I glare back at him, my ears ringing. Anger throbs through my body and I’m about to scream back when I see the shaggy, excitable shadow of Bruno bounding over the hills.
*
‘Oh look.’
I stop walking as Isaac stretches his arm across me, gesturing to a rock, glistening in the rain. I squint, trying to work out what he’s pointing at, then I spot it. A fat shimmering toad is sitting squat on the rock, its throat swelling rhythmically as though it’s made from elastic. As I step closer, I feel my chest tighten.
‘Your grandma loved toads, didn’t she?’ Isaac says, crouching down. ‘I remember she cried when my cat once brought one in.’
The toad’s bulbous eyes swivel towards me, and in the same beat it leaps into the bush. I never understood why Grandma loved toads so much, but she always made us stop and admire them on walks. I find it strange now that some people are afraid of them.
‘Yeah,’ I say quietly as Isaac rises to his full height next to me, ‘she did.’
I bury my face in the lip of my coat, trying to avoid his eyes.
I hate how much he knows about me. He even came to her funeral.
‘I’m sorry about your watch.’
I feel an odd tingle in the pit of my stomach. Isaac’s head is nestled into his coat; only his green eyes are peering out and locked forward.
I open and close my mouth, the many reactions to him literally throwing my watch over a cliff swirling in my mind, like they have been for the past hour.
I want to scream at him. It wasn’t just my watch he broke, it was my chance to contact Fiona and try and make things right. With my laptop refusing to pick up any signal and Fiona’s phone out of action, this might have been my only chance. I know I booked this week off work, but a week of silence is just a chance for Fiona to forget about me and any inkling she may have had that I could be a good junior events coordinator. I’ll probably come back to find a new leggy employee, with glowing skin and streams of glossy hair, ready to go with her permanently relaxed expression and obsession with sparkling water.
But even though I’m angry, Isaac’s words keep spinning through my mind and bringing a hollow feeling in my chest.
How can you not care about anyone but yourself?
Isaac and I always bickered, but we never really argued, not until we broke up. He always looked at me as though I was surrounded by a pool of golden light, but today his expression was almost one of disappointment. I didn’t realise he was capable of looking at me like that.
‘It’s fine,’ I mumble, staring down at Bruno as he tugs on his lead, pulling me towards the house. Isaac offered to hold him on the way home, but I refused. I wanted to prove that I wasn’t completely useless.
The storm seemed to strip back its anger as we climbed down the cliff. The thunder rumbled lightly into more of a growl than a roar, and the flashes of lightning flickered in the distance, busy shocking other parts of Wales.
I pull my hood closer to my head, my hands feeling as if they might disintegrate. Sheets of rain continue to wash over us, as they have been from the second we set out.
I look up at Isaac as we reach my front gate, which is shaking slightly in the wind. Bruno whines and pushes his nose against it, but Isaac and I have stopped walking.
‘Bye then,’ I say quietly, barely making eye contact. ‘Thanks for your help.’
Isaac gives me a half-smile.
‘That’s okay,’ he says, shrugging his shoulders. ‘I really am sorry about your watch,’ he adds, forcing himself to meet my eyes. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
I feel my face grow hot.
‘It’s fine,’ I say again, as Bruno nearly knocks me off balance by yanking on the lead.
‘It’s just,’ Isaac pulls his eyes away from me, ‘I sometimes don’t . . . like I don’t . . .’ He trails off, pushing his boots into the mud.
I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting for him to finish.
‘Okay,’ I say eventually, kicking open the gate. ‘Thanks again, Isaac.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
RACHEL
I stare at the cleaning products, all neatly lined up in a row in order of size on the coffee table, standing proudly as if they’re posing for a photo shoot. Katy’s voicemail swirls round my head, like it has been since it came through this morning. I knew she’d be angry, but I hadn’t expected her to be that angry.
I should have told her about the Wi-Fi. To be honest, I didn’t think she’d have time for work; in my mind we’d either be spending the week together or she would have stormed out of the door the moment she unravelled all my lies.
I glance back down at my phone screen, the message to Katy still unread.
You need to sit on the old chair in my bedroom. Or turn the Wi-Fi on and off again. Ignore the orange light, it comes on for fifteen minutes, but after that it should work.
I slump my cheek into my hand as the baby shifts its position, then slide my hand onto my bump, my heart turning like it always does when I feel the baby move. None of my clothes fit me any more, not even the maternity bits I ordered online. I mean, am I that big? What do women do who are giving birth to twins? Or that woman in America who had octuplets? Was she just naked for her entire third trimester?
The only thing I’ve been able to squeeze myself into is an enormous maternity dress that is essentially a big sheet with a hole for my puffy face to pop through. So I will be living in this until I give birth, and if I wet myself before then (another fun factor they don’t include on those yummy mummy baby films. I won’t even go into what eight months of pregnancy does to your vagina, but let’s just say mine currently looks like it’s made out of puff pastry), I will wallow in my birthing pool until I go into labour like the enormous whale that I am.
Not that I have my birthing pool here, obviously. But I’m sure Fiona will have a spare paddling pool kicking about.
The one benefit of staying here is that I don’t need to hide my bump. Fiona swallowed my lie that I’m happily married, and why shouldn’t she?
I wasn’t intending to tell anyone I was pregnant, not until I’d worked out what I was going to do. Although it’s probably a good thing that Isaac barged his way into my house and Peggy caught me crying in the work loos, otherwise I wouldn’t have told anyone until the baby was eleven years old.
Reluctantly Isaac swore himself to secrecy, not that he understood why. Nobody understands why I want to keep it a secret. I haven’t even told Danny.
The bottle of bleach I’ve been staring at starts to mist up before me, and I quickly wipe my eyes with the back of my hand.
My phone lights up next to me and I pick it up, feeling my stomach turn over as Katy’s name flashes onto the screen. She’s sent me a picture message.
Oh God, what now? Proof of me listening to her voicemail and ignoring her? A photo of her throwing all my white linen out of the window?
I open the message and see a photo of Bruno. He’s curled up by Katy’s feet, fast asleep with one of my cream blankets wrapped around him. A warm glow inflates in the pit of my stomach as I see that she has sent it with a heart emoji, and under the photo she’s written, Hope you’re okay and the conference is going well. I chew my lip. I’ll tell her one day that the conference never existed.
As I close the message, the text from Isaac that came through this morning pops back onto my screen, glaring at me.
Hi, er . . . where are you? Aren’t you supposed to be here to see Katy? Have you not told her anything? She’s a total nightmare and I don’t know how long I can stand her for. Please come back.
I smile at the message. Funny how they’re both using me to vent their fury at being stuck next door to each other, and what a terrible situation they’re in. Maybe it’s because I’m the only one who knows how fine the line is for them between love and hate.
I lock my phone and push myself up to standing, scooping up a pile of Katy’s washing and walking towards her machine.
I don’t care if she get
s annoyed; I’m going to clean her flat. It’s bad enough that I have to climb up an actual ladder when I go to bed. I cannot stay in a flat that looks like it hosts a family of cockroaches.
As I stick the washing in the machine, adding fabric softener and feeling myself relax as the floral smell swirls around me, I hear a knock at the door.
I look over my shoulder and see Jasmine, her nose pressed to the window. I left their house last night almost as soon as I had finished eating, as the conversation was steering too close to my personal life. I did the polite thing, I accepted Fiona’s generous offer of dinner. I even offered to help with the washing-up. I’ve paid my dues, and now I should be allowed to enjoy the rest of this week guilt-free and very much alone.
I pull open the door and Jasmine jumps onto the doormat, flashing her gap-toothed smile at me. She looks super cute in a tartan skirt and a white polo neck with a school crest embroidered on the chest. One of her socks has rolled down her ankle, and I notice a sticky red graze shimmering on her knee. She follows my gaze and grins.
‘I fell over today,’ she says proudly. ‘We were playing stuck in the mud. Do you know how to play?’ Her eyes suddenly widen at the idea, as though we could launch into another game.
An unflattering image pops into my mind of Jasmine trying to squeeze between my legs as I desperately try not to topple over like a tenpin skittle.
‘Er,’ I say, ‘yes. But I can’t play now, it might hurt the baby.’
I catch myself as I realise that this is the first time I’ve referred to the baby out loud, instead of murmuring ‘I’m pregnant’ like it was just something that was happening to me and was out of my control.
Jasmine looks at my stomach and scowls. I can almost see her little mind trying to work out how stuck in the mud might hurt a baby, when Fiona appears, half jogging down the garden. William is running alongside her, his chubby arm in the air and a string of bubbles following him.
‘Hi, Rachel,’ Fiona says as she reaches me. She’s clutching a stack of papers and is wearing an elegant shift dress with delicate strappy sandals.
‘Sorry,’ she says, shooting Jasmine a look. ‘I told the children not to bother you. Rachel is busy, remember? She’s not here to play with you.’
Jasmine scowls at her.
‘School run?’ I smile, as William starts spinning in circles to create a stream of bubbles.
Fiona rolls her eyes. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘Normally Katy and I do the school run together, and I go into the office in between. I work from home for the last few hours of the day, but my work is flexible, thankfully, and that’s another reason why your sister is so brilliant.’
She smiles at me, and I feel a pang of guilt once again for the judgemental voicemails sitting on Katy’s phone.
‘Mummy!’ Jasmine suddenly turns to Fiona and tugs on her arm. ‘Show Rachel what we bought her!’
I frown.
‘Oh!’ Fiona laughs lightly. ‘It’s nothing. We just saw this and thought of you.’
‘Where is it?’ Jasmine says impatiently. ‘I want to show her!’
‘It’s in the house, darling,’ Fiona says, and with that Jasmine shoots up the garden like a ravenous bloodhound.
‘You didn’t have to buy me anything,’ I say, feeling myself blush.
‘It was Jasmine’s idea,’ Fiona says, kneeling down to help William with his bubbles. ‘She’s quite taken with you! Although I’m not surprised. She adores Katy and you’re practically identical. How’s Katy getting on?’
‘Fine,’ I say automatically, feeling an odd tingle in the pit of my stomach at the reminder that I’ve barely spoken to my sister since she arrived in Wales and I’m pretty certain that she’s actually doing terribly, thanks to me.
‘Good!’ Fiona says, pulling herself back to standing. ‘She hasn’t been replying to my emails, which is very unlike her, but I’m glad she’s finally switching off. Ah!’
Jasmine skids to a halt next to Fiona and proudly sticks her hand out. A Waitrose vegan pasta dish for four stares up at me, and I smile.
‘It’s for all of us!’ Jasmine chimes. ‘Because I’m a vegan too.’
‘Well,’ Fiona says hastily, ‘Rachel doesn’t have to have dinner with us again, Jasmine. This meal is just for her.’
I look up and notice Fiona’s face flushing.
‘Is Daddy having dinner with us?’ William asks, puffing out his cheeks to blow another bubble.
‘No,’ Fiona says, ‘he’ll be working late again tonight.’
‘What are we having for dinner then?’ Jasmine asks, still staring at the pasta dish in my hands.
‘Spaghetti bolognese.’
‘Is that vegan?’
I’m about to answer when Fiona gets there first.
‘Yes, it is,’ she says, shooting me a look. I try and hide my smile.
‘I don’t want that!’ Jasmine says, screwing up her face. ‘I want dinner with Rachel!’
Fiona’s eyes narrow, and I almost want to laugh as Jasmine pulls an identical face back at her.
‘It’s okay,’ I say quickly, ‘we can all have it, I don’t mind.’
Jasmine’s face splits into a smile, and Fiona blinks at me.
‘Really?’ she says. ‘Are you sure? I know you didn’t plan a week in Chiswick just to spend it with us!’
She laughs a little too loudly and I feel a burning desire to reassure her, even though a week ago I didn’t even know these people existed.
‘No, really,’ I say. ‘It will be nice.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KATY
I lean my weight on the kitchen counter as the coffee machine spins into life. White streams of light are flooding through the window, and I can see the orange glow of the sun peeking out over the hills like the fresh yolk of an egg. I didn’t mean to get up this early – it’s barely six – but I struggled to sleep. Again.
Bruno pokes his head around the kitchen door and tilts it at me. I don’t know how he escaped from the back garden – although Isaac seemed to think there was an ‘obvious hole’ in the hedge – but I almost burst into tears when I saw him bounding across the field unharmed. I don’t know if it was relief at not losing Rachel’s dog or relief that he was okay.
‘Hey.’ I drop to my knees and hold out my hand towards him. He creeps forward until we are face to face, and then, before I can jump out of the way, flops his large body onto my legs. I wobble to the floor and Bruno sinks his weight into mine. Is he giving me a cuddle?
The coffee machine beeps impressively and I glance up towards its flashing light.
I rest my head against the kitchen cupboard and Bruno leans into me. Neatly framed photographs gaze down at me from the marble-white kitchen walls. I smile as my eyes scan them. Rachel has always loved photographs. When I asked for a set of paints for our thirteenth birthday, she begged for a camera, and she was forever dragging Grandma to Boots to get the photos printed so she could pin them up on the wall. She was always nagging me to pose, and secretly snapping away at me while I was painting. I pause at a photo of Danny and Rachel on their wedding day, their beaming faces plump and bright.
As I look closer, I notice shadows dotted across the wall. I didn’t see them when I arrived, but now I realise that they are in the shape of missing frames. Did Rachel take some photos down?
I narrow my eyes, trying to work out who is missing. There are photos of Grandma, of me, even of Mum and Dad. There are lots of Bruno too, and as my eyes land on the final frame, my gut gives an uncomfortable squirm.
The only picture of Rachel and Danny is from their wedding day. That can’t be right. But why would she take their photos down?
The coffee machine beeps again and Bruno turns his head to face me, his big eyes blinking at me.
‘Sorry about yesterday,’ I say, locking my arms around his neck. ‘You really scared me, though. I promise I’ll take you out for more walks from now on.’
He pushes his face closer to mine and I shrink backwards.
I nudge Bruno off my lap and grab a coffee mug. For some reason, Rachel has kept all the mugs I made as a teenager. I don’t know why; they don’t match her Cath Kidston kitchen, the paint on the majority of them is faded, and one of the handles has fallen off. They look terrible.
I press another button on the machine, and a stream of coffee tinkles into the mug.
I haven’t heard back from Rachel after that horrible voicemail I left her.
I feel a flash of guilt as snippets of my rant float back into my mind. Really, I shouldn’t be allowed to leave voicemails. I should have just written her a letter; at least then by the time I found a stamp I could have cooled down and changed my mind. I sent her a happy photo of Bruno last night as a peace offering. Maybe if I call today she’ll answer and we can have a real conversation.
I take a sip of my coffee, and jump as I hear a loud banging on the door. Bruno shoots out from under my feet, almost knocking me over, and yelps loudly as he bounds towards the window.
What? Who on earth is that?
I am about to flatten myself against the wall in an attempt to be out of sight when Isaac appears at the window. He stares right at me and I feel a burning flash of humiliation as I blink back at him, my hair screwed up above my head, spot cream crusted to my face and my old-lady pyjamas hanging off me.
Urgh, again? Does he pop by at the crack of dawn – unannounced – every day? Is this just his thing? It’s six in the bloody morning!
I freeze, feeling completely paralysed, as Bruno continues to bark, doing his classic trick of throwing his entire body against the window.
What am I supposed to do? Can I hide? Pretend this is just a figment of Isaac’s imagination, or that I haven’t seen him after all? Perhaps I could pretend I’m sleepwalking! Yes! I’ll stick my arms out and glide back up the stairs and pretend none of this ever happened.
Although is it sleepwalkers who do that, or zombies?
Isaac knocks his knuckles on the window and raises his eyebrows at me, gesturing towards the front door.
House Swap Page 13
