The Accidental Life Swap

by Jennifer Joyce

  I shake my head again. ‘It wasn’t. It was lovely. Daniel was a great guy.’

  ‘But it hardly sounds like a passion-filled relationship.’

  I shrug. ‘Maybe not, but I don’t regret it. The question is, do you regret your last relationship? Because it’s obviously had a big impact.’

  Oliver taps his board. ‘No freebies. You’ve got to sink another ship first.’

  It takes three turns before I manage to hit another ship, and another five before I sink it.

  ‘Right then, mister.’ I grab my glass of wine and settle down against the sofa cushions. ‘Fess up.’

  ‘Okay.’ Oliver shifts in his seat and I’m not sure whether his discomfort is physical or because he’s about to reveal something deep and meaningful. ‘My last relationship ended four and a half years ago when I asked her to marry me.’

  Chapter 26

  Deep and meaningful it is then, because proposing to someone is a biggie, especially if they turn you down.

  ‘She said no?’ I honestly don’t understand why anybody would. Not only is Oliver extremely easy on the eye, he’s also fun and caring. Even when he despised me, he still made sure I got home relatively safely from the pub and patched my knee up afterwards. Plus, he hasn’t mentioned my clumsy attempt to kiss him, which makes him pretty gentlemanly in my books.

  ‘She said maybe.’

  ‘Maybe?’ I frown. ‘What kind of wishy-washy answer is that?’

  Oliver smiles, but it’s forced and there’s sorrow behind his eyes. ‘It’s the kind of answer you give when you’re already married.’

  My eyes widen and I hear myself sucking in a breath. ‘No. Did you know? About the husband?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Lines burrow deep into Oliver’s forehead as he reaches for his glass of wine. ‘I had no idea, which I feel pretty stupid about, looking back. I should have known.’ He takes a sip of wine and although I have a million questions buzzing around my head, I keep quiet. ‘Lottie never answered when I called – I always had to wait until she got in touch – and she never introduced me to her friends or family. She said her parents were dead and she didn’t see much of her brothers and sister. She never let me visit her because she was embarrassed by the hovel she lived in, so she’d always come and stay with me.’

  ‘No offence, but this is a tiny village. How did she get away with it?’

  ‘She didn’t live in Little Heaton.’ Oliver returns his glass to the coffee table. It’s empty. ‘She said she lived in Macclesfield, though how true that is I don’t know. I don’t know if anything she told me was true. I trusted her completely and she made an absolute mug out of me.’

  ‘How long were you together?’

  ‘Almost two years.’

  Ouch. ‘And what happened after you proposed?’

  Oliver shakes the last drops of wine into his glass. There’s another bottle in the fridge but I’m not sure we should open it. Getting drunk is never the answer, even if it helps for a little while.

  ‘She told me about her husband.’ Oliver screws ups his face, squeezing his eyes shut. ‘And their kids.’

  Shifting my Battleships board onto the coffee table, I head into the kitchen and return with the other bottle of wine.

  ‘She said she loved me but she couldn’t marry me yet.’ Oliver gives a cheerless laugh. ‘Like I’d marry her after that little confession.’

  ‘You must have been heartbroken.’ I top up both our glasses and settle myself back on the sofa.

  ‘I was devastated. But I also felt like a massive idiot. I mean, you hear about businessmen who lead double lives, setting up homes in different parts of the country, but I never expected to be on the receiving end. I was humiliated. Which is why I’ve never told anybody the real reason we split up. Not even Stace.’

  Wow. That’s some major confession, so whatever I come up with next must somehow match its importance. I don’t think admitting that I’ve never watched an episode of Game of Thrones will cut it.

  ‘So that’s why you’ve put dating on the backburner.’

  Oliver nods. ‘It’s pretty hard to put your trust in someone after something like that.’

  Our feet are meeting in the middle of the sofa, but the contact doesn’t seem enough. I want to reach across the short distance and give Oliver’s knee a reassuring squeeze, or hold his hand. Anything to take some of the burden. Instead, with the image of Oliver’s rejection the other night in my mind, I pick up my glass of wine.

  ‘Why do you think you were able to tell me about Lottie but not your sister? I mean, you don’t even like me, so why trust me with your secret?’

  ‘I do like you.’

  I quirk an eyebrow as I take a sip of my wine. I’m getting pretty good at this eyebrow stuff.

  ‘Okay, maybe I don’t like some of your actions – sacking Nicole for one. And those emails you sent Vince in the beginning were pretty brutal. You really know how to alienate people, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘That still doesn’t answer my question though.’ I need to sidestep away from these emails, because I have no idea what they contained and I don’t want to trip myself up. ‘Why did you tell me about Lottie?’

  Oliver lifts up his Battleships board. ‘It’s in our new rules.’

  I shake my head. ‘You could have told me anything. Like the time you borrowed your sister’s prized mood ring and lost it somewhere between home and school.’ I shrug as Oliver tilts his head to one side. ‘I was seven and it was way too big. I did look for it, but it’d disappeared. Kate still doesn’t know what happened to that mood ring …’

  ‘That doesn’t count as one of your confessions, you know.’

  My mouth gapes at Oliver, but I have to concede; it hardly compares to his deep and meaningful revelation. ‘Fine. Anyway, stop evading my question. Why me?’

  Oliver looks down at his Battleships board. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because we barely know each other. I’m not sure I want Stace to know how much of a failure I am.’ He gives a one-shouldered shrug, his eyes still fixed on his board. ‘Or maybe, despite everything, you seem like a trustworthy person. A good listener. Non-judgemental. I’ve just told you my deepest, darkest secret but it doesn’t seem like you think any less of me.’

  ‘Why would I? What happened was hardly your fault.’

  ‘See.’ Oliver looks up from his board to beam at me. ‘My instincts were right. Now, come on. Let’s get on with the game, otherwise I’ll be sneaking down the lane during the early hours and setting off the rumour mill again.’

  I’ve never resigned from a game before – that would have been a cardinal sin according to Dad – but I’m starting to wonder if now would be a good time to forfeit. But no, I can’t do it. Oliver has revealed something he’s kept hidden from those closest to him, so I have to be as true to my word.

  ‘I haven’t spoken to my dad for about six years.’

  I feel a huge wave of shame shower down on me as I say the words. My dad is so ashamed of me, he’s refused any attempt at contact since I left for university. He won’t pick up the phone when he knows it’s me, hangs up if I manage to deceive him by using a withheld or unknown number, and has yet to acknowledge any of the emails or letters I’ve sent over the years. In the end, I gave up trying.

  ‘And the worst bit is, I’m glad. I feel freer without him now.’ My gaze drops to my Battleships board, to my duo of sunken ships.

  ‘Why did you stop talking? Did you have a fight?’

  I shift position, my eyes still focusing on the ships and pegs on my board so I don’t have to meet Oliver’s eye. I’ve never spoken about Dad to anyone. Not even to Emma or my sister. Kate is too similar to Dad and sees me as the failed sister. I’m not as smart as her, not as driven or ambitious and we’ve never been on the same wavelength.

  ‘Dad and I don’t – didn’t – fight. He laid down the law and I followed it without comment. Except when it came to my choice of degree. Dad’s a doctor, you see, and so was his father a
nd his grandfather. My sister’s a doctor and studying medicine was expected of me too.’ I finish off my glass of wine, and when Oliver goes to refill it, it doesn’t even occur to me to stop him. ‘But I didn’t want to go into medicine. I wanted to do anything other than medicine, so when I told him I was doing a degree in events management, he was livid. Proper livid. Scary livid.’

  Oliver frowns. ‘Did he hurt you?’

  I shake my head. ‘Dad’s controlling and a bully, but he never hit me. But I’d never stood up to him, never gone against his wishes – nobody did, except Mum, who eventually had enough and left. But I think he could see there was no way I was going to back down on this one.’ He’d threatened me with everything he had at his disposal; he’d disown me, cut me off financially, pack my bags and toss them onto the street himself. But still I refused to bend to his will, so in the end he told me to go, to get the ‘silly little degree’ and see where it led me. Nowhere, was his prediction.

  ‘He must see how successful you’ve become though. Doesn’t that count for anything?’

  I’m confused for a moment. What success? I live in a squalid flat-share and I’m yet to put my degree to good use. But then I realise that’s Rebecca’s life, not Vanessa’s. I’ve accidentally slipped back into reality but it’s time to return to the charade I’ve been playing for the past few days.

  ‘I’m nowhere near a success in Dad’s eyes. My sister, now she’s a triumph according to Dad. She has it all – the career, the husband, the stature. But this …’ I indicate the guesthouse and beyond. ‘This means nothing to Dad. The business I’ve built up means nothing.’

  ‘But you must have built it pretty quickly if you only set it up three years ago? That’s got to count for something?’

  I almost choke on the sip of wine I’ve just taken. Why do my lies have to keep sneaking up on me? ‘It’s medicine or nothing, I’m afraid. I could be a millionaire and it wouldn’t make a scrap of difference.’

  ‘It would be quite nice though, eh?’ Oliver raises his glass of wine.

  ‘Absolutely.’ I clink my glass against his and gulp the rest down.

  ‘Do you miss him?’

  I take a moment to consider the question, my fingers fiddling with the white pegs in the little tray on my lap. ‘I think I miss the idea of him. I don’t miss his rules or the yelling or the way he’d belittle us. I don’t miss his drinking or the rages, but I miss having a dad, you know?’

  ‘What about your mum?’

  I smile sadly. ‘We talk, but only occasionally. She left Dad when I was little, which I totally get. He isn’t the easiest person to live with. But she met someone else and sort of just got on with her life without me and Kate. We aren’t close, unsurprisingly.’

  ‘Are you close with your sister?’

  I think of all the missed and cancelled calls from Kate over the past few days and shake my head. ‘We’re too different. I don’t think there’s a way to bridge that.’

  Luckily, Oliver lightens the mood by confessing next that he once attended a Sugababes concert (‘It was a birthday treat for Stace. I was being a good big brother, that’s all’), which paves the way for me to admit my teenage crush on George Dawes.

  Oliver leans back against the sofa cushions and gives me an odd look. ‘Matt Lucas’ character from Shooting Stars?’

  I cover my face with my hands and groan. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Oliver is trying – and failing – not to laugh.

  ‘I know.’ My hands are still in situ, covering my shame as I let out another groan.

  ‘He was dressed as a baby. What is wrong with you?’

  I catch Oliver’s eye and we both crack up – perhaps a bit too much on Oliver’s part – before moving on to other embarrassing admissions; Oliver had such a huge crush on his school’s textiles teacher, he took a GCSE in the subject, put up with relentless teasing for two years and failed miserably because he can’t even thread a needle. I was so nervous before my maths GCSE I chucked up in a bin in front of the whole school year. Oliver once threw up on a girl on an Alton Towers ride.

  And so it goes on, even after the ships are obliterated and the wine is all gone. We make each other laugh with our tales of embarrassment and indignity until Oliver reluctantly drags himself off the sofa.

  ‘What happens in Battleships stays in Battleships, right?’ It’s pitch black outside and a gust of wind whips into the guesthouse as Oliver opens the door.

  ‘Of course.’ There’s no way I want anybody knowing that I once had a crush on a giant, drum-playing baby. Oliver’s secrets are definitely safe with me.

  ‘Tonight’s been really fun.’ Oliver stoops to kiss me on the cheek. It’s an unexpected gesture and I feel heat creep up my neck and start to engulf my entire face. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Bright and early.’ I adopt a mock-stern tone to deflect from my reddening cheeks.

  With a wave, Oliver heads across the drive, and I think about calling him back for one more confession. What would he say if he knew I remembered my attempted kiss after all? But I do the sensible thing and close the door, keeping that particular can of worms firmly shut.

  Chapter 27

  It’s the weekend but I’m still up ridiculously early, clad in the spotty wellington boots and a dark grey woolly hat with a paler grey oversized bobble that’s similar to one I’ve seen the Duchess of Cambridge wearing. I’m still not entirely comfortable wearing the hat, but it’s getting colder, especially so early in the morning, and if it’s good enough for royalty …

  ‘You’re getting good at this.’ Stacey is crouched by the rabbit hutch, wriggling one of the water bottles free, but she pauses to watch me as I make my way to the shed that houses the feed, one of the chickens tucked under one arm. ‘Can you imagine you not only voluntarily picking up a chicken but chatting to it just a week ago?’

  ‘I wasn’t chatting to her.’ I screw my face up as though Stacey is completely cuckoo, even though I was just reeling off the to-do list for the house refurb over the next few days to Patty. Patty is surprisingly easy to talk to, and relaying the plans – even to a chicken – is pretty cathartic. I’ve been stressed since Vanessa’s visit a few days ago, but right now I’m feeling as relaxed as I’ve ever been since I arrived in Little Heaton. It helps that the boiler and heating system is now up and running and the tiling is coming along nicely in the bathrooms and kitchen. It looks like I wasn’t lying when I told Vanessa that the house would all come together suddenly towards the end.

  ‘Seriously, though, you’re much more confident with the animals.’ Stacey, having freed the water bottle makes her way to the outdoor water tap. ‘I think you should be in charge of the chickens tomorrow.’

  Stacey’s referring to the family open day the sanctuary is hosting tomorrow, and while I’ve volunteered to help out, I’d assumed I’d be selling Mrs McColl’s cakes and biscuits.

  ‘I think we’re jumping ahead of ourselves here.’ I open the shed and place Patty on the ground while I fill a plastic jug with pellets. She paces around my feet, making it difficult to carry out the job at hand without tripping over her, but I don’t begrudge her presence. She’s taken a bit of a shine to me over the past few days, which is rather sweet. It’s a shame the same can’t be said about her feral sister, Bianca, who still views me with deep suspicion whenever I’m in the yard.

  ‘I’d be more comfortable with something a bit less beaky.’ With the shed door closed and Patty tucked under my arm again, I make my way back to the chicken coop, doing my best to avoid Bianca as she stalks towards me. ‘The hedgehogs, maybe? Or Claude?’ The sheep is pretty laid back – I wonder if he talks to the chickens too. ‘But definitely not the rabbits.’ As gorgeous as Rupert and Honey are, they are also incredibly skittish and I’m sure I’d spend the day darting around the yard after them with the Benny Hill tune running through my head. Stacey’s hoping to attract a new adoptive family at the open day and my incompetence at handling them won’t promot
e her cause.

  ‘Fair enough.’ Stacey shrugs as she turns on the tap and fills the bottle. ‘I think I’ll put Dianne on chicken duty. She can rotate her Brownie pack to help her out.’

  After filling the chickens’ feeding trough and water containers, I help Stacey clean out the barn before rushing home to shower and change. The builders are coming over for a few hours and then Oliver and I are going into town to do some shopping this afternoon. As much as I’m growing to love Little Heaton and its quaint ways and stillness, I can’t wait to get into town and feel the hustle and bustle of life. Plus, I really do need to buy myself some bits and pieces and payday is just around the corner – with my added expenses – so although I’m not flush, I’m not on the brink of freaking out about money. I’ve saved a heap over the past couple of weeks anyway since I haven’t had to replace all the food that Lee usually helps himself to. I wonder if he’s starved in my absence. I wonder if he’s even noticed my absence, because I haven’t been in touch since I left Manchester, or vice versa.

  I push Lee from my mind and get on with enjoying my day. The sun is shining and glistening on the canal and from the glorious warmth of the guesthouse, I can pretend we’re in the midst of summer. I immerse myself in the fantasy so deeply, the biting whip of the cold breeze is a shock when I head back outside again.

  ‘Winter’s on its way.’ Oliver rubs his hands together as we crunch our way across the drive towards his car.

  ‘Hush it.’ I nudge him gently with my shoulder. ‘We’re only in October. Autumn hasn’t even got started yet.’

  ‘Tell my fingers that.’ He blows on them, which I think is being rather dramatic. ‘I like winter anyway.’

  ‘You do?’ I pull a face. I can’t think of anything worse than the seemingly endless months of cold and greyness. Winter means being cooped up inside, counting down the never-ending days until spring, when life seems to reboot itself.

  ‘What’s not to love?’ Oliver unlocks the car and we climb inside. ‘Christmas is in winter, for a start. And then you’ve got snow …’