The Accidental Life Swap

by Jennifer Joyce

  Zipping my jacket all the way to my chin, I make my way across the gravel drive that will be excavated tomorrow to make way for the new block paving. The following week is going to be intense, with the drive, garden and decorating all being tackled at once, so I really must be losing it if I think adding another major project on top is in any way sensible, but I can’t give up. I owe it to Stacey and the animals to pull this off, whatever it takes.

  I pause on the footbridge and look out across the canal, as I did only yesterday, with Oliver. There’s a barge moored in the distance, its red and green paint bright against the darkening October evening. I doubt Oliver will be inviting me to join him on a boat trip again any time soon. Whatever potential we had, I’ve trampled all over it. Sighing, I lean against the wooden rail and squeeze my eyes shut, as though I can block out everything that has happened over the past few weeks. Why did I have to go along with the whole Vanessa thing? I wouldn’t be in such a mess if I’d been honest from the start. But would Oliver have liked me? The real me? Timid Rebecca, who can’t even stand up to her flatmate or insist her boss listens to her ideas? I’m not so sure about that. Being Vanessa boosted my confidence. She gave me self-worth and made me feel happy in my own skin. She allowed me to believe that someone like Oliver could be interested in me. Without Vanessa, I don’t think I would have felt worthy enough to strike up a friendship – let alone anything else – with him because I’m still the girl who doesn’t think she’s good enough. For her family, for her boss, for anyone.

  My eyes open when I hear footsteps on the bridge, and I turn slowly, as though I already know who will be making their way towards me before I see them.

  ‘Hello, Stacey.’ My throat is dry and scratchy, but I manage to push out the greeting. It isn’t returned. Stacey, stony-faced and seeming to look right through me, marches across the footbridge, her only words those of encouragement to Claude as he ambles after her. They wouldn’t have to make this daily trip to and from Dominic Blackwood’s field if Stacey owned the neighbouring land, as there would be plenty of grass to sustain the sheep, though I’m sure Stacey would miss the opportunities to glimpse her crush.

  I’m jolted by my thoughts, pushing myself upright and away from the rail. The Blackwoods’ field! Of course. Dominic doesn’t use that field, which is why he’s happy to let Claude munch his way through it. Would he be willing to let me use the field for the festival? There’s only one way to find out.

  Lifting my chin and throwing back my shoulders, I set off at a pace. I’ve been hiding behind the Vanessa persona for long enough. It’s time to be Rebecca again. But this time I’m going to be the best version of Rebecca Riley that I can be. It’s time to unleash the Rebecca I am inside and see what she can do when she really puts her mind to it.

  Chapter 36

  I can barely hear myself think with the excavation work going on outside, but I close myself off in the bathroom of the guesthouse, as far away from the noise as I can possibly get before calling the office. The new temp on reception puts me through to Emma, but it’s Sonia who answers.

  ‘Hi, it’s Rebecca.’ It feels odd using my real name. ‘Is Emma there? I really need to speak to her.’

  ‘She isn’t here. She’s gone out for lunch. With Vanessa.’ Sonia spits the words ‘lunch’ and ‘Vanessa’ as though the very notion disgusts her. ‘They’re proper pally now, you know. Always together. Besties. Nobody else gets a look in. It’s like our ideas don’t even matter anymore. There’s no way Emma’s going back on that reception desk. Not now she’s Vanessa’s right-hand woman.’

  ‘Right.’ I stretch the word out as I figure out where to go from here. I don’t have time to discuss office politics right now, especially with Sonia. Maybe Vanessa would be friendlier with Sonia if she wasn’t sleeping with her boyfriend? ‘Can you ask Emma to phone me as soon as she’s back?’

  With Dominic’s help, the autumn mini festival is back on so I need my file as soon as possible, and if it isn’t at the flat, it must be at the office. I was ready to literally beg on my knees when I found Dominic in the Farmer’s last night, but he didn’t need any coaxing at all.

  ‘Sure. Use it.’ He’d shrugged and taken a sip of his pint.

  ‘I won’t be able to pay you upfront, but once we have all the money from the ticket sales …’

  Dominic had held up his hand to stop me. ‘Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to pay me to use the field.’

  ‘Really?’ I couldn’t believe my luck. Not only had I found a venue, it wouldn’t cost me a bean. Being Rebecca Riley was working a treat.

  ‘It’s to help Stacey, right?’ Dominic had shrugged lazily, but I was sure his cheeks had taken on a rosy glow. ‘She’s a mate, and we like to help each other out around here.’

  Until I have the file, I’ll have to work from the bare essentials I have saved on my laptop and use my initiative. I’ve spent the morning at the house, organising the three teams and their workload, but now it’s time to crack on with the festival. Juggling my responsibilities and this new project is going to be tough, but I’m more determined than I’ve ever been in my life to pull it off.

  After ending the call with Sonia, I make some calls and emails, trying not to feel too offended when I’m practically laughed at for wanting to book facilities and acts at such short notice. I do manage to book some portaloos and generators, so at least we’ll have power and somewhere to go, but by mid-afternoon I admit to myself that I’m going to need a bit of help. There’s way too much to do for one person over a matter of days; at Vanessa Whitely Events, there are whole teams of people working on any given project, with weeks or months to plan. Stacey clearly hates my guts, and she’s refused to even speak to me, so there’s only one other person I can ask. I’ve avoided him as much as possible, speaking only to Vince at the house, but I’m going to have to bite the bullet and face Oliver. He probably hates me more than his sister, but I’m hoping he’ll take pity on me when he realises what I’m trying to do.

  The drive’s in a state as I step carefully out of the guesthouse, skirting around the worst of the rubble. I’ve heard the rumbling outside as I’ve been hunched over my laptop, but it’s been hours since I’ve actually seen the drive – or what’s left of it – and I’m momentarily panicked by the sight. It looks like we’re back to square one, but I have to remind myself this is only the outside, that the inside is still intact and the decorators have been beautifying the rooms with colour and print.

  ‘Oliver!’ I can see him up ahead, chatting to Vince over by one of the skips. He doesn’t acknowledge my call so I wave my hand about and try again. ‘Oliver!’ This time, he turns towards me, though he doesn’t flash the smile I’ve grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. His face is blank, neither welcoming or hostile. I could be a stranger for all the impact I’m having on his features.

  ‘Can I have a word?’ I nod my head back towards the guesthouse. ‘It’ll only take a minute or two.’

  Oliver wipes his hands down his jeans and gives a one-shouldered shrug. ‘Sure.’ He turns back to Vince and says something I can’t hear from the other side of the wreckage between us before making his way towards me. He’s looking down at the ground and I’m not sure whether he’s avoiding meeting my eye or concentrating on making it across the jagged ground in one piece. Probably a combo of the two.

  ‘Come in.’ We’ve made it to the guesthouse but Oliver is hovering by the door, looking awkward and out of place.

  ‘I’m okay here.’ He lifts a foot. ‘Dirty boots and cream carpets aren’t a good mix.’ He’s wiped his feet on the mat but they’re still caked in mud, though I doubt he’s that bothered about the flooring. There’s been such a sudden shift in our relationship, that I guess he doesn’t want to be anywhere near me, and I can’t really blame him. This is the very reason I was so reluctant to tell him the truth.

  ‘Do they know?’ I nod towards Vince and the others outside. ‘About me?’

  Oliver shrugs. ‘I haven
’t told them and they haven’t mentioned it to me.’

  Blimey, Mrs McColl must be losing her gossipy touch.

  ‘Is that all you wanted to talk about?’ Oliver folds his arms across his chest, that blank look still dulling his features.

  ‘No.’ I’m hovering by the sofa, hands wringing. Do I sit or remain standing? ‘I was hoping you’d help me.’

  Oliver barks out a laugh, his features finally forming an expression, though I wish it wasn’t such a cruel looking one. ‘You want my help? For what? Do you need a cover story? A pretend husband or business partner? Who are you lying to this time?’

  I decide to sit, mainly because my legs have turned to jelly. I’m not a fan of confrontation at the best of times, but when it’s against someone I was close to just days earlier, it’s doubly discomforting.

  ‘I don’t need you to lie for me.’ I swallow the lump of dread in my throat. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea, but I can’t back out now. ‘I want to put things right. With the animal sanctuary.’ I feel the need to clarify, since it’s quite clear I’ll never be able to put things right between Oliver and I. ‘I want to raise some money, hopefully enough to cover the extra cost of buying the land from Vanessa.’ Oliver flinches at hearing the name in reference to its real owner but I move on quickly. ‘I want to host a mini festival. This weekend.’

  Oliver laughs again, but it’s more of a snort than a scornful bark. ‘This weekend?’

  ‘Yes, because then I’ll be going home.’ Oliver flinches once more – a tiny flicker of regret, perhaps? ‘This is my only chance to do it, and I know it sounds insane but I think I could pull it off if I had a bit of help.’

  Oliver’s silent for a moment, his eyebrows slowly drawing together as he mulls over what I’ve just told him. ‘What can I do? I’m a builder. I don’t know anything about organising festivals. You’re better off talking to Stace. She’s the one who organises all the fundraising events and open days.’

  ‘Stacey can’t bear to be in the same room as me.’

  ‘That’s true, but I still don’t see how I can help. Sorry.’ Oliver shrugs before turning and stepping back out onto the drive. There isn’t a glance back as he leaves, just the door closing gently. There’s no anger or resentment, just a sadness which is worse somehow.

  I watch the door for a few minutes, hoping a miracle will occur and Oliver will stride back inside, mouth wide in the smile I know so well. It doesn’t happen, of course, so I force myself up off the sofa and put the kettle on. It looks like I’m on my own then, facing an impossible task. But I can’t – won’t – give up.

  *

  There are a handful of replies to emails I sent earlier when I’m back at my laptop, all declining the possibility of a booking due to the time constraints. I send off a few more enquiries but my hope plummets further each time I click the send button. I’m drafting an email to a funfair hire company when there’s a knock at the guesthouse door.

  ‘Oliver.’ My mouth gapes open when I see him standing on the doorstep. Of all the people I was expecting to see on the other side of the door, Oliver is the last.

  ‘Dianne Baxter.’ He presses a folded piece of paper into my hand, already backing away before I’ve even managed to curl my fingers around it. ‘She’ll be more use than I will.’ He turns then and breaks out into a run over the dug-up drive in his eagerness to get away from me. Closing the door, I unfold the piece of paper as I wander back to the sofa and find a phone number scribbled down. Dianne is the leader of the local Brownies, and I know she and her pack are always willing to lend a hand at the animal sanctuary, so perhaps she’ll help me with the festival.

  I phone the number straight away. Dianne’s at work, but she says she’ll come over this evening. In the meantime, I settle down with my laptop and phone, dialling and emailing every contact I can find. My phone starts to ring mid-email and I leap at it when I spot Emma’s name, jabbing to answer with more force than is necessary.

  ‘Emma! Hi! It’s so good to hear from you!’ I need to calm down but I can’t help feeling hope start to inflate again. Emma will help me. She’ll tell me what to do.

  ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. It’s been so hectic here, you wouldn’t believe it.’ There’s a whoosh down the line as Emma puffs out a breath.

  ‘It’s okay, but I do need your help. Urgently.’ I am not calming down any time soon, it seems. ‘I’m pretty sure I left a file with ideas for the Heron Farm Festival in Vanessa’s office, so can you see if it’s in there?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rebecca, but I haven’t seen it, and I’ve been in and out of Vanessa’s office since you left.’ Emma’s tone is soothing but her words are still a massive kick in the teeth. ‘What did you need it for anyway?’

  I tell Emma everything, from Oliver and Stacey finding out who I really am, to Vanessa buying the neighbouring land and offering to sell it for a profit.

  ‘I want to organise a mini autumn festival for this weekend, like the Heron Farm Festival but on a smaller scale, so I can raise the money to cover the extra cost. I had some really good contacts in the file that I really need to get my hands on.’

  There’s a pause before Emma speaks, and when she finally does, her tone is so motherly, I want to curl up on the sofa, snuggling up to the scatter cushions.

  ‘Oh, sweetie. Do you really think you can organise an event like this in … what? Five days?’

  ‘Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. But I have to try.’

  ‘But why? These people have turned their backs on you because you told a little white lie. Nobody died. Nobody got hurt.’ I think Oliver was quite badly bruised, but Emma’s on a roll so I can’t get a word in. ‘Why are you putting yourself through all this stress when you’re leaving in a few days and returning to your normal, everyday life?’

  ‘Because I feel responsible for the mess they’re in. And it isn’t just about Stacey and Oliver. I need to prove to Vanessa that I can do this.’

  ‘What, organise an event with little to no money and with just days to do it in?’

  ‘When you put it like that …’ It sounds ridiculous. Unattainable. Pointless. ‘But I need to show her that I can do it. That I can be creative. That I can put together an event, or at least be part of a team that does. I’m tired of being Vanessa’s PA. It isn’t the job I want, what I worked so hard for. I need to prove to Vanessa – to myself – that I’m capable.’

  It may be an impossible task, but I’m determined to pull it off. To prove I’m worthy of the promotion. To show Oliver and Stacey that they were right to put their trust in me and that I was right to follow my own dreams instead of allowing Dad to dictate the rest of my life.

  Chapter 37

  There’s a minor hiccup over a tin of magnolia paint at the house late afternoon (there is no way Vanessa would have chosen magnolia, even if the correct shade – Soft Jasmine Blush – is almost identical in shade), but I’m able to concentrate on the festival for the rest of the day and reinforcements arrive just before seven. I was only expecting Dianne, but she’s brought along a small committee who are willing to help out. As well as the Brownies leader, Julia from the Farmer’s troops into the guesthouse, followed by Elsie from the charity shop and, most surprisingly, Mrs McColl.

  ‘I’ll help out on one condition.’ Mrs McColl issues an icy glare as she unwinds the woollen scarf from around her neck. ‘You do not tell Stacey about this. Nobody tells her, okay? Because I won’t let her get her hopes up again if we can’t pull this off. Is that clear?’

  I bob my head up and down in a terrified acknowledgement as I take the scarf from her. ‘That’s perfectly clear. And understandable, under the circumstances.’

  I decide now is the best time to explain the ‘circumstances’, but it seems everybody in the room is well aware of my part in the auction debacle, including my true identity. Mrs McColl refuses to meet my eye, so I assume she’s helped in the spreading of the gossip after all. Still, it feels good to have everything out
in the open for a change.

  ‘Right.’ I clap my hands together once the confession is over and done with. ‘Shall we get on with festival planning? We have a very small budget to work with and I’m having trouble sourcing rides and attractions at such short notice, so I’m aiming to provide entertainment for the festival goers as cheaply and innovatively as possible. I have some ideas, but I’d love your input too. Shall I put the kettle on before we get started?’

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea, thanks.’ Dianne reaches into her handbag and produces a spiralbound notepad and pen. ‘No sugar. Tiny bit of milk, please.’ She settles back on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and opening the notepad. ‘I’ve been thinking about your festival and jotting down ideas.’ She smiles at me and shrugs. ‘Slow day at the office. Anyway, I can definitely help you out with some bits and pieces we’ve collected over the years for our Christmas and summer fairs.’

  I’m bending down to grab a handful of mugs from the cupboard, but I straighten up, my attention well and truly hooked. ‘Like what?’

  Dianne consults her notepad and counts off the items on her fingers as she lists them. ‘We have a candyfloss machine and a chocolate fountain, which are always popular at this kind of thing, and a popcorn maker. A proper one, not one of the little ones you have for your kitchen. Cost a fortune. We had a Brownie fundraiser for it and everything. Still, it’s made its money back over the past couple of years.’ Dianne looks back down at her notes. ‘And we have a small selection of giant board games – snakes and ladders, drafts, Connect Four, Jenga, that kind of thing. Very family-friendly and won’t cost a penny.’

  I want to hug her. I seriously want to leap onto the sofa and squeeze the woman until she pops.

  But I don’t.

  Obviously.