The Accidental Life Swap Read online

  ‘Are you coming to help or not?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry.’ Grabbing my boots, I place them neatly next to the wellies on the rack and scuttle after Stacey. A couple of the chickens are already out on the lawn, along with the two donkeys and the sheep.

  ‘Is that Oliver down there?’ Although the body on the perimeter of the garden is hunched over the fence, it does look familiar. Especially the bottom.

  ‘Yep. Patching up the fence. Again.’ Stacey stops to watch him work for a moment. ‘We could do with replacing the whole lot with something a bit sturdier but all our money’s going into the new development at the moment.’

  ‘You’re developing the sanctuary?’ I can understand why; the lawn is already pretty crowded and there are only five of the animals out of their shelters.

  ‘As great as Gran and Grandad’s house is, we’ve outgrown it. I have to take Claude over to a nearby field to graze every day as there just isn’t enough on offer for him here, and we always get an influx of hedgehogs over the autumn months, so they’re going to take up most of the education room.’

  ‘You have an education room?’

  Stacey points back at the house. ‘It used to be the living room.’ She laughs and shakes her head. ‘But the sanctuary has taken over the entire downstairs. If we don’t get the land up for auction …’ She points back towards Oliver, at the land sitting between her property and Vanessa’s. ‘Then we’ll have to start taking rooms from the upstairs too. Who needs a bedroom, right?’ She gives a wry smile before she starts to move down towards the barn again. As both of the donkeys are already outside, we get to work straight away, clearing out the old hay and … other stuff I try not to think about or smell. Stacey tells me more about the vacant land sandwiched between the sanctuary and Vanessa’s property as we work. It’s a relatively narrow plot but it contains two sizeable outbuildings, which Oliver would convert into a new education suite for visiting schoolchildren and community groups and host a new site for the café and gift shop, both of which bring in valuable revenue.

  ‘Any extra land could be used for grazing and housing some of the smaller animals, and we could maybe grow some of our own crops here instead of at the allotment. Don’t get me wrong, we appreciate having that space so much.’ Stacey stops scooping up the hay to swipe at her brow with the back of a gloved hand. ‘But it’s only a small plot and it would be much easier to have the crops on site, especially when it comes to the visiting kids. At the moment, we have to trek across the village, which isn’t ideal with thirty plus children, believe me.’ Leaning on the shovel, she sighs as she looks out of the barn’s door. ‘I just hope we get the winning bid.’

  ‘Is there much competition?’ The plot was ideal for expanding the animal sanctuary, but would anybody else want a sliver of land with no current access to the lane?

  Stacey shrugs before resuming her shovelling. ‘Who knows? But I hope not as our funds are pretty tight. We’ve been fundraising for this ever since the land first went up for sale three years ago. It was way beyond our budget back then, but we’re hoping to get a bargain at the auction. Even still, we’re fundraising now. We’re having a fun run in the park tomorrow for a last-minute push. You should come along. It’s probably too late for you to get sponsorship organised, but we could use all the volunteers we can get our hands on to help out.’

  ‘I’d love to, but I have to head back home tomorrow to sort some stuff out.’ I heft a shovelful of hay into the wheelbarrow. ‘But let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help. Other than mucking out first thing in the morning, obviously.’

  Stacey almost smiles at me but catches herself just in time, giving a curt nod of her head instead. ‘I’ll let you know if I think of anything.’

  *

  Lesson learned; if you’re going to muck out animals, having a shower beforehand is a complete waste of time and clean clothes. I’m sweaty and stink of donkey so I’m in desperate need of another shower before I start work. I have one clean outfit left, so I bung a load into the washing machine while I jump in the shower. Although Vanessa wears a lot of dry-clean only clothes, most of mine can be tumble dried, but I’ll still need more than a handful of outfits to rotate while I’m in Little Heaton for the next few weeks – so though an expedition to Manchester and back doesn’t appeal in the slightest, it is inevitable. I’ll set off first thing in the morning and hopefully arrive at the flat sometime before sunset.

  The washing machine has completed its cycle by the time I’ve showered, dried my hair and changed into my shirtdress (which is a little on the casual side for work but I don’t think the builders will either mind nor notice) so I throw most of it into the dryer and drape the rest on a maiden that was folded up and tucked beside the fridge freezer. I’d be able to dry these items a bit quicker if I was brave enough to set the fire going, but I’m more used to the plumbed-in gas variety and this is a proper log burner that I’m sure I could quite easily burn the guesthouse down with. The only other heat source is the radiator in the bathroom, which is currently drying my towel.

  The vans are already parked in the drive as I make my way over to the main house, and I’m pleasantly surprised to find the builders hard at work. Being Vanessa is definitely paying off, so it’ll be a shame to burst the bubble on Monday morning, but reverting back to Rebecca Riley is unavoidable and maybe I can keep the spirit of Vanessa with me afterwards, if not the name and prestige.

  Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll wilt as soon as Vanessa rocks up in her red Mini Cooper and takes charge, letting everyone know what a fraud I’ve been over the past couple of days. I’ll be lucky to get the builders to show up at all, never mind on time and ready to work.

  ‘Morning, Vanessa.’

  It takes me a moment to realise Vincent is calling out to me over the sound of Meat Loaf on the radio, but I’m hoping he puts my delay in responding down to aloofness rather than gormlessness. Or even the truth that I’m not who I claim to be.

  ‘Good morning, Vincent. It’s nice to see you raring to go.’

  ‘He didn’t want another bollocking.’ Todd grins at me, but it dies a quick death as he clocks the glare from his boss. ‘And he’s dedicated to the job and stuff.’

  ‘Glad to hear it.’ I wink at Todd, even though it isn’t something Vanessa would ever do in a million years. ‘Shall I go and put the kettle on?’

  Vincent rubs his hands together. ‘I wouldn’t say no. I’m parched.’

  ‘I’m starving.’ Todd aims his grumble towards Vincent. ‘It’s Friday. We always have a bacon butty before we start work on a Friday.’

  ‘Not today, mate.’ Vincent shrugs an apology at his apprentice. ‘Not when we’ve got a big job on.’

  ‘When has that ever stopped us?’ Todd clamps his mouth shut as he receives another glare from Vincent. With a huff, he returns to his task. The rustic flagstones they’ve been busy laying are already looking fantastic in the kitchen, but I’m not sure how much progress would have been made if the fake Vanessa hadn’t been in charge and the builders were more interested in their bacon butties. It’s going to be a shame when I have to give her up.

  Chapter 15

  I have to admit that I’m feeling a bit sorry for Todd and his lack of a Friday breakfast, so when I realise there’s only a drop of milk left in the fridge at the guesthouse, I decide to treat him – and the other builders – to a bacon sandwich. Rather than forking out on several pre-made sandwiches, I go down the more budget-friendly route and pick up a pack of bacon and a loaf of bread along with my milk and a ready-meal-for-one at the mini market. I’m making my way back to the guesthouse when the mannequin in the charity shop window catches my eye. It’s looking very stylish in a burgundy leather pencil skirt and a simple but elegant black polo neck sweater. There’s even a pair of matching knee-length boots standing alongside the mannequin, completing the look. I’d always assumed charity shops were stuffed to the gills with musty granny clothes, but this outfit is modern and stylish and definitely
something I could add to my meagre workwear collection. And if they have more outfits like this, it would mean I could postpone my trip back to Manchester!

  I’m pleasantly surprised by the lack of the stale air I was expecting as I step inside, but my optimism drops when I clock the rails of old-fashioned garments. I can’t see anything resembling the outfit in the window.

  ‘Can I help you, my dear?’ The elderly woman behind the counter smiles encouragingly at me. ‘Looking for anything in particular?’

  ‘I saw the outfit in the window.’ I point towards the display behind me. ‘The leather skirt and polo neck?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ The woman eases herself off the stool she’s sitting on behind the counter and shuffles towards me. She’s wearing a tweed skirt, a scratchy-looking jumper and a pair of pink slippers. ‘Came in this morning. I thought it might draw you young ones in.’ She chuckles as she passes me by and heads for the window. ‘Haven’t had time to put the rest out. All needs steaming, you see, and we’re short-staffed. Betty’s back has seized up again, poor love.’

  ‘There’s more like this?’

  Hope starts to bubble up again. If the clothes fit – and they’re reasonably priced – we could be onto a winner here.

  ‘Oh, yes.’ The elderly woman reaches for the mannequin with a slightly trembly, liver-spotted hand. ‘Bin liner full of them out the back. Someone’s had a clear-out, I should imagine. Either that or … Well, never mind. Here we are, love.’ She wriggles the polo neck off the mannequin and hands it to me before wrestling the skirt off. ‘Changing room’s just back there. Do you want the boots as well?’

  With the outfit and boots, I make my way into the changing room, which is a miniscule space behind a flimsy-looking curtain. The skirt and top fit perfectly but the boots are a size too big, unfortunately. I slip my peep-toe boots back on and appraise the look in the mirror. Perfect!

  I quickly change back into my shirtdress and head back out into the shop. I really want to have a look through that bin liner for more treasures, but my conscience won’t allow me to hang around the charity shop any longer when poor Todd’s tummy is rumbling and I have a pack of bacon waiting in my carrier bag.

  ‘Any good, my dear?’ The elderly lady is back behind the counter, perched on her stool.

  ‘Perfect, thank you, apart from the boots. They’re a bit too big.’ I place the skirt and top on the counter but hand the boots over to the woman, who places them behind the counter.

  ‘That’s a shame, but we do have more footwear.’ She points out a display of shoes against the back wall. ‘Maybe you’ll find some in your size there?’

  ‘I’ll just take these for now, but I’ll try and pop back.’ Would it be cheeky to ask for the bin liner of clothes to be held back? Possibly, and I don’t have the nerve to ask. I can’t even channel Vanessa as she wouldn’t be seen dead in second-hand clothes.

  ‘That’s just twelve pounds ninety-eight then, my dear.’ The elderly woman doesn’t see my jaw drop as she’s busy folding the clothes and neatly placing them into a bag for me. I can’t quite believe it. Thirteen quid for an entire outfit, including a real leather skirt that is not only in good condition, it looks as though it hasn’t been worn at all? I will definitely be back to have a rummage through that bin liner!

  *

  Todd falls on his bacon sandwich as though he hasn’t eaten for a week when I head over to the main house with a tray of refreshments, but Oliver’s appreciation is much more muted. He barely looks up from his crouched position on the bathroom floor, where he’s fitting the tiles as promised as he instructs me to shove it on the side of the bath.

  ‘Okay.’ I do as I’m told, placing the foil-wrapped sandwich and cup of tea on the corner of the bath, where it’s wide enough to hold them. I back into the doorway, watching as Oliver slots the next tile into place. I am absolutely appreciating his workmanship and not his peachy bum.

  ‘Was there anything else? Because I’m kind of busy here.’ Oliver doesn’t look up as he fires his frosty words at me, and I’m taken aback by his tone. What is his problem? So Vanessa fired off some snotty emails months ago – so what? I deal with the woman on a daily basis and I manage to retain my professionalism and manners.

  ‘No, not really.’ My tone has its own cold edge as I straighten my spine and fling my chin into the air. ‘I am ever so sorry for disturbing you.’ My voice is thick with sarcasm, and I’m quite proud that I haven’t scuttled away with my tail between my legs. Channelling Vanessa has finally given me a spine that isn’t made of jelly.

  ‘You can pretend to be nice all you want, Vanessa, but I see through you.’ Oliver finally turns to look at me, and I see that his eyes are as cold as his words. ‘It’ll take more than a bacon butty and cleaning out the chicken coop to fool me. I know what you’re really like, and you sacking Nic has proved it.’ He shakes his head and grabs another tile from the stack beside him. ‘She didn’t deserve that. She was hardworking, dedicated, and she took everything you threw at her, however unreasonable.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ My tone isn’t quite so cold, not so imposing. I try to swallow but find my throat is too dry. ‘I didn’t fire Nicole. She was in an accident. The pile-up on the M60 …’ I trail off as I mull over Vanessa’s words, trying to recall the exact details.

  ‘What a convenient excuse.’ Oliver dumps the tile back on the pile and turns to me with a shake of his head. ‘I can’t believe you would use that as a cover story. Somebody died. How sick are you?’

  ‘Are you saying Nicole wasn’t involved?’ Because I can’t believe Vanessa would stoop so low. Yes, she’s domineering and she has a manipulative streak, but she wouldn’t lie about something so tragic, surely.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying.’ Oliver lifts himself up onto his feet and snatches up the bacon sandwich and cup of tea. ‘You sacked her because she fell behind schedule. She worked so hard to get this house to the condition it’s in now, but your deadlines are ridiculous. The poor girl never stood a chance.’ Squeezing past me, Oliver stomps out of the bathroom. ‘I’m going on my break.’

  There’s a lump of dread in my stomach as I watch Oliver slope off along the hallway. If true, that explains the attitude towards me, but I’m hoping with every fibre of my being that he’s mistaken.

  *

  ‘A parcel came while you were up there.’ Todd pokes his head out of the kitchen when I eventually creep down the stairs. I’ve been skulking up on the top floor, mostly hiding out on the balcony and watching a group of ducks glide past as I waited for Oliver to shut himself back in the bathroom. ‘We left it on the bottom step for you.’

  It’s hardly good sense to leave a box on the staircase where it’s a trip hazard, but I let it go and retrieve the parcel instead. It’s pretty hefty but as I don’t have a clue what’s actually inside, I decide to heave it over to the guesthouse to open it in private.

  ‘Who’s Rebecca Riley?’ Todd saunters over and jabs a finger at the label. Panic causes me to stagger backwards with the parcel, and I almost drop it as I attempt to twist it away from Todd’s sight.

  ‘She’s nobody.’ I stagger backwards a bit more, heading for the door. ‘Just somebody who works for me.’

  ‘That’s a nice way to speak about your employee.’ I twist again, pushing my hands tight against the cardboard box to keep it from slipping from my grasp, and see Oliver sloping down the stairs. ‘A nobody? Was Nic was a nobody too?’

  I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping that when I open them again, he’ll have disappeared in a puff of smoke. No such luck. He’s still there, approaching the bottom step. Why did Vanessa have to lie about Nicole? Why did she have to make me lie about Nicole?

  ‘The Nicole thing was an unfortunate misunderstanding.’ I glance behind me and am relieved to see the door is just a couple of steps away.

  ‘Do you need a hand with that parcel?’ Todd is already striding towards me, but I shake my head, the movement and the heavy box causing me to list
to one side.

  ‘I’m fine, honestly.’ I lurch towards the front door. ‘But if you could just open … Thanks so much, Todd.’ He’s a good kid. I’m going to make it my mission to stop Harvey tormenting him while I’m here.

  I regret declining Todd’s offer of help as soon as I step onto the uneven drive. The loose stones, coupled with my heeled boots, make staggering across to the guesthouse with the heavy box extremely difficult. But I do make it across, albeit with jellied arms and a stone lodged between my toes, and dump the box on the coffee table with a groan of relief. I use my keys to cut along the thick tape and open the box to find three box files absolutely stuffed to the gills with loose papers, along with an equally stuffed lever arch file and five plastic wallets that will no longer close due to the sheer amount of paperwork jammed inside. There’s a quick note scrawled onto a scrap of paper on the top:

  Nicole’s paperwork. Good luck with the project! E xx

  I don’t know where to start. I realise none of the files or wallets are marked as I pull them out of the box and lay them on the table. In the office, I’m a big fan of sticky labels and Post-it notes, but Nicole clearly isn’t and if she had a system going, it isn’t plain to see. I’m just going to have to dive in and work it out myself.