ve heard all these things about you …’ I raise an eyebrow to perfection. I’ve been practising in the mirror. ‘Not all of it good. In fact, none of it good.’ Oliver grins at me, but I doubt he’s kidding. ‘But then you turn up and you’re not as bad as I was expecting.’
I splutter a laugh. ‘If that isn’t a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re more fun than I thought you’d be – except when you yell at us for slacking, obviously.’
‘Duh.’ I nudge Oliver with my foot. ‘Then stop slacking.’
‘And you do these random acts of kindness. Bacon butties, regular rounds with your tea tray, threatening to nail Harvey’s bollocks to the wall if he performs one more atomic leg drop on Todd. That poor boy was tortured before you came along.’
‘Okay, but why would I agree to play with your new rule?’
Oliver holds his arms out wide. ‘Aren’t you intrigued about the hidden depths of this handsome chap?’
I groan and cover my eyes with one hand. ‘Fine, go on then.’ I must be mad agreeing to this, but it does sound kind of fun.
‘Yes!’ Oliver rubs his hands together, the movement almost causing his board to topple off his lap. ‘Whose turn was it?’
I stretch my legs out a little more and lean back against the cushions. ‘Yours.’
‘Okay, here goes.’ Oliver taps the top of his board for a moment, figuring out his strategy. ‘F5.’
I consult my own board and try to keep a neutral face before I give my verdict. ‘Miss.’ I waste no time before giving my own coordinates. ‘I7.’
‘Miss. C5.’
‘Miss.’ I like how Oliver doesn’t mess around, but I don’t tell him so. I also don’t tell him just how close he was to a hit. ‘D3.’
‘Miss. I5.’
Damn it! Not only is it a hit, it’s a hit on my biggest ship. I’m fuming inside, but I don’t allow it to surface.
‘Hit.’ I say the word with an air of indifference that belies the rage going on inside my head. I don’t want Oliver to see how ruffled I am as I pick up a red peg and jab it into my battleship.
‘Yes!’ Oliver can’t contain his glee as he gives a little wiggle of victory as he plucks his own red peg from his tray. I need to locate and sink one of Oliver’s ships before he takes mine down – there’s no way I want to be the first to reveal a secret. Oliver delivers a second blow to my ship before I manage a hit of my own. He still has three hits until I sink, so if I’m onto a smaller ship, I still stand a chance. I go to take a sip of my wine, but the glass is empty. When did that happen?
‘I believe G6 is a hit?’ I return the glass to the coffee table without refilling it.
‘You sank my battleship.’ The smile has completely vanished from Oliver’s face as he plucks a red peg from his tray, but his features lift when he consults his board. ‘I2, which I believe is not only a hit but a devastating hit.’ He grabs another red peg but I hold up a finger to stop him.
‘I believe, having sunk your ship, you owe me a confession.’
The smile drops from Oliv
er’s face again. ‘I do, don’t I?’ He drops the peg back into the tray. ‘Whose stupid idea was this confession thing again?’ He gives a wry smile as he reaches for the bottle of wine, refilling his glass. I go to stop him when he stretches towards my glass but change my mind. I’m feeling pretty chilled out right now, despite the upcoming secret I’m going to have to divulge. I’m hoping Oliver’s secret will be minor – pocketing a couple of penny sweets from the mini market during his youth – so I can get away with something insignificant too.
‘Right then. A confession.’ Oliver takes a gulp of wine before settling back down against the sofa cushions. ‘Okay, here goes.’ Oliver takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye. ‘I’ve been single for four and a half years. I haven’t been on a single date since things ended with my ex.’
‘Why not?’ I can’t believe it’s due to lack of interest from the opposite sex – the man is hot.
Oliver grins at me. ‘Sink another ship and I might tell you.’ He picks up a red peg and wiggles it at me. ‘I think I’m going to plump for I2.’
I gulp down half of my glass of wine, dragging out this moment, because we both know I’m sunk. Oliver wiggles in his seat, a grin spreading across his face.
‘Come on, spill.’
‘Fine.’ I shrug, taking inspiration from Oliver’s own confession. ‘I’ve been single for three years. There are no big secrets though, I’m afraid, and I have been on dates since but they haven’t evolved into anything. I was with Daniel for a year and a half through uni, then we went our separate ways. Daniel went back to Newcastle and I stayed in Manchester.’
‘Didn’t he ask you to go with him? Or what about a long-distance relationship? Newcastle isn’t that far away in the grand scheme of things.’
I shake my head. ‘It was never that serious between us. I think we both just liked having a comfort blanket while we were away from home.’
‘God, that sounds grim.’
The Accidental Life Swap Page 15
