House Swap

by Olivia Beirne

At least she’d better bloody be. How long does she expect me to look after her children for? I might be Katy’s sister, but for all she knows I could be a serial killer.

  My whole body aches as I loll in the deckchair like a stupid floppy whale that’s just been scooped off the beach by a large crane.

  ‘Where is Katy?’ Jasmine asks, plopping herself by my feet.

  ‘She’s gone to stay at my house,’ I say, resting my hand on my bump.

  I could really do with a foot rub. Could I get the children to take a foot each? Or would that be an abuse of power?

  Maybe I could turn it into a game.

  ‘Why?’

  I look down at Jasmine. She’s shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand, her bright eyes scrunched up.

  ‘Because I needed her to look after my dog.’

  ‘Will she be back soon?’ William asks, pulling up a fistful of grass and throwing it in the air like confetti.

  Whoever the gardener is, I’m sure they’ll be thrilled.

  ‘Yeah.’ I smile at him. ‘She’s only gone for a week.’ I peer down at him as he sticks out his bottom lip. Clearly I’ve given the wrong answer. ‘Does she look after you often?’

  ‘Every day!’ chimes in Jasmine. ‘She always picks us up from school and helps us with our homework. She works for Mummy while we’re at school.’

  I stare at her.

  Katy looks after the children every day? She told me she worked in the city, in a big swanky office. She’s sent me pictures of her desk.

  ‘Really?’ I say. ‘Has she done that for a while?’

  Jasmine cocks her head. ‘Er . . .’ she says, ‘she came here when I was six and William was four.’

  ‘And how old are you now?’ I ask.

  Jasmine raises her eyebrows at me as though it is plainly obvious how old she is. ‘Nine.’

  I lean back in the chair.

  Katy has been working as a nanny for three years? That’s the entire time she’s lived in London.

  ‘Rachel!’ William chirps, making me jump as he bounces onto his heels. ‘Rachel, I can do a cartwheel. Can I show you?’

  Oh God, what’s the answer here? Are seven-year-olds supposed to cartwheel? Or has he basically asked if he can show me how to make a Jägerbomb?

  Before I can answer, he has launched himself into the air. My whole body jerks forward as he tumbles to the ground, landing on his behind with a loud thump. Jasmine squeals with laughter and William blinks at me, and I can see the tears glistening in his eyes. To my horror, I feel my left boob tingle, and panic darts through me.

  Oh my God.

  ‘It’s okay!’ I say shrilly, desperate to stop him from crying. ‘You’re okay! Come here!’

  This happened once before, in some dreadful changing room last month. I was reluctantly shopping with Peggy for some new maternity clothes and a baby started screaming in the cubicle next to me. I was busy praying that my baby’s cries would be more like a soft simper, as opposed to the help-I’m-being-violently-attacked yells I was hearing, when all of a sudden, my breasts exploded.

  I mean, why does nobody ever warn you? How the hell are pregnant women supposed to go about their days when their breasts transform into water guns every time a child stubs their toe? Peggy laughed the whole thing off and bought me the hideous novelty Bun in the Oven T-shirt (which I was only trying on to please her), and said it was ‘Mother Nature doing her job’.

  Doing her job? Is that what my job is now? Following crying children around and offering my breasts wherever they may be needed?

  I mean, does this happen to everyone? Did it happen to the Queen?

  A tear breaks free onto William’s cheek and I feel another jerk of panic.

  I cannot have my nipples leak in front of these children. That is absolutely unacceptable.

  ‘Don’t cry!’ I blurt. ‘Hey, do you want to hear a joke?’

  William’s bottom lip stops trembling and Jasmine shuffles closer to me.

  ‘Yes, we love jokes!’ she cries.

  William sinks onto the floor and blinks up at me expectantly.

  Oh thank God, he’s stopped crying. Now I just need to tell him a joke. God, what jokes do I know?

  A man walks into a bar . . .

  No, not that one.

  What do you get if you cross a drunk man and a . . .

  No, I definitely can’t tell them that one.

  Oh, I know!

  ‘Okay, Jasmine.’ I hold my hand out, palm open, ‘what’s green and invisible?’

  She looks at my hand and then back up at me. ‘I don’t know.’

  I raise my eyebrows at her expectantly, as if she should be able to see it. ‘This apple.’

  She looks back at my hand and then at William, who erupts into a chain of giggles.

  It’s worked! He’s laughing!

  ‘And William,’ I turn to him, holding out my other hand, ‘what’s red and invisible?’

  His eyes flick from my open palm back to my face.

  ‘This tomato!’

  This time, both of them collapse into giggles, before William jumps to his feet and holds out his own hand.

  ‘What’s purple and invisible?’ he cries, sticking his chest out proudly. ‘This dinosaur!’

  Jasmine thrusts her open palm towards me.

  ‘What’s orange and invisible? This orange!’

  They laugh manically at each other and I grin at them.

  Hey, kids think I’m funny! Maybe that’s the type of mum I’ll be, the funny one. I’ll dress up as a clown for children’s birthday parties and tell jokes, and then my child will become a stand-up comedian and they’ll say, ‘I learnt everything I know from my mum.’

  ‘I’m back!’

  We all look up to see Fiona coming round the side of the house waving dramatically, like she’s sending off a ship. She’s holding three large carrier bags and has kicked off her high heels.

  Oh, finally.

  ‘Was it all right?’ she asks apologetically, stepping onto the grass.

  ‘Mum! Mum!’ William practically shouts, shoving his hand in her face. ‘What’s yellow and invisible? Pikachu!’

  Oh God, what have I started?

  Fiona gives him an odd look and ruffles his hair. ‘Lovely, darling.’

  ‘It was great!’ Jasmine cries, springing into the air. ‘Can we play with Rachel every day?’

  I feel a bolt of alarm.

  Oh no. I don’t want to spend the entire week skipping around with the children like Maria von Trapp.

  ‘We’ll see,’ Fiona says, smiling at me as if she’s just suggested she might give me a thousand pounds if I’m lucky. ‘Now, look what I’ve got.’ She holds the bags in the air and a thick smell fills the air. ‘Fish and chips!’

  The children squeal and leap up and down, dancing with each other as if this is the best news they’ve heard all day.

  ‘Is Rachel having some too?’ William asks, his eyes zooming back on me.

  I open my mouth to protest, but to my alarm, Fiona answers for me.

  ‘Of course!’ she cries. ‘I’ve bought enough for all of us, as a thank you for keeping you two entertained.’

  The children cheer and race inside and Fiona smiles at me.

  ‘I thought it would be a nice way to get to know you,’ she says. ‘Obviously if you have plans or want the night to yourself, then that’s fine, but I’d love it if you’d join us.’

  She flashes her white teeth at me and I freeze.

  If Katy is angry with me now, she’ll be positively furious if she finds out I turned down dinner with her boss.

  I bite my lip.

  I am starving, and thanks to spending my entire afternoon playing with the children, I haven’t had time to cook anything and I do not trust that rogue ready meal in Katy’s fridge.

  What’s one dinner?

  ‘Sure,’ I say, rocking myself out of the chair and back to standing. ‘That would be lovely.’

  *

  William stret
ches across Jasmine, scrabbling to snatch the bottle of ketchup from the middle of the table.

  ‘William!’ she whines. ‘Get off me!’

  Fiona rolls her eyes and hands the bottle to William, who immediately splats a large blob of red sauce into the centre of his plate. Fiona unwraps the glistening paper and starts to serve up the food. She’s about to hand me a plate when she freezes.

  ‘Oh no!’ she cries in dismay. ‘I just remembered, you’re vegan, aren’t you? Katy told me. I guess you can have the mushy peas?’

  My outstretched arm wavers, and I feel my stomach groan in disappointment.

  Oh no. You simply cannot offer a pregnant woman fish and chips and then take them away at the last second in exchange for horrible mushy peas, the absolute worst part of any takeaway.

  ‘Well,’ I say meekly, ‘I was a vegan, but—’

  ‘What’s a vegan?’ Jasmine pipes up.

  ‘It’s where you don’t have any meat or dairy,’ Fiona says, ladling a generous portion of mushy peas onto a plate. I try not to gape at it in horror.

  She puts the plate in front of me and I notice Jasmine looking at me, her brow furrowed.

  ‘Mummy,’ she says pointedly, lifting her chin in the air, ‘I’m also a vegan.’

  ‘No you are not,’ snaps Fiona, shooting her a look. ‘Now eat your dinner.’

  I cannot survive on a plate of peas. I refuse.

  ‘Actually,’ I say quickly, feeling my cheeks immediately flare, ‘I’m not a vegan any more. I’m more of a flexitarian.’

  Jasmine frowns again. ‘What’s a flexitarian?’

  Fiona blinks at me. ‘So, you would like some fish?’ she says slowly.

  ‘I do try to be vegan,’ I say earnestly, ‘as much as I can, but I’m not strict with it.’

  I break off, trying to fight the saliva pooling in my mouth as I stare at the fish and chips inches away from my plate.

  Fiona shrugs and piles my plate with golden greasy batter and fat salty chips. I try not to whimper with relief.

  William picks up his cutlery and starts smearing a chip in ketchup. I look around the table. Fiona’s kitchen is spacious and bright, with wooden beams and a floor of mahogany tiles. As Jasmine and William dig in, I notice that there isn’t a spare seat.

  ‘Is your husband not eating?’ I ask.

  Fiona shakes her head, pulling out a bottle of white wine from the plastic bag.

  ‘No,’ she says, unscrewing the lid, ‘he’s busy working.’

  ‘Daddy never eats with us,’ Jasmine says.

  ‘He did on my birthday!’ William mumbles through a mouthful of chips.

  Fiona holds the bottle towards me, and I shake my head.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘pregnant.’

  Gosh, I hope she’s realised before now that I’m pregnant. I mean, I’m eight months gone!

  She nods to herself in an ‘of course’ motion and glugs the near-transparent liquid into a large glass.

  ‘So exciting that you’re having a baby. Are you married?’

  Her eyes flick down to my left hand, and I quickly swallow a chip, feeling my face tingle.

  I haven’t taken off my wedding ring. I don’t know why. Danny has been gone for months.

  ‘Yes,’ I hear myself say. ‘I’ve been married for two years. My husband works on cruise ships so is away a lot, but he’s really excited.’

  I pause, a hot feeling of shock shooting through me as I hear myself lie so freely. I stare down at my food, but as my words swim around my mind, my appetite is slowly replaced with the urge to vomit. What is wrong with me? Why can’t I tell her the truth? She doesn’t care, she doesn’t even know Danny!

  Fiona takes a swig of her wine, clearly unfazed by my answer.

  ‘So,’ I say, desperate to change the subject before any more lies fall out of my mouth, ‘has Katy been here long?’

  For a second I think Fiona is going to question why I don’t already know how long Katy has been in her job, but she stabs a chip with her fork and scrunches up her face as though trying to conjure up the memory.

  ‘Two or three years,’ she says. ‘I needed an assistant. I run an events company called Hayes.’

  Ah. So Katy does work for a company called Hayes. At least she hasn’t been making that up.

  ‘Katy applied, and she was so great.’ Fiona leans over and wipes ketchup off William’s cheek. ‘At the interview, I asked where she was based and she said how she would need to relocate for the job. We’d just had the lodge built’ – she lifts her wine glass towards the garden, where I can see the cabin glowing in the amber light of the lamp – ‘because we were going to try and hire an au pair to help with the kids. It just felt perfect! It was only meant to be a temporary thing, but here we still are.’

  She takes another sip of her wine, her eyes glazing over.

  I put down my fork. I know I shouldn’t pry. I should just ask Katy these questions myself, but now that I’m here, I can’t stop myself.

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘what exactly does she do for you? Does she work in the office?’

  The word ‘office’ seems to break Fiona out of her trance, and she picks up another chip and dabs it in William’s ketchup.

  ‘Sometimes,’ she says. ‘She helps me with home life, the kids, my diary. She was involved with the last event I did, but that didn’t go too well.’

  She laughs loudly and Jasmine joins in.

  ‘Mummy was really wet,’ she says, grinning at me. ‘She looked like she had gone swimming with all of her clothes on.’

  Fiona smiles at me. ‘There was an issue with the fire alarm.’

  I try and smile back. Katy has always told me that she works in the office. None of this makes sense.

  ‘But it’s so exciting that Katy is going to be an auntie!’ Fiona coos, leaning towards me. ‘I bet she’ll be fantastic. She’s great with kids.’

  Her words jolt me out of my thoughts with a cold shock.

  ‘Yes,’ I say quickly, ‘though I haven’t told her yet. I want it to be a surprise.’

  I stare at her, trying to speak to her telepathically.

  Please don’t tell Katy I’m pregnant.

  A look of confusion flits over her face, but she shrugs it away and takes another sip of wine.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, her eyes misting over again as she stares into the distance, ‘how nice.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  KATY

  I’m sitting on Rachel’s sofa, my back poker straight as though I have a rod sewn into my skin. My hands, which have nearly frozen in their new claw position, hover over my laptop as my bloodshot eyes stare at the screen. They’re dry and scratchy due to the lack of blinking I’ve done in the last day. Also, perhaps, the lack of sleep I had last night thanks to flickering paranoia of Fiona sending me a howler in the post and whimpering over my Cheerios like a commiserating Ron Weasley.

  As soon as I had internet, I went through all forty emails that sprang onto my screen, hunting for some kind of clue that would seal my fate, but there was nothing. The only emails from Fiona, apart from her initial one that morning, were forwarded invoices and details of the auction winners. There was no mention of the disaster I’d caused, not to mention the assault of a colleague. It was like it never happened.

  I scrunch up my eyes as they sear with pain, desperate for me to keep them closed for a second longer.

  I tried to trick myself into believing that Fiona doesn’t care and maybe it’s no big deal. Perhaps this sort of thing happens all the time. Maybe it even made the whole event better and everyone is laughing about it, like it’s a funny story that bonded the whole party together!

  This fantasy lasted about four seconds.

  Or she hasn’t said anything because she wants to give me one last week of blind optimism before she fires me for being so completely incompetent. It was bad enough that I ruined the most important event of the entire year, but I also dumped my random sister on her property with no warning or apology.

&nb
sp; My frozen hands twitch as a fizz of irritation shoots through me.

  I still can’t believe that Rachel moved into my house without my permission.

  I’ve muted her calls and emails. She’s tried to call me three times now, although she only left the one voicemail. I’ll send her a message eventually, once I’ve worked out what I’m going to say.

  Bruno yelps and I jump, the harsh sound shocking my body like a bolt of lightning. He has been firmly stropping because I still haven’t taken him out on a walk. I pull myself to my feet and stomp towards the back door, kicking it open. Bruno zooms out and I quickly pull it shut, the wet air from outside speckling my face.

  ‘There,’ I say, dropping myself back on the sofa and staring at my screen again, ‘go bark out there.’

  I reread the email. I wrote it about an hour ago but I still haven’t been able to send it. I actually composed it originally at 2 a.m., while I was lying in bed madly fantasising about every conversation going on in the office surrounding me and my failures.

  Dear Fiona,

  Hope you and the kids are okay.

  Nice touch. Reminding her that I look after her bloody children all the time and they love me. If she fires me, they’ll be devastated. Maybe I’ll put Jasmine down as a character reference.

  First of all, I am so sorry that my sister has arrived at the house. I had no idea she was going to do that.

  Hmm. That suggests lack of control. I hit the delete key.

  First of all, I am so sorry that my sister has arrived at the house. I was not expecting her to do that.

  That’s better. Stupid bloody Rachel.

  She should keep herself to herself and not bother you or the children.

  Code: she’d better keep herself to herself, and if she bothers you I will put butter in her lovely vegan face cream.

  I would like to talk to you about the charity ball. How much did we raise in the end?

  Ha. Very good way of subtly reminding Fiona that it was for charity after all and sacking me for a semi-harmless offence isn’t very charitable.

  Obviously it did not turn out the way I had hoped, due to unforeseen circumstances.

  The unforeseen circumstances being Diane the raving maniac.

  I hope you can see the hard work I put in . . .

  I.e. that fucking big ice sculpture I ordered from Yorkshire. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a courier who will transport an ice sculpture four hundred miles across the country?