The Accidental Life Swap

Franny is wearing a bright red harness, which Oliver takes hold of and starts to gently guide the donkey towards the house. She cooperates fully, willingly giving up her grassy snack to plod alongside us.

‘You’re really good with her.’ I can’t help but feel impressed with the confident way Oliver is handling the donkey. As docile as she seems to be, there’s no way I’d dare to even try to coax her to move, but Oliver is definitely in charge here.

‘It comes from years of experience. Plus, we’re best buddies, aren’t we, girl?’ He scratches at the space between Franny’s ears as he guides her around the side of the house. I much prefer this Oliver to the smug one in the bathroom. ‘Franny was the first animal taken into the sanctuary. In fact, she started it all off. It wasn’t even a sanctuary at all back then, just a house with an old, disused barn and a big back garden. Franny was found wandering along the track near the iron bridge. Nearly got herself run over by a tractor. The poor girl was so thin, we didn’t know if she’d survive.’

‘But she did survive.’ I cringe inwardly at my observation. Of course she survived – she’s walking beside us right now. Oliver must think I’m completely dense. Or as thick as mince, as Vincent would say.

‘That’s all down to Stace.’ We’ve reached the drive now, and Oliver pauses, his brows lowering as he nods towards the house. ‘I won’t be long and don’t worry – I’ll make the time up later.’ He seems to have reverted to the old Oliver, the Oliver who despises me. Or Vanessa. Or both of us.

‘Can I come with you?’ I’m intrigued by the animal sanctuary, and I also want to experience a bit more of the nice Oliver. If I can keep chatting to him while he’s under the influence of Franny, while he’s being cute and charming, maybe we can make up for the bad start we’ve had.

‘Whatever.’ Oliver shrugs, his tone sullen, but at least he hasn’t said no. We carry on along the drive, taking it slowly over the uneven rubble covering on the ground.

‘So what happened to Franny after she was found?’ The donkey seems to be a safe topic, so I decide to keep our focus on her as we head towards the lane.

‘Stace took Franny in, kept her warm and fed, and she got stronger and stronger. We tried to find the owner, but nobody ever came forward to claim her, so she became a permanent fixture in the barn. From there, word spread and any waif and stray was brought to Stace to look after. She loves it though and I’m so proud of the work she does for the animals. I help out when I can, but it’s Stace who does most of the hard graft.’

I quite like the way he speaks about his sister, the pride not only in his words but in the tone of his voice and the way his face has lit up. I can’t imagine Kate would ever speak about me in that way. I’m more of a disappointment than someone to aspire to.

I reach out to stroke Franny’s soft fur, trying not to picture the state she was in when she was found out on the track. It’s heartbreaking to imagine the suffering. Oliver and Stacey are good people for taking her – and many others – in and taking care of them. Oliver may not be my cup of tea in the way he speaks to his workmates, or the way he assumes people are drawn to his bottom (even if they are) and certainly not the way he dismissed me so rapidly, but that doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. And yes, I have to admit he’s a good-looking bloke. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with a confident manner (even if it sometimes nudges into arrogance) and there’s definitely a cheeky twinkle in his eye. And I do like the way his dark blond hair is just a little bit too long and is starting to wave. And have I mentioned his bottom?

We reach the lane and although it’s narrow, we’re at least on firmer ground, which is good news for both Franny and my boots. Oliver tells me more about the sanctuary as we make our way towards the next property, and how they mainly rely on fundraising and donations to keep the sanctuary running.

‘And here we are.’ Oliver stops in front of a gate between two sets of tall hedgerows and swings it open. ‘Welcome to Little Heaton’s Animal Sanctuary.’

Chapter 9

The animal sanctuary isn’t at all what I was expecting. It looks like a regular house. A very pretty house, with a cherry-red door between two large, sashed windows, but a regular house all the same. There’s a small garden to the front, with two oblong patches of manicured lawn sandwiching a cobbled path that leads from the wide iron gate to the front door. On closer inspection, I notice that the door knocker is a brass, floppy-eared rabbit, but the only other indication that this is an animal sanctuary is the small plaque proclaiming so above the letterbox.

‘Wow. This looks lovely.’

And it really does. If you told me to close my eyes and picture a countryside dwelling, this is the image I would conjure. Chuck on a bit of snow and a wreath on the door, and you’ve got yourself a classy Christmas card right here.

‘It isn’t as grand as your house, but we like it.’ Oliver closes the gate behind the three of us and leads Franny along the path. ‘It was my grandparents’ house. My gran left it to us six years ago, shortly before this little lady came to stay.’

Bypassing the front door, Oliver leads the way to a tall wooden gate to the side of the property before he hands the harness to me. My eyes widen in fear but I automatically grab hold of the strap.

‘I won’t be a minute. Just need to go and unlock the gate from the other side.’ Oliver is already backing away from me, even as I open my mouth to protest. Nothing comes out and so I stand there with a gaping mouth until he disappears around the corner. I stand stock-still, willing Franny to do the same until Oliver returns. What would I do if the donkey decided to take another stroll? Other than scuttle after her? I’m a pushover when it comes to humans and although it’s never been tested, I’m pretty sure I’ll roll over and take whatever decision this donkey makes too.

Thankfully, Franny remains calm during the short time it takes Oliver to move through the house and into the back garden, but I still heave a massive sigh of relief when I hear the sound of a lock being released on the other side of the gate. It swings open, but instead of Oliver standing on the other side, it’s the blonde woman who helped me find the house earlier. She doesn’t have the sheep with her this time but she’s still wearing the bobble hat and wellies.

‘I’m so sorry about this.’ She reaches for the harness and gives a gentle tug, and Franny responds by plodding through the gate. ‘I didn’t even realise she’d gone walkabout – I thought she was in the barn, the little tinker.’ She indicates that I should follow and locks the gate behind me. ‘We met earlier. Arthur’s Pass, right?’

Oliver is suddenly beside Stacey, his arm slung around her shoulders. ‘This is my sister, Stacey, the mastermind behind Little Heaton’s Animal Sanctuary.’ Stacey rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling at the compliment. ‘And this is your new neighbour.’ Oliver removes his arm from Stacey’s shoulder so he can hold it out towards me. ‘Vanessa Whitely.’

The smile vanishes from Stacey’s face and I cross my fingers behind my back, hoping with all my might that Stacey and the real Vanessa haven’t met previously.

‘Oh.’ There’s a flicker of a smile on Stacey’s lips as she holds a hand towards me, but it doesn’t last. ‘We finally meet.’ Her eyes are as cold as Vanessa’s barren house as we shake hands. ‘I hope Franny hasn’t caused too much trouble?’ She looks from me to Oliver, her tone rising to form a question.

‘No trouble at all.’ I stroke Franny’s head, feeling braver now I’m not in control of the harness. ‘In fact, it was lovely to meet her.’

Now we’re on the other side of the gate, the animal sanctuary is clear to see. The garden at the property is quite large, but most of it is taken up by the barn at the bottom of the plot, with two wooden sheds and a series of hutches and coops to the side. A couple of chickens are wandering around, pecking at the ground, while the sheep I met earlier is munching on a patch of grass. There are hand-painted signs indicating where each set of animals is kept, plus another to the side of the back door to the house, directing the way to the café and gift shop.

‘Well, feel free to pop over any time you like. We’re always happy for volunteers to lend a hand.’ Stacey starts to walk towards the barn at the bottom of the garden and Franny plods along beside her with little encouragement needed. ‘And don’t worry – we’ve always got plenty of spare pairs of wellies on hand.’

My gaze drops down to my feet, where I see my toes have taken on a blotchy, bluish hue, visible in patches beneath the mud I’ve accumulated along the way. These boots really aren’t suited to countryside living. Vanessa’s designer footwear won’t stand a chance.

‘I’m not sure mucking out donkeys is Vanessa’s thing.’

I’m about to agree with Oliver’s assessment of my boss until I realise with a start that he’s talking about me. Judging me. And I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.

‘I don’t know about that. It might be fun?’ I don’t want Oliver to be under the impression I’m some sort of dirt-averse princess. I live with an untamed flatmate who leaves his toenail clippings on the arm of the sofa; if I can cope with discovering that gruesome collection as I sit down to watch the telly, I can certainly cope with cleaning out a barn.

‘Okay then. Why don’t you come round tomorrow morning?’ Stacey twists so she’s walking backwards, the harness still loose in her hands. ‘I’ll start you off gently with the chickens and I’ll even throw in a free breakfast. How does seven o’ clock sound?’

‘You don’t have to.’ Oliver aims a dark look at his sister. ‘I’m sure you’re very busy.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ I fold my arms across my chest and meet Stacey’s eye with a steely determination I didn’t even know I possessed. The real Vanessa wouldn’t back away from a challenge and this fake one isn’t going to either. Perhaps pretending to be Vanessa is rubbing off on me.

*

I finally sink into the claw-footed bath later that evening, once the builders have packed up their van and trundled away and I’ve had the chance to wander into the village in search of a shop. I eventually discovered a mini market on the high street, sandwiched between a tanning shop and a charity shop, and I was able to pick up a few essentials and a ready meal – I couldn’t face cooking after the day I’ve had. The warm, bubble-filled water is glorious and I allow myself to sink down until I’m almost fully submerged. I wriggle my toes to get the circulation going again as a combination of the boots and the cold have numbed them during the course of the day. My shoulders rise before I release a long, audible sigh into the steamy bathroom. I can’t tell you how comforting it is to know that Lee won’t try to shoulder his way through the door as he describes the state of his bowels two minutes into my soak.

I remain submerged until I start to shiver from the cool water and I resemble an old, wrinkly prune. I found a huge towel on the shelving unit inside the wardrobe while I was unpacking earlier, and I’ve left it warming on the radiator. Another huge sigh escapes as I wrap it around my body. I’m not sure how to light the fire, but I’m toasty warm anyway when I emerge from the bedroom encased in my fleecy onesie and fluffy dressing gown. The guesthouse is completely silent, but I break the stillness by jabbing at my ready meal with a fork and the hum from the microwave is familiar and soothing. While I wait for the microwave to zap my lasagne, I switch on the massive telly and flick through the channels until I find a repeat of Would I Lie To You. Lee Mack is tossing a teabag across the studio, aiming for a mug on the opposite desk, when the microwave pings. I turn the volume up to drown out the silence – there isn’t a sound from outside, not even the distant murmur of traffic which is pretty eerie after living in a busy town – before I grab my lasagne and settle down for an evening of watching whatever the hell I want without complaint from Lee, or competition from his too-loud music.

I wish I’d thought to buy a bottle of wine from the mini market, but I make do with a cup of coffee and the slab of Dairy Milk I did have the forethought to purchase from its prime position at the till. The novelty of being alone is already starting to wane, so I send a quick text to Emma and selfishly hope she hasn’t got such a fulfilled social life that it’ll prevent her from replying. Thankfully, Emma responds within seconds and we end up chatting until the strangest day of my life takes its toll and I can no longer keep my eyes open. I remember to set my alarm so I’ll be up and out of the guesthouse for my date with the chickens at seven the next morning, and it’s just as my brain switches from conscious to snoresville that I realise I should have come clean about my true identity, that I shouldn’t have spent the day tricking everyone into believing I’m someone I’m not. I’ll tell them tomorrow. First thing. Everyone has been so nice and welcoming to me – apart from Oliver and his ‘Of course I didn’t hit on her. Why would I?’ comment, and Stacey was a bit frosty – but it feels wrong to deceive them. Not that I’ve been lying per se – it’s simply a mistake I’ve been slow to rectify. That’s all.

Chapter 10

When Vanessa tasked me with the role of project manager, I assumed I’d spend a few days at a time in Little Heaton before returning home for the weekend, so I haven’t packed a great deal, and my footwear is limited. As well as the peep-toe boots, I’ve brought a pair of ballet flats with me, but neither are suitable for cleaning out chicken coops, so I hope Stacey wasn’t kidding when she said they had spare pairs of wellies at the animal sanctuary.

It’s a chilly morning again, so I zip my coat right up to my chin and shove my hands deep into my pockets as I make my way across the drive. It’s still eerily quiet and I find myself longing to hear the rumble of an approaching bus as I make my way along the lane, but there isn’t any hint of traffic at all, not even a bicycle. I find myself matching my serene surroundings, taking small, gentle steps along the narrow lane, avoiding the leaves that have already started to litter the ground in case they crunch underfoot. My ballet flats, it seems, are much more suited to creeping around the countryside than my boots.

I stand at the gate for a moment when I reach Stacey and Oliver’s house, admiring the property. It isn’t nearly as big as Vanessa’s house, but it’s charming with its yellow stone façade and red tiled roof, a small patch of ivy stretching up between the front door and the sashed window to the side. This house is a world away from the grotty flat above the takeaway I share with Lee and despite my determination to earn a promotion at work, this sort of home feels so far out of reach it makes my chest ache with longing.

The curtains have already been thrown open and I can see somebody pottering around in one of the downstairs rooms. I haven’t got a clear view from here, but I can tell it is neither Oliver nor Stacey from the short, curvy build. Deciding it’s time I stopped hovering, I push my way through the gate, jumping at the sudden sound as it clangs shut behind me. Turning to shush the inanimate object, I don’t see the front door open.

‘You came then.’

I jump again, my hand thumping against my chest as I turn around. Stacey is standing on the doorstep, eyebrow quirked as she watches me scuttle along the path towards her.

‘Of course.’ My voice is a squeak, so I clear my throat and throw my chin into the air, channelling Vanessa. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

Stacey gives a lazy shrug before she opens the door wider and steps aside so I can follow her into the house. ‘Cleaning out chickens isn’t for everyone, and from what I know about you, I’d say it’s as far away from your comfort zone as you can get.’

My brow furrows as I close the front door behind me. ‘We only met briefly yesterday. What could you possibly know about me to make that judgement?’

Okay, fair enough, I’d been wandering around the countryside in a pair of unsuitable boots the previous day, but that doesn’t mean anything. I came to the village in a professional capacity. I wasn’t expecting to be volunteering at the local animal sanctuary. I’d have rocked up in my old, saggy jogging bottoms and greying trainers if I’d had an inkling.

‘This is a pretty small village.’ Stacey leads the way along the hallway, turning to make sure I’m still following. ‘There’s no such thing as a private life around here. Gossip is rife. It’s a local pastime.’

‘But there’s nothing for people to gossip about when it comes to me.’ We’ve reached the end of the passageway, which has broadened to form a small entryway. There’s a shoe rack full of wellies below a row of waterproof jackets. ‘I’m really not that interesting.’

The corner of Stacey’s mouth flickers up before she presses her lips together to stop the smirk from fully forming on her face. ‘If you say so.’ She gives another shrug before she eyes my footwear. ‘What size are you?’

‘Five.’

Stacey is wearing the cherry-red wellies again. She selects a pink pair with white hearts from the rack and hands them to me before turning towards a set of drawers and opening the top one. ‘Thick socks. Don’t worry – they’re clean. We always have plenty of spares.’ She opens the next drawer and pulls out a yellow bobble hat. ‘You might need this. It’s pretty nippy out.’ She reaches into the drawer again and hands me a pair of chunky gloves. ‘I’ll meet you outside when you’re ready.’ She points at the back door before she slips out of it. There’s a chair against the wall opposite the shoe rack, so I sit down while I pull on the socks and wellies. I’m not sure about the bright yellow bobble hat, so I wedge it into my coat pocket and make my way out into the back garden, yanking on the gloves as I go. The chickens are already out of the coop, stalking around the small lawn and scratching at the ground.

‘How many chickens have you got?’ I only saw a couple yesterday, but there are at least half a dozen out here now.

‘Eight.’ Stacey rolls her eyes. ‘We only started off with two. Ex-battery, in pretty poor condition. Bianca and Patty.’ She points out a couple of the chickens. ‘Poor girls. I didn’t have a clue how to care for them, but you learn quickly, and Oliver put together the coop for me. It helps having someone handy with wood and nails on hand, believe me. Saves a fortune.’ Stacey hands me a wicker basket and leads me towards the open coop. ‘We’ll collect any eggs first. Mrs McColl will be starting her cake baking soon, so we’d better be quick. You don’t want to get on her bad side.’ Stacey grins at me and I’m not sure whether to be reassured or not. I have no idea who Mrs McColl is but I’m keen to get the eggs in the basket ASAP.

The coop is wide, with a closed house-like structure at one end and a long, meshed run at the other. There’s a box attached to the side of the wooden house, which Stacey lifts open. Nestled in the straw are five eggs, which we gently place in the basket. I’ve never handled an egg so fresh and as long as I don’t think about where it has just come from, I’m fascinated.

‘I’ll get these inside to Mrs McColl so she can get started on her baking.’ Stacey takes the basket from me and starts to head back towards the house. ‘Can you gather the water containers and give them a quick scrub at the tap?’ Stacey has reached the back door and she points out the tap further along the building. I give a thumbs up, my smile bright and confident, but it slips as soon as Stacey disappears inside. What if one of the chickens sees me messing around their coop and comes to investigate? What if all of them suddenly become interested in the stranger on their property? I’ve never been up close and personal with a chicken (unless I’ve been sticking one in the oven) but they seem very beaky and scratchy and I don’t fancy my chances going up against one of them, let alone eight of the feathered beasts. I think about channelling Vanessa again to bolster my confidence, but there is no way Vanessa would be in this yard cleaning out chickens. For now, I will have to make do with being Rebecca Riley. She is capable. She is reliable. She is also actually quite terrified of chickens, it seems.

With a yelp, I’m across the yard, stumbling in my unfamiliar wellies. One of the chickens, a scrawny-looking, rusty-coloured one, is stalking towards me, its evil intentions clear in its small, beady eyes.

‘That’s just Chow Mein.’ Stacey steps through the door again as I reach it, a bemused look on her face. ‘She’s curious, that’s all. She won’t hurt you, will you, sweetie?’ Bending, Stacey scoops up the chicken and brandishes it towards me. I fight the urge to leap away and instead hold out a slightly trembling finger, touching it briefly to the chicken’s soft feathers. I clocked the look of bemusement on Stacey’s face as she caught me cowering by the door and I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me spooked again. For some reason, Stacey seems to be trying to push my buttons, testing me to find my limits.

‘Chow Mein?’ I take the opportunity to look away from the feathery beast and focus on Stacey instead. ‘Chicken Chow Mein?’

Stacey rolls her eyes. ‘Oliver named her. Thought it was amusing.’ She shrugs, the corners of her lips flicking briefly into a small smile. ‘Which it is. A little bit.’

‘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.