The Accidental Life Swap

Chapter 3

Vanessa pulls her shoulders back so she’s sitting straighter, the frown lines that were moments ago intersecting her forehead all but gone as she turns a mega-watt smile in my direction. She indicates the chair on the opposite side of her desk with an upturned hand as she reaches to align her mobile with the other.

‘Please sit, Becky. We have lots to discuss.’

I do as I’m told, but only after I’ve scooped the scattered collection of pens from the floor and arranged them in their pot, setting it in its rightful place on the desk. I really can’t help myself, but I think Vanessa appreciates the act, even if she doesn’t voice it and merely watches me with an eyebrow cocked in bemusement.

‘So, how can I help?’ I’ve finally plonked myself in the seat and Vanessa is grinning at me again from across the desk. I’m not sure I like it. I’ve worked for Vanessa Whitely for three years and I’ve never seen her beam like this. So toothily. Like a crocodile about to snap up its dinner whole. I’m unnerved, but I’m trying not to show it. I want Vanessa to see me as an equal, or as close to an equal as possible while still being the boss. I want her to see me as she sees Sonia and the others, not as the trembling imbecile I feel inside right now.

‘Is it about the Heron Farm Festival? Because I’ve been working on some ideas …’ I’m sliding my file across the desk towards Vanessa but pause as she starts to shake her head. Her hair is still askew, but we’ve gone way beyond the point where I can point it out by now.

‘This isn’t strictly work-related.’ Vanessa thrusts her chin in the air and narrows her eyes ever so slightly. ‘But it is extremely important to me.’

‘What is it?’ I lean forward, my forearms resting on the desk in front of me. I can’t say I’m not disappointed that I haven’t been catapulted straight into the autumn festival’s plans, but I am intrigued.

‘I bought a little place last year, practically in the middle of nowhere. There isn’t a Waitrose for miles, which sounds hideous, I know, but also a bit romantic, don’t you think?’ Vanessa poses the question, but she doesn’t give me the chance to respond as she ploughs straight on. ‘I couldn’t live there full-time, obviously – can you imagine the commute?’ Her eyes widen momentarily, and she gives a little shake of her head. My eyes linger on her abused hairdo as a stray wisp wobbles on top of her head, and I have to drag my gaze away before I draw attention to it. ‘It’s more of a weekend getaway, a place I can escape to when I need to unwind. You know how it is.’

Vanessa and I clearly live in different worlds, but I bob my head up and down in understanding, as though I, too, am in a position where I can waltz off to a second home to chill out for the weekend.

‘The house is a bit like my sister-in-law; absolutely stunning on the outside but a big ugly mess on the inside.’ Vanessa presses her lips together and her shoulders shake with a suppressed giggle. She clears her throat and she’s back to being professional Vanessa, the bitchiness locked back inside. ‘Anyway, like I was saying, the house is in need of some major TLC. I’ve been working on it for months. My project manager has been brilliant though.’ She heaves a massive sigh and leans on the desk, jelly-like. ‘Unfortunately, she was involved in that pile up on the M60 last night?’ Vanessa’s voice goes up at the end, turning her statement into a question. Her eyebrows rise too as she awaits a response.

‘Oh my God, is she okay?’ Of course I’d heard about the accident – it was all over Granada Reports last night and splashed across the front of The Metro this morning. A haulage truck had ploughed into a car at rush hour, killing the driver and seriously injuring her two young children, and causing a major pile-up on the motorway. Three people had been airlifted to hospital, while several more had been transferred by ambulance.

‘She’s fine.’ Vanessa gives a wave of her hand and the knot that’s been tightening in my stomach starts to unwind. ‘Cuts and bruises, mostly, and a broken femur.’

Vanessa says the last bit so matter-of-factly that I almost miss it. ‘A broken femur?’ My eyes are wide, my mouth wider. I’m shocked and horrified in equal measure. But it’s a sigh of irritation that hisses from Vanessa.

‘Yes, which means hospital and surgery and casts and all that.’ Vanessa sighs again and folds her arms across her chest. ‘Which is incredibly frustrating when we’re so close to finishing the house renovations.’

The chasm that is now my mouth widens even further. Frustrating? What about the traumatic ordeal? The pain she must be in? None of that seems to be registering at all with my boss and I feel my blood start to boil as she witters on about schedules and timescales and catastrophic delays.

‘I’m throwing a housewarming party, you see, to showcase my beautiful new home.’ Vanessa reaches for her handbag, rifling inside before pulling out a cream card embossed with sparkling bronze writing. She slides it towards me, jabbing a finger on the date printed on the front. ‘That’s in one month’s time, when Nicole promised me the house would be ready.’

How inconvenient. I’m sure Nicole is as furious with her broken promise as Vanessa is.

I want to say this out loud, my tone so thick with sarcasm the words would almost get wedged in my mouth. But I don’t. I silently seethe while Vanessa spits venom about her ruined party plans.

‘And the invitations have already gone out to everybody I know!’ Vanessa snatches the invite back and shoves it into her handbag. My invitation must have been lost in the post, I suppose.

‘The thing is, I don’t have time to find another project manager to get the job finished by my tight deadline.’ Vanessa pushes herself out of her seat and strides towards the window. ‘Especially if I have to go on a waiting list.’ Vanessa shakes her head and the wayward strand of hair has a wobble. I fear she’s going to catch its reflection in the windowpane and demand to know why I haven’t warned her that she looks like she’s been on the receiving end of an electric shock.

‘You said I could help?’ I only give her the reminder so she’ll turn away from the window, but I soon wish I’d kept quiet when the crocodile smile makes a return.

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ Vanessa strides away from the window and perches on the edge of her desk, looking down at me.

‘Do you want me to get in touch with everyone from your guest list and rearrange the party for a later date?’

The answer to the question is clearly a big fat no as Vanessa’s mouth gapes open in outrage. She places a hand on her chest as she gives a humourless laugh. ‘I am an events manager, Becky. I can’t postpone my party – what kind of message is that sending out? If I can’t organise my own party, what hope is there for paying clients?’

‘These are extenuating circumstances. I’m sure if you explain the situation with the accident and …’ My words tail off as Vanessa leaps from the desk and marches back towards the window. She isn’t listening to me anyway.

‘Postponing isn’t an option. The party must go ahead, and it must be spectacular.’

‘You want me to plan your party?’ I’m almost breathless. Vanessa wants me to plan her party! This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me! Of all the event planners in this building, Vanessa has picked me to organise her housewarming celebration. This is it. My big chance to prove to Vanessa that I can be a creative asset to this company. No wonder Sonia was looking ticked off as she left the office. She must want to puke with envy.

‘No, sweetheart.’ Vanessa is giving me an odd look, as though I’ve just sprouted an extra head before her eyes, and she’s speaking to me rather slowly. ‘I want you to project manage the final stages of the house renovation.’

Chapter 4

I watch Vanessa carefully, the corners of my mouth twitching, eager to rise into a smile as soon as Vanessa bursts into the laughter I know she’s holding deep inside. Because I know she’s kidding. I’m a PA. I have a degree in events management. And I know squat about restoring houses, other than the occasional viewing of Homes Under The Hammer when I’m too hungover to reach for the remote. Let me tell you, I am no Lucy Alexander. I cannot see potential in knackered old buildings. I don’t care about original period pieces and I’m as likely to gush over Lee’s sweat-dampened socks left strewn across the bathroom floor as I am a ceiling rose.

Vanessa’s good, I’ll give her that. Her poker face is amazing as she faces me with an unwavering facade, her features as still as a mask cast in plaster.

‘You’ll need to get in touch with the head builder – Victor, I think his name is. Or maybe Vance?’ Vanessa bites her lip, and I suspect this is the moment she is going to roar with laughter. She’s trying so hard to keep the amusement in, but it has to burst out at some point. Right? ‘I haven’t got round to filling him in about Nicole, so you’ll need to update him on the situation.’ She twists her wrist to glance at her watch. ‘I really must dash off, I’m afraid. I’m so late for this meeting. Victor’s details are in my contacts and I’ll arrange to have Nicole’s paperwork couriered over to you ASAP. You’ll just have to wing it until it arrives, I’m afraid, but at least the builders won’t slack off if you’re around to keep them in check.’

She’s striding towards the door without a hint of delight at her little joke. I watch her reach for the handle, fully prepared for her to spin around and laugh at me.

Except she doesn’t. She strides straight through the door without a backwards glance. When she fails to poke her head back round the door to perform her gotcha! moment, panic starts to bubble inside. She isn’t serious about me taking over the role of project manager, is she?

I laugh to myself, but I don’t sound particularly joyful. I sound afraid and slightly manic.

‘Vanessa! Wait!’ Leaping from my seat, I tear off across the office, almost slipping on the polished floor in my stupid peep-toe boots. Yanking at the door handle, I’m relieved to see the back of Vanessa’s head, the strands of hair still sticking up, as she marches towards the meeting room. ‘Vanessa!’ I yelp as my foot slips again, but I keep going, grasping hold of a startled-looking Vanessa as I reach her. ‘I can’t do this. I’m not a project manager. I have no clue what to do.’ I spread my arms out wide. ‘No clue at all.’

Vanessa’s foot starts to tap as she observes me, one eyebrow quirked unnaturally high on her forehead. I lower my arms slowly as she continues to scrutinise me, resting them by my side as Vanessa’s other eyebrow rises to join the first in its piqued position.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Vanessa’s voice is a low growl and I suddenly realise I’m desperate for a wee.

‘I, um … the thing is, Vanessa …’ I cross my legs as a sharp pain crosses my belly. ‘While I’m absolutely flattered that you think I’m capable of overseeing the refurbishment of your new house, I don’t think I’m up to the job.’

Vanessa’s head tilts to one side and she rests a hand on her hip. ‘You don’t think you’re up to the job?’

I give a rapid shake of my head as I concentrate really hard on not wetting myself outside the meeting room.

‘You’re not up to the job an untrained monkey with a clipboard could do?’

I’m not sure what to say to that. If I answer no, I’m admitting that I’m less capable than an untrained monkey. But if I answer yes, that I am up to the job after all, then I’m landing myself with a new, albeit temporary, job description for the next few weeks.

‘Well?’ Vanessa’s foot is tapping again. I need to answer quickly, before she loses her temper for the second time this morning.

‘I guess I’m a fast learner?’ I wish my voice hadn’t come out sounding quite so weak, that it had been a strong statement of my abilities rather than a meek question.

‘Good.’ Vanessa gives a curt nod and I train my eyes on her mouth so I neither have to look into her searing eyes or watch the stray hairs wobble. ‘Because I wouldn’t want to have to find both a new project manager and a PA at such short notice.’ If I could bear to meet her gaze, I’m sure Vanessa would be piercing me with a warning look: refuse to take on this role at your peril.

‘So, we’re perfectly clear?’ The eyebrows are reaching for Vanessa’s hairline again. I feel I have no choice but to nod. ‘Fabulous. I’ll reimburse you for your petrol and other expenditures, obviously, but we’ll have to sort that out later as I’m extremely late for my meeting now.’ She gives a pointed look at the meeting room door, but I can’t let her go just yet.

‘I don’t drive, and I have no idea where this house is.’

Vanessa heaves an enormous sigh at the inconvenience of these minor details. ‘Then you’ll have to catch the train or something. You’re more than welcome to stay at the house for the duration, if it’s easier than travelling back and forth. It’s completely weatherproof, though unfurnished, I’m afraid. There’s always the guesthouse, I suppose.’ She shrugs and takes a step closer to the meeting room. ‘My set of keys are in my handbag, and you’ll find the address of the house in my diary from when I went for a viewing, around the middle of January. It’s in Little Heaton.’ She reaches for the meeting room door, but I haven’t quite managed to iron out all the details.

‘What about my job here?’ I point towards my desk, which is portioned off outside Vanessa’s office. ‘How will you manage without me?’

Vanessa gives me an indulgent smile. ‘I’m sure we’ll cope, sweetheart. And Emma can step in and help out if needed.’

Emma’s head pops up from the reception desk as she hears her name and Vanessa briefly fills her in.

‘Of course I’ll help out.’ Emma smiles at Vanessa, but the corners of her mouth droop as a frown takes over. ‘Um, what’s going on with your hair, Vanessa? It’s a bit …’ She wafts a hand above her head while Vanessa’s eyes widen. My stomach lurches as Vanessa reaches up and discovers the unruly strands. I should have told her earlier, as soon as I stepped into her office. Why couldn’t I be more like Emma? There’s no way she would have allowed Vanessa to attend a meeting looking a hot mess.

There’s a strangled cry as Vanessa scurries away from the meeting room, only pausing to glare at me before she pushes her way into the ladies’. She’s going to be super late for that meeting now.

‘Um, Rebecca?’ Emma peels a pink post-it note from the pad in front of her and waggles it in my direction. ‘Your sister called. Again.’ She flashes me an apologetic smile, knowing I’ve been avoiding Kate for the past few weeks. When I’d ignored her calls enough times, she’d changed tactic and started to badger me at work.

‘I haven’t got time for that.’ I wave away the slip of pink paper and start to back away towards Vanessa’s office. ‘I’ve got a train to catch.’

*

The sun is out now, shining bright in the almost cloudless sky, but it is freezing as I stand on the platform at Piccadilly train station, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my coat. I’m still wearing the ridiculous peep-toe boots and I can feel every breath of the wind that is whistling along the platform, my toes turning blue with the chill. I should have changed into more suitable footwear whilst I was at the flat, but I barely had time to shove a few essentials into the holdall before I had to jump into the taxi beeping with irritation outside. I’ve packed enough to last me until the weekend, when I’ll make the journey back home, because Vanessa can’t seriously expect me to uproot my life for a whole month – however tempting the thought had been when I’d stepped into the flat and caught the lingering whiff of my flatmate. Having a little break from Lee is the only silver lining of this whole debacle. I toyed with the idea of leaving my absence to his imagination – had I been kidnapped? Run over and left for dead on the side of the road? – but I was afraid he’d have rented out my room by the time I returned if I didn’t let him know I’d be back soon, so I’ve left him a note on the fridge.

Tugging my hands from my pockets, I rub them together to try to create a bit of warmth as I peer down the tracks, hoping to glimpse the train that was due eight minutes ago. I’d rushed to make it to the station but I needn’t have been so speedy as there’s no sign of the train. I’m half-tempted to nip to the kiosk at the top of the steps to grab a cup of coffee to warm me up but I know without a doubt that the train will have pulled up and left again by the time I’ve clattered back down the steps, probably spilling hot liquid down myself in my haste. So I’m forced to stand, teeth chattering, while I wait for a train I don’t even want to catch.

This is absurd. Why am I putting up with this change in job role? I should have been firm. Said no, I will absolutely not take on the task of project managing a house renovation in the middle of nowhere, and if you even think of firing me over the matter, I will drag you to court for unfair dismissal. But I didn’t, because I’m as firm as unset jelly, and now I’m about to board the train that is rumbling down the tracks towards me at last.

I feel a bit sick as I bend down to grab the holdall at my feet. This is it. I’m really doing this. I’m actually taking a break from my role as Vanessa’s PA, moving away from the office and my dream profession, to oversee the transformation of a house I have zero interest in. How am I supposed to earn a promotion now I’ve been shoved out of the way? I can’t impress Vanessa with my ideas from Little Heaton. This is career suicide!

Unless … Hooking the holdall onto my arm, I join the melee of people waiting to board, scanning the crowd for the end of a queue to join. Or any hint of a queue in the chaos, at least. There isn’t one and I find myself jostled out of the way as a D-bag with a briefcase barges past with his elbows out. I apologise (what the hell?) before edging my way back into the pack, earning myself a glare from a woman with a pushchair, who runs over my exposed toes before I can leap out of the way. I’m silently seething by the time I limp onto the train, shuffling along the carriage in search of an empty seat with my holdall clutched to my chest. This day sucks. I thought Lee using my toothpaste without permission had been bad enough, but the morning has been on a steady decline since I stepped into Vanessa’s office and spotted her dishevelled hairdo. So much for those good vibes I’d fooled myself into feeling on the way to work.

I make my way into the next carriage and the feeling of dread lifts ever so slightly when I spot a free seat at the end. Not only is the seat free of either body or bag, it is a window seat and it is facing forward. The positive me from this morning would have taken this as a Very Good Sign, but all the buoyancy has been sucked out of me by now so I simply slot my holdall into the luggage rack above my head and sink gratefully into the seat. The voice over the tannoy system announces the opening of the onboard kiosk, but although I’m in desperate need of a coffee for both the caffeine injection and the warmth, I’m fearful that my seat will have been appropriated by the time I get back. No, it’s safer to remain where I am, as settled as I can be whizzing past fields of sheep at a hundred miles an hour. Besides, there’s something more urgent than my need for coffee prodding at me. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s bugging me, a thought that I can’t quite grasp hold of.

My phone beeps in my pocket and I see a message from Emma when I pull it out.

Good luck with your ‘new job’ – show Vanessa what you’re made of! xxx

And that’s when it hits me. The thought that’s been niggling at me since I picked up my holdall on the platform. I need to use this as an opportunity to really impress Vanessa, to show her that I have all the skills required of a good events planner: exceptional organisation, the ability to multitask and problem-solve while working under pressure, and meeting tight deadlines while retaining a high level of attention to detail. I’m going to be the best, most efficient project manager and keep the refurbishment on track. I’m going to prove to Vanessa that I have what it takes, that I would be an asset to her team if she would only give me the opportunity to shine. I’m going to earn myself that promotion, get a foot back on the career ladder and find myself a decent flat-share so I can finally live the life I dreamed I would when I left home and moved to Manchester. This is the start of a brand new life and a brand new me.