The Accidental Life Swap - Jennifer Joyce

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      ‘He’s the other builder.’ Todd waves a hand in the general direction of the house. ‘But he’s fixing his sister’s fence. Ow!’ He rubs his arm, where Harvey has just thumped him.

      Vincent holds up a hand, silencing his teammates as they start to squabble. ‘He hasn’t got time to be messing around with Stacey’s fence. We need to get on with the plastering.’ He sneaks a glance at me and lifts his chin. ‘Get on the phone to him and tell him to get his butt back to the house, pronto.’

      Todd is still rubbing his arm as Harvey makes the phone call, singing the nursey rhyme about a man with a dog named Bingo as he waits for the other builder to answer. They’re acting as I assume brothers would growing up. Not that I’d know. I only have one sibling, an older sister, and we were never close growing up. Kate and I barely speak even now we’re adults, and we meet up even less. Being a doctor, she has a busy life that I just can’t seem to fit into. Besides, we have nothing in common other than shared parentage.

      ‘Did you have a look at the house earlier?’ Vincent asks as we make our way along Arthur’s Pass. ‘I know it probably doesn’t look like much has happened since you were last here, but we’ve had to gut the place and start again.’ He’s scratching his neck again and I want to pull at his arm to stop him.

      ‘It looks great, honestly, and I’m sure it’ll start to look more homely soon.’

      ‘Absolutely.’ Vincent bobs his head up and down. ‘Once the flooring’s laid, we can start to put the house back together again. Make it look like a home rather than a shell.’

      We reach the clearing and I find myself sucking in my breath at the sight of the house again. It really is magnificent.

      ‘I’m going to be staying on-site for the duration of the project, rather than commuting to and from Manchester every day. Less hassle.’ I study the outbuildings, trying to work out which one is the guesthouse. Hopefully it isn’t the ramshackle shed at the back. I peeped in earlier and it was less than ideal for human habitation.

      ‘So no more late starts and early lunches then.’ He winks at me to show he’s kidding, but he’s scratching at the back of his neck again. ‘I take it you’ll be staying in the guesthouse and not the main one. Bit bare and chilly in there at the moment. I’ll get Todd to take your luggage through, if you haven’t done so already?’ He glances across the drive and turns to me with a puzzled look. ‘Where’s your car? You haven’t parked it out on the lane, have you? Because that thing’s so narrow, you won’t have wing mirrors left by the end of the day.’

      ‘I didn’t drive over.’ Which sounds most unlike Vanessa, who’d drive to the corner shop. ‘I’m trying to be a bit more green, you know?’ I’m about to add that I don’t need Todd to help with my luggage as I’ve only brought a holdall before I realise Todd’s help could guide me to my accommodation. I can’t ask where the guesthouse is as Vanessa would already know and I’m enjoying being her far too much to admit who I really am at the moment. I’ll tell them later, once I’m settled in the guesthouse and they’ve made a start on the flooring.

      *

      The guesthouse, like most places, is bigger than my flat. It turns out I’ll be staying in the long, one-storey building and not the dilapidated shed. This outbuilding has been fully restored and furnished and I gape at the spacious dwelling as I follow Todd inside. Before us is a modern open-plan living and dining area with two huge windows overlooking the canal. There’s an L-shaped kitchen in the corner, with a breakfast bar separating the cosy seating area, complete with a massive, wall-mounted TV and a cabinet stuffed with DVDs.

      ‘Where shall I …?’ Todd lifts the holdall and glances around the room. I’ve been too busy gawping to take it from him.

      ‘Thank you for your help.’ I relieve Todd of the holdall and lead him back towards the door. ‘I’ll pop over to the house in a little while to see how you’re getting on.’ Again, my tone comes out rather menacing and Todd bolts from the guesthouse, stumbling over a large loose rock on the drive in his haste. I’ve never had this effect on anybody before and I only wish I could bottle it up to dispense on Lee when I get back to the flat.

      Closing the door, I take in the room again, noticing all the little touches, from the exposed polished beams, plush carpet and log burner that give the place a snug, homely feel. I feel like weeping when I picture my flat waiting back in Manchester, with its drab, peeling wallpaper and flaky paintwork, the plumbing that likes to announce its presence by squealing every time the hot tap is turned on, and the flatmate whose idea of good hygiene practice is brushing his teeth sporadically with my toothpaste and washing his clothes when the smell starts to bother him (which is long after it’s started to bother everybody else). But no, I will not cry, because I have a whole month to enjoy the luxury of living without Lee in a beautiful home. Why did I ever think being Vanessa’s project manager was a bad idea?

      Flopping onto the sofa with a contented sigh, I prop my feet up on the coffee table in front of me and spread my arms out wide. This whole sofa is mine. This whole room is mine. I can watch what I want on the TV without having to turn the volume up to its maximum to drown out Lee’s racket. I can cook without having to hunt for crockery beforehand. I can cook without replacing the ingredients that have been stolen from the fridge. What extravagance!

      My feet are aching from the silly boots, so I ease them off before padding towards the door leading off the living area, the thick pile of the carpet caressing my sore, battered feet. As suspected, the door opens to reveal the bedroom. And what a bedroom it is. I actually gasp out loud when I clock the huge four-poster bed that reaches up to ceiling height. There are more beams in here, and another huge window overlooking the canal. A red and blue barge is passing slowly, decorated with painted flowers and swirls, and a little dog sits on its roof, watching the world pass by.

      At the opposite end of the room is a pair of French doors that lead to what was once a small garden but is now a series of pots full of weeds and the last wilting flowers from the summer. There’s another log burner in here, and an oversized mahogany wardrobe that looks like it could lead to Narnia. Another door leads to a small but opulent bathroom, with a claw-footed bath taking centre-stage. I can have a bath without having to pluck pubes from the plughole beforehand. I can leave my washbag unattended. I can use a towel before having to give it a tentative sniff first. The indulgence!

      I’m overwhelmed with the urge to fill the bath with hot, bubbly water and sink into it, but I have work to do. I need to unpack. I need to find a shop for supplies. And I need to re-introduce myself to the builders before I find myself in a super-awkward situation. But first, I need to take a few photos and send them to Emma. Hopefully she’ll show them to Sonia, who will be green with envy.

      I’m in the middle of sending a bunch of smugtastic photos to Emma when I hear a knock at the front door. Todd is standing on the doorstep with a small box of PG Tips in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other. A jar of coffee and a bag of sugar is tucked under each arm.

      ‘I don’t suppose I could use your kettle?’ He flashes me a sheepish look as he waggles the box of teabags in my direction. ‘Nic used to let us make brews in here.’

      I reach out and take the teabags from him. ‘Let me do that. I’ll bring them over to you.’ It’s the least I can do after I dragged them away from their untouched pints earlier. ‘What am I making?’

      ‘Three coffees – one black, no sugar, the others with milk and two sugars.’ Todd follows me into the kitchen, dumping the coffee, milk and sugar on the counter. ‘And one tea. Milk, no sugar.’

      I repeat the order back to Todd, to make sure I’ve got it right in my head, before sending him back to the main house. I slip my boots back on while I’m waiting for the kettle to boil, pretending I don’t feel the now familiar pinch as I hobble back to the kitchen. There’s a small collection of matching mugs in the cupboard and I find a tray tucked beside a set of saucepans. Loading it up with the drinks, I carry the tray carefully across the uneven drive to the main house, setting it down on the steps so I can open the door. The sound

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