The Accidental Life Swap

‘She’s lovely, really, isn’t she?’ I don’t dare stroke Chow Mein again, but I do stoop to look her in the face. Her eyes don’t look quite so beady now she isn’t chasing me across the yard. ‘Quite cute for a chicken.’

‘She’s gorgeous. I’ve had her since she was a chick, so she’s extra special to me.’ Stacey releases the chicken and leads me back to the coop, where we gather the plastic water containers. Once they’re clean and full again, we sweep out the old bedding, replacing it with fresh handfuls. I’m warm from the exertions of cleaning out the coop but my ears feel as though they’re about to pop off through the cold. I’m itching to snatch the bobble hat from my pocket, but I’m sure Stacey would chalk that down as another victory.

Giving a satisfied nod at the clean coop, Stacey starts to wander back towards the house. ‘Let’s wash up and then Mrs McColl will make you a breakfast to die for.’

She leads me back into the house, indicating a small downstairs loo near the shoe rack. I give my hands a thorough scrub with the coconut-scented handwash before joining Stacey again, changing back into my own footwear while Stacey washes. I’m quite glad to be out of the wellies, but my feet are already mourning the thick socks as I slip on the ballet flats.

‘We run a small café for our visitors.’ Stacey emerges back into the hall and leads the way along the passage. ‘Mainly tea and cake and the odd bit of veggie soup or stew. Mrs McColl is one of our volunteers who mans the kitchen. I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

‘You’d get along perfectly fine and you know it.’ The booming voice comes from within one of the rooms leading off the passageway and Stacey turns to roll her eyes at me.

‘I can barely boil an egg. Wait until you try Mrs McColl’s freshly baked bread. You’ll be in heaven.’

‘Hardly. I just throw a bit of flour and water in the oven.’ We’ve reached the café now, which I guess was once a regular dining room but is now filled with four round tables. Mrs McColl is standing by the doorway, her arms folded across her ample chest. ‘Anyway, what can I get you? I could probably stretch to a poached egg today, but only one each, mind.’

Stacey reaches for a chair at the nearest table and pulls it out. ‘We try to use our own produce as much as possible, but Mrs McColl has first dibs at the eggs for her cakes. Not that anyone complains about that. Mrs McColl puts Mary Berry to shame.’

Mrs McColl snorts and shakes her head. ‘Excuse me a moment while I climb down from that pedestal you’ve put me on. I need to go and get that to-die-for loaf out of the oven.’ She tuts as she passes by, heading across the room to another doorway and disappearing from view.

‘She isn’t a fan of compliments, no matter how deserved they are.’ Stacey sits down and grabs a menu from the middle of the table, handing it to me once I’m seated opposite. ‘I’m going to go for the toast with jam. The jam’s homemade too, using the fruit from our allotment.’

‘That sounds great.’ I pop the menu back into its little wooden holder in the middle of the table. ‘I’ll have that too.’

It turns out that Mrs McColl really does deserve all the compliments. The thickly-cut bread is divine, while the blackberry jam is the perfect balance between sweet and tart. I wolf down both wedges at lightning speed, washing them down with strong, sweet tea. I’m usually content with a small bowl of cornflakes in the morning, so it must be the fresh, country air making me so ravenous.

‘I’d better be getting back over to the house.’ I have no idea what time the builders usually start, but I’m hoping to be there before them. I reach for my purse but Stacey holds up a hand.

‘Breakfast is on me. As a thank you for helping out with the chickens.’ She takes a sip of her tea before setting it down gently on her saucer. ‘Same time tomorrow then?’ She raises an eyebrow in challenge, and although I have no idea why Stacey has decided to test my willingness to muck out chickens, I find my chin jutting out in defiance.

‘Why don’t we make it a bit earlier? That way I can help out with Franny too.’

Stacey’s mouth stretches into a wide grin while I mentally kick myself. ‘Great idea! Shall we say six-thirty?’

I must be a fan of self-flagellation because I find myself giving a curt nod. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.’

Chapter 11 (#ulink_cbe053e3-08e1-5d57-b53d-8f174255e06c)

The silence of the lane is broken by the rumbling of an engine as I make my way back to the house, and I’m both glad of the familiar sound and afraid of the narrow track at the same time. I press myself as far into the bush running alongside the lane as I can as the van nears, somehow entangling my hair in the prickly branches. I’m trying to extricate myself when Oliver toots his horn and waves cheerily from the van’s driver’s seat. I wave back, yelping as the bush attempts to scalp me as soon as I release my grip. I resume my battle with the bush as the van turns onto Arthur’s Pass and disappears from view, but my phone ringing in my pocket pauses my endeavours again. I manage to reach into my pocket without tearing out my hair and leaving a brunette mop on the branches like a badly-crafted bird’s nest, and jab at the answer button while trying to untangle myself with my free hand.

‘Vanessa! Hi!’ I’m aiming for a bright and breezy tone, but the task of freeing myself from the badly-behaved bush is taking its toll and it comes out strained and raspy. ‘How are you?’

‘Better than you by the sounds of it. Is everything okay?’

I’m shocked by my boss’s concern; she’s never once asked after my well-being, not even the time I dragged my aching carcass to the office while in the full throes of a bout of the flu. ‘Everything is …’ I tug at a twig and hear it snap, leaving a small spike behind like a cave woman’s hair grip. ‘Fine. Great, in fact.’

‘Then why do you sound like you’re battling the crowds at a Primark Boxing Day Sale?’ Vanessa sniggers at her own little joke. The woman has never ventured a designer-clad toe inside a Primark store, so how would she know what it’s like?

I try to change position but wince in pain as my hair is pulled tighter. ‘I’m, erm …’ I move slowly back to my original position. ‘Jogging! I’m jogging. The countryside is so beautiful, I thought I’d make the most of it.’

‘Right.’ Vanessa doesn’t seem convinced but I’m too busy trying to dislodge a twig that’s doing its best to penetrate my scalp. ‘Whatever. The reason I called is to apologise for my behaviour yesterday.’

The sharp twig scrapes the palm of my hand as I finally disentangle it from my hair, but I barely feel it as I’m so shocked by Vanessa’s words. ‘You want to apologise? To me?’

Vanessa never apologises to her staff, and even when she brings herself to apologise to clients, she’s never sincere, despite the sugary tones she adopts for the purpose.

‘Yes, which I know is totally out of character.’ Vanessa gives a self-deprecating laugh while I’m thinking what an understatement that is. ‘But Ty pointed out last night that I may have been a bit … bulldozer-like in my approach.’

Wow. Tyler Johansson is one brave young man. And he is young compared to his girlfriend. While Vanessa is in her ‘early thirties’ (I’m her PA and privy to her private info. She is only just clinging onto her thirties and it’ll be a downright lie when she reaches her next birthday), Tyler is a twenty-two-year-old part-time model she met at a charity event three months ago. I’ve only met him a couple of times, when he’s dropped by the office to see Vanessa, but he seems decent enough and he’s obviously got balls of steel to go up against Vanessa Whitely.

‘I admit I may have been a bit forceful and that threatening to sack you if you didn’t take on the project manager role was wrong of me. It’s just that this project is very dear to me. You’ve seen the house – isn’t it magnificent? So just imagine how glorious it will be once the work is finished. I can’t wait to show it off!’

‘It is a beautiful house.’