She never told me? She’s been pestering me about this trip for months. She had the time to send me a ‘selection of recipes that Bruno enjoys’, but it didn’t cross her mind to tell me where she kept her spare key?
I jab her name into my phone and hold it to my ear, my heart thumping in time with my head, which is starting to feel as if it might explode.
Rachel’s automated message kicks in, and I fight the urge to throw my head back and scream.
I shove the phone back into my pocket and step towards the living room window.
God, I really don’t want to have to break in, but maybe Rachel left a window open?
I mean, I know I’m not the same size as I was ten years ago, but I definitely climbed through the odd window as a teenager. It can’t be that hard, surely, and I—
THWACK!
I almost collapse in shock as a large dog throws himself at the window with a bang. His paws scrabble at the glass, then he slides back down out of sight.
‘Jesus,’ I manage.
He leaps back up at the window again, loud barks echoing through the house like a battle cry. I try and flash him a smile, and to my relief, I notice his tail wagging.
Okay, good. He doesn’t look like he wants to eat me.
Bloody dog.
‘This is all your fault,’ I mutter under my breath. ‘You’re the reason I’m stuck here and Rachel is at the cabin. This whole disaster would never have happened if it wasn’t for you.’
Bruno leaps up again, the force of his wagging tail causing his whole body to ripple like a belly dancer.
Actually, this is great. Maybe he can help me get inside. What’s that film where the dog is actually super intelligent and helps the humans? Lassie? Tarzan?
Oh no, Tarzan is about monkeys, isn’t it? Well, they’re still animals. It must be partly based on fact.
I fix my eyes on Bruno determinedly.
‘Right,’ I say, ‘we both want the same thing, mate. I want to get inside the house and you probably want some food or, like . . . a piss. So I need to get in.’
At this, he throws his head back and begins to howl.
Okay, great. I’ll take that to mean he’s on board.
I feel a zap of adrenaline.
Christ, if this works, I’m going on Britain’s Got Talent. Screw Fiona. I could be a star!
I mean, I’m not actually expecting him to pad over to the front door and let me in, but if he can just show me an open window or a loose door frame, that would be great.
‘So how do I get in?’ I say, raising the pitch of my voice. ‘Where’s the key? Where’s the key, boy?’
I slap my legs with my hands and Bruno launches himself back at the window.
I wince as it rattles.
Actually, if he breaks the glass, that would be amazing. I can climb through the window and Rachel won’t even be able to blame it on me. She’d never get mad at her beloved dog. It would be the perfect crime!
‘Come on, boy!’ I say loudly, grinning at him like a lunatic. ‘Show me where the key is! Let me in the house!’
At this, he shoots out of the living room and I feel a wave of excitement.
Of course, the back door! Why didn’t I think of that? It will be much easier to get in the back. Rachel might even have left it open!
I skirt round the side of the house, dragging my suitcase behind me.
I almost want to laugh as I drop the case and grab hold of the door handle. I pull at it, and the door shakes back at me stubbornly.
Okay, well maybe it was a bit naïve to assume Rachel would leave the back door open. This is the woman who was so shocked at me leaving my spare key under the mat that she sent me a fake rock and made me promise I’d keep it there.
I glance around the garden dubiously, looking at the hundreds of pebbles.
Please don’t let the key be hidden in one of those. I don’t want to spend the next week on my hands and knees surveying rocks like a crazed geologist.
I drop my hands back to my sides as Bruno reappears at the door, bouncing up and down with pride. My face pings back into the big fake smile.
‘Hi, Bruno,’ I say. ‘How do I get in? Where did Rachel leave the key? Where did she leave it, boy?’
He stops bouncing and stares at me. I feel my heart turn over as I stare into his big goofy eyes, and for an exhilarating moment I feel as though he’s understood me. Then all of a sudden, he shoots off again and disappears.
Next minute, I hear a loud bark above me, and feel as if I could cry with happiness as I spot his head sticking out of the window of the upstairs bathroom.
Oh my God, he’s actually done it.
‘Bruno!’ I cry. ‘Oh my God, you are so clever!’
Why did I ever want a cat when dogs can do this? The only trick my cat used to do was vomit on my carpet and bring me dead birds.
Right, now all I need to do is get through that window.
I look back up at Bruno, shielding my eyes from the sun as I start a mini pep talk.
Okay, Katy. You can do this. If you can climb through this window then nobody can call you a failure. It doesn’t matter what has happened over the past few days. It doesn’t even matter that Rachel will probably find your chicken chow mein from last night and work out that you’ve been lying for the past year about being a vegan. If you do this, nobody can deny that you are a proper functioning adult.
I grab Rachel’s two bins and push them together, then step back to survey them.
Okay, the window isn’t that high, and I’m already five foot six. Once I’ve climbed on the bins I should be able to pull myself through the window. I did a pull-up at the gym last month and it wasn’t even that hard. I can totally do this.
Also, don’t people get a super zap of strength in times of need?
I swing my leg up and plant my trainer on top of one of the bin lids. Immediately I want to do a little cheer.
Okay, that part went very well.
I lean forward and grab hold of the bin, and then, before I can talk myself out of it, swing my other foot onto the second bin. The bins wobble wildly and I will myself not to let go.
Stay calm, Katy! You’ve got this. It’s all about your core! All you need to do now is get yourself to standing. You’ve done the hardest part. You’ve—
‘Katy?’
My head whips round in shock as I hear a male voice. The sudden movement makes the bins skid apart, and before I know it, my head has smacked against the floor.
As the hot pain bleeds through me, my brain fires one more furious thought.
What the fuck is Isaac doing here?
*
A heavy throbbing echoes around my head as I will myself to stay perfectly still, like a child pretending to be asleep, while I try and work out the best way to deal with this situation.
Right. So about ten seconds ago, I did the splits off two bins because my ex-boyfriend, who I haven’t seen in three years and who is supposed to be living it up in Cardiff, appeared unannounced and uninvited. Which has left me strewn across the garden like a half-eaten chicken carcass with my poor, humiliated face pressed into the mud like an old tissue.
My mind spins with questions as I try to stay focused on the situation. I would be lying if I hadn’t occasionally thought about the moment I might see Isaac again. I imagined I might be strolling round Tesco, wearing my ripped skinny jeans and heels in a ‘casual sexy shopper’ kind of way. I’d bump into him in the fruit and veg aisle, my basket overflowing with fresh vegetables for that tart I’m making, and he is shocked at how fantastic I look. I am elegant and demure (naturally) and pretend that this is what I always wear for my weekly shop, considering I am a high-flying events manager in the city. He asks if we could go for a drink and I say I need to check my schedule, before handing him a business card and slinking into the baking aisle. Because yes, dear reader, I am also making my own pastry.
Instead, I’m lying face first in possible dog poo wearing my worst hangover clothes with enoug
h grease in my hair to cook a vat of chips.
I feel him kneel down to my level and try to ignore his familiar earthy scent. He must still wear the same aftershave.
What do I do? Pretend to be passed out? At least then he might get help and I can make a break for it. Although what if he then files a missing person report and I have to go on the run?
I need to do something. If I keep lying completely still, he might think I’m dead and try to resuscitate me, and I can’t have the first time Isaac touches my breasts in three years being now. When I’m not wearing a bra and my boobs are flopped in my armpits like old plums.
I feel a shadow creep over my face and my heart jolts as I realise he must be leaning over me. I can feel his breath on my face.
Oh God, he’s not about to kiss me, is he? Not like this! I haven’t even brushed my teeth!
Okay, right. I’m going to open my eyes. I need to pretend I passed out briefly and now I’m fine. No, not completely fine, I need to be a bit delirious to distract him from the fact that I look like an old troll.
Maybe I can do it in a sexy Sleeping Beauty way.
Slowly I pull my eyes open and move my lips into a subtle pout. As I focus, I see Isaac leaning over me. His curly hair is flopped forward, and I notice a smear of mud on his cheek. His green eyes meet mine and I involuntarily jump as if I’ve been caught in the act.
‘Katy,’ he says, moving his hand to my face, ‘are you okay? Can you hear me?’
I try not to snort. Someone has clearly been watching Casualty. You don’t lose your hearing from falling off a bin. The only thing I’ve lost is my dignity, which thankfully was already in short supply.
‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to keep my voice weak and slightly unwell, like the voice you put on when you’re calling in sick because you stayed up late watching RuPaul’s Drag Race and can’t be bothered to go to work.
Not that I’ve ever done that.
I see him smile down at me, and try and reposition myself; at the very least, I need to slightly close my legs.
‘Are you okay?’ he says again. ‘I think you hit your head. Do you know who I am?’
I open my mouth to respond, but then clamp it quickly shut. I cannot chirp Isaac’s name straight away like he’s the man of my dreams. No way.
‘I’m not sure,’ I say feebly. ‘Is it you, Jonathan? Or . . . Gerard?’
Ha! Look at me and all my possible men. I mean, yes, perhaps Gerard wasn’t the best choice of names, but who cares?
The kind smile on Isaac’s face vanishes and he moves his hand away from my face.
‘No,’ he says, ‘it’s Isaac. Your old neighbour.’
I feel myself glare at him.
Old neighbour? How about ‘ex-boyfriend of four years’?
‘Come on.’ He springs to his feet and holds out a hand towards me. ‘I think you’re fine. Up you get.’
I feel a stab of humiliation as he pulls me unceremoniously upright. My head thumps painfully as I steady myself, and I catch sight of my reflection in the kitchen window. Mud has flattened my hair to my head like wallpaper paste, and my cheeks are flaring.
I’m not sure I’ve ever looked worse.
Isaac glances back at me. ‘You all right?’
I lift my chin. ‘Yes,’ I lie, ‘I’m fine, thank you.’
He nods curtly, and is turning to walk away when I hear myself shout after him.
‘Wait! Sorry, do you know where Rachel keeps her spare key? She didn’t tell me. I was trying to climb through the window when you . . . er . . . appeared.’
He looks up at the window, his eyebrows raised.
‘You were going to try and climb through that window?’ he says, as though I’ve suggested coming down the chimney like Father Christmas.
‘I’ve done it before!’ I say defiantly. ‘I used to do it all the time.’
He crosses his arms. ‘When?’
‘All the time.’
He shrugs. ‘Okay,’ he says, ‘fine. Well, have you knocked? Rachel might be asleep.’
If Rachel was in the house, does he really think I wouldn’t have thought to knock on the door?
‘She’s not here,’ I say. ‘She’s gone to stay in London. In my flat.’
I notice a shadow pass over his face.
‘She’s not here?’ he repeats. ‘Are you sure?’
I fight the urge to throw my shoe at him.
‘Of course I’m sure!’ I cry, slapping my hands against my sides. ‘If she was, I’d be inside having a cup of tea, not climbing on bins and—’
I break off before I can add ‘talking to you’.
‘Right,’ Isaac says, looking around. ‘Well, I have a spare key. I’ll go get it.’
I gape at him as he starts walking down the side of the house.
‘You have a spare key?’ I echo. ‘Why?’
Why does my ex-boyfriend have a key to my sister’s house?
Isaac looks back at me, and for a second I see a small smile reappear on his face.
‘Didn’t she tell you?’ he says. ‘I live next door.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
RACHEL
I lean back into the leather seat as the Uber driver swings round another corner, and look out the window at the line of street lamps, blinking in time with the cars skirting underneath them. A yawn stretches onto my face and I feel my eyes sag. It’s almost midnight and we’re not even at Katy’s flat yet.
I pull up her latest email and read it again, feeling a pang of guilt. I knew she’d hate the idea of me turning up at her flat with no warning. As chilled out as she pretends to be, we are twins.
Hi Rachel,
I’m confused ?! I thought you were meant to be in Paris! I don’t think you can stay in my flat, it’s not ready and I know you’re allergic to cats and I used to have one?! Actually, I think the neighbour has a cat too? Why don’t you stay in a nice Travelodge instead? There is one literally around the corner, which is super cheap, here’s the link.
I roll my eyes.
I mean, honestly, suggesting I can’t stay there because I might sneeze once an hour? Each time she’s called, I’ve let it roll into voicemail. There is little point answering just so she can shout at me. I’ll call her tomorrow when she’s calmed down and realised that I’m not going to her flat so that I can set it on fire.
All I need is a bed to sleep in for a week and a place where nobody knows who I am. She won’t even know I was there.
I stopped replying to messages from my friends the moment Danny left. I told myself that I would tell them everything as soon as I knew how to deal with it. But then it turned out that the way I wanted to deal with it was to pretend that Liam would slot into the space Danny had left with no problem, and I knew that if I told anyone that, they would tell me I was lying to myself. I already knew that, but I didn’t want to hear it. It was all that was keeping me going.
By the time I found out I was pregnant and Liam had left, I didn’t know how to tell anyone. So I cut them all out completely. The last time they saw me I was married to someone they knew and loved. How could I tell them I’d messed up everything I had? So I didn’t.
The car winds down another one-way street and I rest my hands on my bump as rain slits across the sky and slashes against the pavement with angry slaps.
London never looks like this in photos or on TV. It’s always set against the bright backdrop of a blue sky, with the odd cloud skirting behind like a child doing backstroke in the sea. Now that I’m here, everything seems grey.
I try to get comfortable in the car seat. I will never take being comfortable for granted again. Don’t even get me started about the ease of being able to get on and off your own sofa unaided. Honestly, there are articles about how strong and admirable single mothers are, but does anyone mention the sheer determination and skill it takes to get out of a comfy chair by yourself when you’re eight months pregnant?
‘This is it.’
The car crunches over gravel as we pull into an elabor
ate driveway, and I frown. Katy always says she lives in a flat, but as the driver yanks up the handbrake, I notice that we’ve arrived outside a house.
I clamp my mouth back shut as I realise it’s hanging open.
This is where she lives? It’s huge! It’s not a flat; it’s a bloody mansion. Why didn’t she want me to stay here? I could live here with her and we’d see less of each other than we do now! The baby could have its own wing.
‘Are you sure?’ I say, pulling out my phone to check. ‘The address is The Cabin, 38 Elmwood Road, Chiswick.’
The driver slouches further into his seat and I see his thick shoulders shrug.
‘This is 38 Elmwood Road,’ he says.
‘Oh.’
Gosh. Well, maybe she was being modest when she told me she lived in a flat and didn’t want to brag about living in a beautiful house. Maybe she thought I’d be jealous.
I can’t believe she tried to ship me off to a shoddy hotel when she lives in the Ritz. And I’ve given her my best pillowcases in the cottage!
I unclip my seat belt and step out of the car. Immediately I feel a slap of rain wash over my face and I push my hands into my pockets and look up at the house. Some of the lights are on and I can see a flicker of shadows.
Does Katy have housemates? Surely she would have mentioned that to me before. Although maybe that’s why she was so desperate for me not to stay here; perhaps her housemates are all crazy.
Maybe she has a secret boyfriend.
I’m jolted out of my thoughts as the taxi driver drops my suitcase next to me.
‘Look,’ he says, gesturing to a small sign that points down the side of the house. I squint to try and read it as rain skims off my glasses like I’ve stuck my head inside a waterfall.
The Cabin
‘Oh!’ I say, turning to the driver. ‘So she lives down there?’
He shrugs and climbs back into his car. I nod and step back.
Right, of course. His work here is done; he’s successfully dropped me at my chosen location. It is not his job to help me find the front door, and that’s okay, I can manage it myself.
House Swap Page 7
