The Accidental Life Swap

by Jennifer Joyce

  Placing my cup of coffee on the table, I move towards the window. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing major, but the queue for the face-painting is way out of hand. Look at it.’ She moves aside and I peer down into the yard. I can’t actually see the entire queue of children as it passes beyond our line of sight. There must be at least forty kids waiting not very patiently. ‘I should have booked another face-painter, but I didn’t expect quite so many people to turn up. I wonder if any of the Brownie leaders know how to do it …’ Stacey is already moving away from the window, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth.

  ‘I can do it.’ Sort of. I’ve only ever practised on Emma before, but I managed to perfect the butterfly design and my tiger was rather impressive.

  ‘You can face-paint?’ Stacey looks a strange mix of sceptical and hopeful.

  ‘I’m an events manager.’ At least, Vanessa is, and I’m being her. ‘It’s part of the remit. Do you know how many times I’ve had to step in during an emergency such as this?’ I indicate the window, hoping Stacey won’t ask for an actual number, because that would be a big fat zero. But I did attend one of Vanessa’s events once, about a year into my employment, and the face-painter booked for the occasion called in sick at the last minute. I’d really wished I’d had the skills to step in and save the day so I could impress Vanessa, but I’d never been in close contact with a face-paint palette before. Upon returning home, however, I vowed that I would never be in that situation again and, thanks to several YouTube videos and Emma acting as my guinea pig, I’m confident I can pull it off this time.

  ‘Great!’ Stacey marches towards the staircase but pauses to turn and look at me. ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Vanessa. You’re really not the person I thought you were going to be. In a good way, obviously.’ She beams at me and I try my hardest to return the gesture but it isn’t quite as forthcoming. If only Stacey knew I really wasn’t the person she thinks I was in the beginning. Would she be beaming so widely if she knew I was lying to her? That I’d been lying to her for the past few weeks? It may just be a name, perhaps a bit of borrowed character every now and then, but I’d be devastated if it turned out the person I’d grown to trust had been deceiving me.

  *

  ‘To Vanessa, for saving the day!’ Stacey raises her G&T later that evening as we gather in the Farmers for a celebratory drink. It’s been a long and rewarding day and we all deserve a pat on the back (and a very big drink).

  ‘I hardly saved the day.’ I brush away the compliment, but there’s a warm glow inside as Stacey heaps on the praise. ‘And it was fun, apart from that kid who kicked off because he said his Hulk looked more like Shrek.’ I rub at my shin, where the kid had literally kicked off. Brat.

  ‘Thank you all for your help.’ Stacey raises her glass again and looks around at the small gathering of volunteers who were able to pop over to the pub after we’d cleared up at the sanctuary. ‘We managed to raise a good chunk of money to put towards the expansion fund, and it’s all thanks to you.’

  ‘I think you had something to do with it too, my dear.’ Mrs McColl raises her glass at Stacey before she downs the large sherry in one. ‘Now, I’m going to love you and leave you. Strictly’s on and I need to get my Craig Revel Horwood fix.’ There’s a definite twinkle in Mrs McColl’s eye as she hooks her handbag onto her arm. ‘I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.’ She wriggles her fingers in farewell before marching from the pub.

  ‘Who knew Mrs McColl had a thing for Craig Revel Horwood?’ Stacey is still staring at the space the older woman had been occupying a few seconds ago, blinking slowly as her mouth gapes wide open.

  ‘Speaking of having a thing for somebody …’ I nudge Stacey out of her stupor and nod towards the bar, where Dominic is waiting for his pint. He looks as though he’s come straight from the field, with a pair of green wellies pulled over his (nicely fitting, even I must admit) jeans, waterproof jacket zipped up to his chin and a woollen hat pulled down almost to his eyeballs. With his elbows on the bar and his back to the rest of the pub’s customers, his stance isn’t exactly warm and welcoming.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Stacey asks. ‘Go over there and drape myself over him?’

  ‘If that’s what it takes.’

  ‘Nah.’ Stacey shakes her head and takes a sip of her gin. ‘He’s clearly here to have a quiet pint. I’ll just stay here and enjoy the view.’ She tilts her head, eyes bulging right out of their sockets as they land on the farmer’s bum. Like I said, those jeans are a nice fit. I join Stacey for a quick ogle before I start to feel a bit seedy.

  ‘Shall we put some music on?’

  ‘What?’ Stacey turns her head towards me, her eyes still fixed on Dominic until the very last second. ‘Oh, yeah. Why not?’ She rummages in her purse and hands me a pound coin. ‘Pick something for me?’ Her eyes are already back on the farmer’s arse.

  ‘Why don’t you just go and talk to him?’

  Stacey drags her gaze away from her beau, a smirk forming on her face. ‘Why don’t you just go and snog the face off my brother? We all know these board games you keep playing are a weird form of foreplay.’ My eyes dart towards Oliver, who’s thankfully deep in conversation with the leader of the Brownie pack and hasn’t overheard. ‘You need to stop tiptoeing around now and get on with it.’

  ‘I think that’s what they call projection.’ I give Dominic a pointed look before heading for the jukebox, selecting some not-so-subtle tracks about having a crush, ending the mini playlist of mad-about-you songs with Elvis’ ‘Can’t Help Falling In Love’.

  The Brownies leader has moved onto Stacey by the time I return to our table, dragging her attention away from Little Heaton’s most eligible farmer – kicking and screaming, I should imagine – and leaving Oliver thumbing through a beer-stained newspaper.

  ‘I didn’t know you were a fan of The Kinks.’ He closes the newspaper and dumps it on the neighbouring table. ‘You’ve Really Got Me’, the first of my ode-to-Stacey’s-crush playlist, is reaching its chorus.

  ‘I’m not really.’ I try to catch Stacey’s eye but she’s resolutely ignoring me, nodding along earnestly to whatever Dianne is saying. ‘I just like this song.’ I pick up my drink, swirling the dregs at the bottom of the glass. ‘It was either this or something by the Sugababes.’

  ‘Hey!’ Oliver’s eyes widen and he leans in close and lowers his voice. ‘What’s shared over a game of Battleships stays over a game of Battleships, remember?’ He arches an eyebrow at me and I give a nod of agreement. ‘That reminds me, actually. I thought that maybe we could have dinner one evening? I owe you after that amazing curry.’ Oliver picks up a beermat and picks at the top layer of cardboard. ‘I thought we could go to a restaurant this time. I wouldn’t subject you to my cooking.’ He stops undressing the beermat long enough to grin at me, and my stomach performs a happy little somersault. ‘No Monopoly or Scrabble and definitely no Battleships this time. Just the two of us. On a date.’ He peels off the beermat’s top layer before dumping the whole lot on the table and turning to face me properly. ‘What do you think?’

  There are several reasons why I should say no – mainly because Oliver doesn’t know my true identity and I’ll be leaving Little Heaton as soon as the house is finished – but I drop-kick these reasons from my mind for the time being.

  ‘I think I’d like that very much.’

  Chapter 29

  Oliver and I agree that our first official date will take place on Saturday evening, giving me almost a week to prepare. It’s been a while since I’ve been on a date, and the last one – set up by Emma – was enough to put anyone off dating for an extremely long time (probably forever in my case, had I not met Oliver). It also means I can concentrate on getting the house ready for Vanessa’s upcoming visit, which is causing me to hyperventilate whenever it pops into my mind, which is every few minutes. The refurbishment is going well, with the kitchen completely kitted out, including all the tiling work and the installation
of white goods, the bathrooms are plumbed in and the electrics are all in order. This week we’re focusing on finishing the tiling of the bathrooms and shower enclosures and the snagging (which I had to Google, because I’d had no idea what it was) and I’m finding this stage of the refurb quite satisfying as I move from room to room with my notepad and a real sense of purpose, making a note of any minor faults that need rectifying before the decorators arrive next week. The following week is going to be pretty hectic as the landscaping and the laying of the drive will be taking place too. Ideally, the builders and the gardening team should have finished up by the time the decorating begins, but we’re going to have to carry out the three tasks at once, which is doable as long as the builders keep their mucky boots away from the newly spruced up house.

  I’m pretty sure I can get away with Vanessa’s visit with regards to the house and its progress, but the logistics of keeping my boss away from those who are under the impression that I’m Vanessa Whitely (i.e. the entire population of Little Heaton) is keeping me awake at night. Luck was on my side last time, but I don’t think I’ll get away with it a second time so I need a plan. A solid, can’t-possibly-go-wrong plan that will keep Vanessa away from the builders.

  ‘Have you got that list for me?’ Vince’s words are elongated through a yawn as he scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. The builders have been starting early and staying late in a bid to keep to the schedule, and it’s clearly taking its toll. Vince looks knackered, with bags as big as the skips we’ve hired for next week’s jobs under bloodshot eyes.

  ‘Here you go.’ I tear off the sheet from my notebook with the list of little jobs that need to be completed before the builders can move onto laying the drive and hand it to Vince, but my mind is on his worn-out state and Vanessa’s visit tomorrow. Perhaps there is a way I can keep my identity mishap hidden after all.

  *

  I usually help out at the animal sanctuary early in the morning, so Stacey is surprised to see me in the yard when she arrives back with Claude mid-afternoon after his daily trip to the Blackwoods’ field, though she smooths her features back into a neutral expression as she heads towards me. I’ve been trying to coax Daisy away from the fence, where I’m sure she’s casing out the weak points to work on next, but it’s difficult when you’re dealing not only with a determined donkey but a menagerie of chickens bobbing around your ankles. It seems I’ve earned not only Patty’s trust but that of most of her feathery sisters, and even Bianca is warming to me. We’re not exactly on friendly terms but she no longer pierces me with those beady eyes whenever I rock up at the sanctuary and she hasn’t chased me across the yard for over a week now.

  ‘Thank Mother Nature for her fake summer days.’ Stacey tips her face up to the sky, shielding her eyes from the unusually bright sun. Just when summer was nothing but a distant memory, out pops a glorious sunny day to lift everybody’s spirits. ‘I took the long way out of the field and caught a glimpse of a shirtless Dominic working in the next field over.’ Stacey fans herself, and it has nothing to do with the heat from the sun. ‘I thought I’d died and gone to a Diet Coke break heaven.’

  ‘Are you ever going to ask him out?’ Dodging Chow Mein, who’s taken a liking to my borrowed polka-dot wellies, I give one last attempt at moving Daisy away from the fence but she’s one stubborn donkey.

  ‘Just because you and Oliver have finally admitted that you fancy each other and are going on an actual date, doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t have our secret crushes, you know.’

  I snort. Stacey’s crush on Dominic is about as secret as Daisy’s appreciation of mischief. I think the only person who hasn’t noticed is the farmer himself.

  ‘So, what brings you over here at this time?’ Stacey mock gasps. ‘Are you skiving?’

  ‘Not at all.’ I pick my way carefully across the grass, making sure I don’t accidentally squish a chicken underfoot. ‘I wanted to book a table at the café for tomorrow.’

  Stacey frowns as she takes hold of the donkey’s reins. ‘You want to book a table? At the café that serves half a dozen people at most per day?’

  My jaw sets in annoyance as Daisy starts to plod away from the fence with barely any encouragement from Stacey after I’ve spent a good twenty minutes trying to shift her, but I have more pressing matters than a roguish donkey. ‘Yes, I would like to book a table at noon.’

  ‘For you and Oliver?’ Stacey winks at me as she reaches into the bum bag attached to her front. ‘Shall we make it candlelit?’

  ‘You could, but I don’t think Vince and the guys would appreciate the ambience.’

  Stacey holds out her hand, a treat sat on her palm for Daisy to take. That’s where I went wrong!

  ‘So you’re dating the whole gang of builders now?’ Stacey looks suitably perturbed at the idea.

  ‘I want to book a table for four. And I won’t be there at all.’ I sidestep Patty. ‘It’s a treat for the builders, for all their hard work over the past few weeks.’ My plan of action for Vanessa’s visit is to keep the builders away from the house by plying them with food under the guise of my eternal gratitude for their labour. It isn’t foolproof but it’s all I’ve got.

  ‘Have you spoken to Mrs McColl?’

  ‘Nope.’ I swerve around the chickens like a dog swerves around the cones at Crufts, only with less grace. ‘And I was hoping I wouldn’t have to. The woman terrifies me.’

  ‘Don’t worry about Mrs McColl.’ Stacey grins at me. ‘Her bite’s worse than her bark.’

  ‘That’s hardly reassuring.’

  ‘She’s a pussycat really, once you dig beneath the snarky exterior.’ Stacey flings her arm around my shoulders and picks up the pace as we head towards the house. Luckily, we don’t maim any chickens in the process.

  *

  My plan seems to be working; the builders have happily downed tools – they needed very little persuasion – and are on their way to the animal sanctuary for a ‘gentleman’s’ afternoon tea, which I think is like a regular afternoon tea but with bigger, less pretty portions. Vanessa’s arrival is imminent so I’m pacing the hallway, eyes peeled for the cherry red mini. But it isn’t Vanessa’s car that turns onto the drive. The black Fiesta that pulls up outside the house belongs to Emma.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I tear down the steps as fast as I can in my peep-toe boots and leather pencil skirt, which is making me waddle penguin-like.

  ‘Aren’t you pleased to me?’ Emma hooks a satchel over her shoulder and aims the fob in her hand at the car.

  ‘Of course I am. Come here!’ I pull my friend into a hug, squeezing the life out of her. I hadn’t realised quite how much I’d missed her until now, and I’d quite happily burst into tears if I hadn’t spent an age perfecting my make-up this morning. ‘I was expecting Vanessa, that’s all. Is she coming?’ I peer over Emma’s shoulder but there’s no sign of the red mini of doom.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re stuck with just me.’ Emma peels herself away and holds me at arm’s length. ‘Wow, look at you! You’ve gone all corporate-chic.’

  ‘Is that a good thing?’ I look down at my outfit, suddenly feeling foolish. I’ve reverted to my old, comfortable look over the past few days, making use of my new leggings and T-shirts, but I’d been trying to impress Vanessa when I’d selected my outfit this morning, thinking the leather pencil skirt and pussy-bow blouse combo would look professional and sophisticated. And instead of pulling my hair into my usual high ponytail, I’ve left it loose on my shoulders, loosely pinning it at the sides, and I’m wearing the red lipstick, which now feels too much.

  ‘Are you kidding me? You look amazing.’ Emma throws her arms around me again and I feel my shoulders relax. ‘Being out here obviously suits you.’

  ‘Do you know what, I think it might.’ I give Emma one last squeeze before leading the way up the stone steps to the house. ‘I was so mad at Vanessa for sending me here, but it’s actually been a lot of fun. I’ll be almost sorry to say goodbye to the p
lace.’

  ‘Wow.’ Emma stops, her jaw dropping in slow motion, but it has nothing to do with my admission. She’s gazing around the hallway in awe, and I can’t blame her. Seeing the space every day, I’ve become immune to its splendour, but it’s like I’m seeing it through fresh eyes again. I’d forgotten how vast the space is, how the light floods in through the huge windows, and the wide staircase has been transformed into an artwork with its decorative balustrade and mahogany handrail. The space is luxurious, even with its bare plaster walls, so I can only imagine the grandeur once the decorators have worked their magic and the finishing touches are put into place.

  ‘Vanessa is going to love this.’ Emma reaches into her satchel and pulls out her phone. ‘Do you mind?’ She’s opened the camera app and is aiming at the staircase. ‘Vanessa was afraid the house wouldn’t be ready in time for the party, so she asked me to take photos. This will put her mind at rest.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ I stand back while Emma takes several shots of the hallway. I’ll definitely make sure she takes some photos of the kitchen and bathrooms as they’re even more impressive. ‘So Vanessa couldn’t make it then?’

  ‘Not exactly.’ Emma takes a final shot of the front door, taking in the fanlight and the huge sash windows either side. ‘She’s handed the reins over to me.’ Emma lowers her phone and beams at me. ‘I’m in charge of organising the housewarming party! How amazing is that?’

  My stomach lurches, but I manage to beam back at Emma. Sort of. I only hope it doesn’t come across as a churlish grimace. ‘That’s fantastic. Congratulations! I’m so happy for you.’ Which I am, although I’d be happier if Vanessa had trusted me with the role.

  ‘Sonia is livid.’ Emma slips her phone back inside her satchel and takes out a notebook and pen, jotting down a few notes. ‘She thinks she should have been asked to do it since she’s been part of the events team longer and I’m “just the receptionist”.’ Emma tucks the notebook under her arm so she can perform the air quotes. ‘I haven’t dared to accept a cup of coffee from her since, in case she spits in it.’