The Switch Up

by Katy Cannon

  Luca raised the bucket of food he’d carried from the barn and emptied it into the trough at the front of the stable. I stopped breathing altogether as I waited for the thunder of hooves…

  A thin grey donkey trotted out and stuck its muzzle in the trough. Behind it came an even smaller donkey, this one dragging one of its back legs.

  OK, even I couldn’t be scared of these two. Much.

  “They were going to be put down because no one wanted them, but Sofia saved them. She can’t resist rescuing lost and abandoned creatures.” Luca leaned against the wall of the stable beside me, watching the donkeys eat. “I think that’s why she took me and my brother and sister in, really.”

  “You’re not lame donkeys,” I pointed out. “It’s kind of different.”

  Luca shrugged. “Not really. No one else wanted us either.”

  He pushed away from the wall, as if he’d said too much, and went to pet the lame donkey’s ears instead. “This one is Achilles,” he told me, without looking up. “The other is Hercules.”

  “Big names for little donkeys.”

  “Sofia has high hopes for things. Even lame donkeys.”

  I thought about what Luca had said as I followed him around the rest of the farmyard, putting out food and water for the animals. Every one of them seemed to have a rescue story – even the chickens.

  “The old farmer down the road was selling up,” Luca explained, as he felt around in the straw for an egg. “The chickens would have been killed, I guess, if he couldn’t find another home for them. So Sofia declared that eggs for breakfast were her favourite thing and moved them here. Mattias said she’d never eaten eggs in the morning before then.”

  We delivered the eggs to Sofia in the kitchen, where Rosa was sat at the big, battered wooden table practising her reading, and were rewarded with muffins, still warm from the oven.

  “Come on,” Luca said. “We can eat them outside.”

  I felt almost guilty, sitting in the sunshine with Luca, under the sparse shade of an olive grove, biting into the most delicious blueberry muffin I’d ever tasted. I wasn’t supposed to be here, enjoying all this – Willa was. If she’d known how warm and happy Sofia’s house was, would she still have picked London? I couldn’t know.

  We’d texted until almost midnight the night before, filling each other in on our adventures so far. Willa seemed to be having fun planning and scheming in London – at least, after the near disaster of bumping into Hal. I’d totally forgotten he’d even moved to London (in fact, I’d not really thought about him over the last year) but I was glad she had someone on her side, at least.

  Just like I had Luca for company. I watched him from under my lashes, as he sat beside me in companionable silence while we were eating. Did he really think he was as lost and as broken as those poor donkeys? What had happened to the rest of his family to make him feel that way? Antonio and Rosa both seemed confident and happy – or was that just a show? Maybe they were all as insecure as Luca, but he was just more honest about it.

  “So, if your dad and Sofia never really knew each other, how come you’re here now?” Luca asked.

  I tensed up for a second before realizing I had all the answers to that question. What worried me more was that he’d clearly been thinking about it since our conversation yesterday, if he was bringing it up again now.

  I tried to channel Willa’s feelings and gave him a sad smile. “I’m like Achilles and Hercules. No one wanted me this summer, either. Dad’s in Edinburgh performing at the Fringe, Mum’s in LA filming, and they’re both far too busy with their acting careers to have me there with them. Sofia was the only person who wanted me.”

  It was Willa’s story, not mine, but it felt true all the same.

  “So you’re another of Sofia’s lost souls, then?” Luca said, looking at me with new interest. “Guess we’ve got something more in common than a love of gelato after all.”

  “I guess so.”

  We held each other’s gazes for a moment, then looked away again, both turning our attention back to our muffins. But I hid a small smile as I bit into mine.

  “I thought you were going to unpack the other night?” Mabel looked confused as she took in the state of my bedroom – previously her office.

  I tried to see it through her eyes. The desk was covered in chargers and headphones and the couple of magazines I’d grabbed from my bag before handing it to Alice. Yesterday’s clothes were piled on the chair, and my shoes were scattered somewhere underneath. And in the middle of the tiny floor space was Alice’s suitcase, open and overflowing, but obviously not in any way unpacked.

  “I, uh, guess I was too tired,” I lied. Actually, I just hated unpacking (doesn’t everybody?) and besides, I’d had to type up my profile for Alice on my tablet. And since then I … just hadn’t really wanted to.

  “Would you like me to help?” Mabel glanced between the suitcase and the empty clothes rail. For someone who had no problems with books taking over every surface in her house, she was kind of particular about clothes clutter, it seemed.

  “Nah, I’ll do it.” Pushing myself up off the bed, I kneeled next to Alice’s suitcase and started pulling out items. And pulling faces.

  So far, I’d managed to put up with the ‘jeans and T-shirt’ look that Alice preferred, but I had to admit, I’d been hoping there might be something a little more interesting buried in the case that I’d somehow missed when rummaging through it.

  No such luck. Apparently the clothes Alice had been wearing on the plane had been the height of her fashion styling. Which was to say, about the height of a small kitten.

  “If you’re sure…” Mabel gave one last meaningful look at the clothes rail, then disappeared. I waited until I heard the kettle click on in the kitchen – the woman was addicted to tea – then whipped out my phone to text Alice. We’d made plans to message each other with updates later that night, after we’d gone to bed and were safely alone, but this actually couldn’t wait.

  Seriously. What’s with your clothes?

  No response.

  To prove my point, I collected some of the most offensive items (baggy T-shirt with ‘Ask me about marine biology’ on the front with a picture of some fish; a ‘Live life on porpoise’ vest top; baggy cargo shorts with pockets everywhere; and a dress with roses on that looked like a five-year-old girl’s best party outfit) and took photos to send to Alice to accompany my message above.

  Still no answer.

  Sighing, I began categorizing the contents of the suitcase as I hung them up or put them away in the drawer Mabel had cleared for me in the chest by the door.

  Category 1: Basics I could wear – plain fitted T-shirts, jeans, etc.

  Category 2: Items I could make interesting – a pair of denim cut-offs that could probably be cut off a little bit more. A maxi skirt that could definitely work with a crop top – if I could find one.

  Category 3: Things I was going to pretend I’d never seen, for the sake of my eyes – almost everything else.

  Categories 4–5 were underwear and socks, shoes and accessories. (Huge surprise, Alice hadn’t embraced the importance of accessorizing. That was probably the smallest category. In my world, you weren’t properly dressed without earrings and a bag – preferably designer. I wasn’t even sure Alice had her ears pierced.)

  The rest of the suitcase, to my horror, was full of books. As if the three in her hand luggage hadn’t been enough.

  Haven’t you ever heard of an e-reader? I texted, as I stacked the books on top of Mabel’s on the desk.

  Once everything was put away, I sank down on the bed again and stared accusingly at the clothes rail. It wasn’t like I thought clothes were the most important thing on the planet. Just maybe the second or third.

  I liked clothes. I liked picking an outfit to suit my mood. I liked choosing the perfect belt to go with a dress, or finding a pair of jeans that fitted just right. My mum always said that our clothes were our character on show.

 
Which was the problem. I wasn’t Willa right now – I was Alice.

  But maybe Alice had just never learned about fashion. Maybe this would be the summer that ‘Alice’ would discover a new love of style.

  Because there was no way in hell I was wearing that child’s party dress.

  I decided to embrace the next few weeks as a fashion challenge. Crossing to the clothes rail, I ran my fingers over the fabrics, trying to visualize a few not-hideous outfits I could create from what I had to work with. Maybe I could cut off the bottom of that red tank and make it into a crop top…

  “Alice?” I spun round to find Mabel in the doorway again. “Oh, this looks much better! And you’ve got your books out. That will make you feel more at home, I’m sure. I always feel more settled once I’ve unpacked my books.”

  “Yeah, of course.” For me, that would normally be my make-up. Alice barely had any. All I’d found in her wash bag was some tinted lip balm and clear mascara. No bronzer, no brow palette, no fake lashes … nothing. I felt naked without it. But I figured that even Mabel would know Alice wasn’t exactly the YouTube-beauty-contouring type, so I’d have to tone down my usual style even when I got to go shopping for supplies.

  Mabel sank down on to the bed, smiling as she looked around the room. It wasn’t tidy exactly, but it looked like someone was living there – not just passing through. Maybe that was what she liked about it.

  “It was nice that you got to see Hal at the university yesterday. Your dad mentioned that the two of you were friends.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” An idea started to form. “Um, actually we were planning to try to hang out some more next week. Maybe a few days, if that’s OK with you?”

  If I could get Hal to act as my alibi, this could be the solution to the theatre course!

  To my surprise, Mabel looked relieved. “Actually, that would be perfect. It looks like I might have to spend a few days at work next week, unfortunately, and I’d hate for you to be stuck there bored. But if you’re hanging out with Hal I’ll worry much less.”

  “Brilliant! Uh, not that you have to work, of course. But it’ll be nice to spend time with Hal.” I remembered what he’d said about his dad moving. “I haven’t seen him since they moved to London last September.” It’s always the true details that make a lie convincing.

  “Good. But I was also wondering … your dad mentioned you might like to go shopping? He actually sent some money for me to take you to pick up new clothes or whatever you might need. I don’t know much about teen fashions these days, but I can’t be any worse at it than your dad would be. I was thinking maybe we could go to the Westfield shopping centre tomorrow? Make the most of our first weekend together?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I launched myself at Mabel and hugged her hard.

  Mabel laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

  “Take that as a ‘definitely’.”

  Not only was I going to be able to make my theatre course, but my prayers to the fashion gods had been answered! I pulled out my phone to text Hal and make plans for next week. This summer was going to be awesome.

  I wasn’t sure if it was the time zone changes still affecting my body clock, or the warm Italian sun streaming through my picture window, but I kept waking up early. Well, not as early as Mattias, who started work on the farm at sunrise, but before Luca and the others at least.

  Back home, I loved a holiday lie-in – my dad would have to come and drag me from my bed to go out on adventures with him. But here, I found myself awake early every morning.

  The extra time was good, actually. I’d started scribbling in my journal – writing about what we’d been doing, things I’d learned about Sofia and her family, including Luca and his brother and sister. I wrote a lot about how everything felt (the incident with Antonio and the bra socks had taken up three whole pages) and I always felt better for seeing it down on paper. Given how much had happened in the last few days, I knew I was at risk of getting overwhelmed and anxious again. So I did what I knew worked to keep me calm.

  Then I’d hide my journal under my mattress, just in case anyone went snooping, and head down to join the others for breakfast. It was my new routine, and I liked it.

  But when I woke up on Saturday morning, something was different.

  There was the most amazing smell wafting up the stairs from the kitchen. Something sharp and sweet and citrusy. Pushing off the blankets, I quickly washed and dressed then headed to the kitchen to find out exactly what it was.

  “Ah, good! My next helper.” Sofia shot me a wicked smile as I loitered in the kitchen doorway.

  “I just wanted to find out what that gorgeous smell was,” I admitted.

  “That’s how she reels them in,” Antonio said, grinning as he perched on the kitchen counter. My stomach waged a war between clenched embarrassment and butterflies as I saw him there. One thing me and my journal had definitely decided between us – this crush of mine wasn’t nearly as much fun as all the TV shows made it out to be. In fact, most of the time it was just mortifying.

  Sofia waved a tray of small cakes in my direction, and I turned my attention to her, happy for the distraction. “My grandmother’s lemon cake recipe. They’re waiting to be iced once they cool. But they taste best warm…”

  “I love lemon cake,” I said, hoping she’d take the hint.

  “And you may have one.” Beaming, I reached out to take one… “If you agree to help me in the kitchen today.”

  I hadn’t baked in years. Oh, I cooked, a little – some simple dishes I’d learned, to help Dad out during busy weeks by making dinner for us both. But baking … that was something Mum and I used to do together. Grandma Wendy too, before she died. Grandma used to joke that sugar was our family tradition.

  Bake away your troubles, Alice. Mum’s voice was soft but clear in my head. I remembered her telling me that once, after I’d had a huge argument with Claire, back in Year Five. Mum and I had spent the afternoon creating new kinds of cakes – finding the best combinations of flavours and ingredients together. By the time we presented our creations to Dad at teatime, I’d forgotten all about the argument.

  Maybe I could bake away my crush on Antonio.

  It felt strange, the idea of baking with Sofia, the way I used to with Mum. But nice too, in a way. Nice to remember that not all good things had to go away, just because people did.

  And I really did love lemon cake.

  Decision made, I took my cake. “OK, then. What are we doing?”

  “Tomorrow is the village food festival.” Sofia pulled more ingredients from the cupboard below the counter. “Every year, all the locals compete to provide the most delicious food at the stalls.”

  “Plus there’s dancing and music and games,” Antonio added. “You’ll love it, Willa. I’ll show you around all the best stalls.”

  Sofia cleared her throat and Antonio flashed her a smile.

  “Of course, Sofia’s food is the absolute greatest,” he added.

  I barely heard him. I was still stuck on his previous statement. I’ll show you around.

  Was this all it took? I changed my name and my jeans and suddenly I had a gorgeous seventeen-year-old Italian wanting to escort me to a festival? Probably this sort of thing happened to Willa all the time.

  Antonio hadn’t exactly asked me out on a date – we’d all go together as a family. But that logic didn’t change the way it made me feel and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

  “Anyway, I have a lot of baking to do, and a reputation to uphold,” Sofia went on. “I tested all the recipes the other weekend, but I need a sous chef!”

  It turned out that Sofia’s new recipes weren’t just for cakes. She wanted to make savoury dishes, desserts, sweets and canapés galore.

  “What did you do with all the food from the trial run?” I asked, as I leafed through her recipe stack.

  Sofia shrugged. “We have two teenage boys in the house – plus Mattias, who is even worse. It all got
eaten.”

  Just then, Mattias passed through the kitchen, snagging a lemon cake as he went. He pressed a quick kiss to the side of Sofia’s neck.

  “Don’t listen to her, Willa. Whenever she does a big cooking weekend, she always gives half the food to the shelter, up in the village.” He bit into his cake. “But only half. Me and the boys definitely eat the rest! Come on, Antonio. Work to do!”

  Antonio sighed and followed, and then they were gone, back out to do whatever it was olive farmers did all day. I watched them go, thinking about my sort-of date with Antonio tomorrow. If it went well, maybe I’d tell him about Mum’s waterfall. Maybe he’d know where it was. Maybe he’d even take me there…

  “Luca already told me you can’t resist helping lost souls,” I said to Sofia. “Like the animals.”

  “Mattias says I have a good-Samaritan problem.” Sofia chuckled. “But the way I see it, I’m so lucky to have my life. Why not share some of that luck?”

  “Is that why you agreed to have me stay for the summer?” The question was out before I’d really thought about it.

  Sofia gave me a long look, then pushed a kitchen stool towards me. “Sit down, Willa.”

  I did as I was told, but never took my eyes off Sofia as she pulled up her own stool next to me. Then, apparently as an afterthought, she hopped down, grabbed a tray of freshly baked savoury pastries, and put them on a plate between us before sitting again.

  “Your father, he’s, I think, thirteen years older than me. I never really knew him growing up, and I only met him a few times after that, to be honest. I think … my mama always said that he didn’t deal well with his parents’ divorce. And still less well when our father remarried my mother. He visited once, I think, when Mama was pregnant with me, but it didn’t go well.”

  “So you don’t really know him at all.” And yet Willa’s dad had sent her here for weeks, alone. Luckily for me Sofia turned out to be a great person. But how could Willa’s dad have known that?

  “I didn’t,” Sofia corrected me, though. “For many years I didn’t know him at all. But now … now I feel like I do. Family is important to me, I hope you’ve seen that. But you might not realize how much it matters to my husband too. Mattias and I … we can’t have children of our own, sadly. But we always knew we wanted to fill this house with family. Mattias says it’s because of my good-Samaritan problem that we chose to foster instead of adopt. But really, it was because of him.”