Yours Is Mine

Chapter 7

-Anna-

The wheels of the taxi crunched over the gravel drive of the Kielder cottage. Finally, she had arrived. Anna threw some money at the driver and got out. She breathed in the air. Scented, smelling of pine leaves. She coughed. It was clearly too pure for her, she thought with a smirk. She dragged one of the wheeled bags across the gravel, sending the stones flying in all directions, as the driver struggled with the larger bags behind her. The doll fell onto the ground again. Stupid thing. What was it called? Esmerelda? Hetty? Christina Columbus? Who knew, who cared? It was in her path to the door. She stepped over it. It could wait.

Anna took out the key Kate had given her. She placed it firmly into the keyhole and turned. She pushed open the door. Or rather, she tried to, but there was some post obstructing it. Great big brown envelopes, probably some of the work stuff Kate had been going on about. Anna kicked it out of the way. And then, she was in. The inner sanctum. She began to walk round the room, inhaling it. A masculine scent pervaded it. She smiled. Good to be picking up those small details so quickly. Anna stroked the arm of the sofa as she passed it. Not bad. Comfortable, chenille. She could imagine curling up there with someone. She turned her gaze to the mantelpiece. A photo of Neil. Her eyes lingered. Kate was in the photo too, though. That would have to go – how was Anna supposed to pretend she lived here if Kate’s face was staring gormlessly out at her? She placed the photo face down. She could deal with it later.

She progressed through into the kitchen, touching the surfaces, opening the occasional cupboard, inspecting the fridge. Nothing special. Next, the bedroom. This would be more interesting. She took off her shoes before she entered, and stepping over the threshold allowed her toes to sink luxuriously into the shag-pile carpet, to absorb the footprints that had been there before hers. She went to the wardrobes. She found what appeared to be women’s clothes hanging next to a small collection of men’s clothes. This must be Kate and Neil’s wardrobe, she surmised. Anna leaned into the clothes, hugging them to her, breathing them in. Again, that smell. Did Kate understand how lucky she was to be married to that scent? Probably not. Anna moved to the bed, tried sitting down gingerly on the edge, then threw herself into the centre on her back, moving her legs and arms in a scissor formation over the bed. A snow angel, but with a duvet. A duvet angel. Anna laughed. Devil, more like it, some would say. After lying prone for a moment she swivelled back over onto her front. She saw a framed photo of Neil by the bedside. He would enjoy looking at her from there, she thought, her long hair tousled, cleavage on full display. She reached to pick up the photo of Neil and admired it. He looked good.

There was more to explore though, more to discover, before she could get fully into role. She needed to see it all, absorb every last detail. She went to the dressing table and looked in the drawers. Makeup. She placed it all onto the desk. Mostly unused. Clearly Kate felt happy with her natural beauty. Or else she was lazy. Personally, Anna preferred a glossier look where a man was at stake, but she could certainly take the minimalist route if that was required – she was more than confident with that. Anna regarded her face in the mirror appreciatively. She conjured up an image of Kate’s face in her mind and compared the two. Her own was clearly the fairer. She imagined Neil’s face appearing in the mirror. He would bend down and kiss a naked shoulder as makeup was being applied, perhaps a flirty squirt of perfume making him stand up again. Except, she observed, Kate did not appear to have any perfume, so that would not happen. They did things differently.

She tried the next drawer. Masculine this time. Cufflinks. But were they Neil’s or Kate’s? Anna laid them out neatly on the dressing table. They were shaped as ships and naked ladies. Neil’s, then. Delving further into the drawer she found some aftershave. Expensive, but unused – perhaps an unwanted present, or a replacement for what Neil already had. Anna opened it, tossing the shrink-wrap and the box onto the floor. She applied a small amount to her neck. After all, if he nuzzled her, as he may nuzzle Kate, that was where it would end up.

Anna softly drew her hands over the contents of the drawers now laid out on the table, caressing them, closing her eyes and just feeling the shape of the objects. Opening her eyes again, she stretched out her fingers, leaned back and exhaled. It was so good to finally be here, after all the planning, and the waiting, and the wanting. Every last detail, so precisely thought through. The wedding ring was a good touch. Kate really should have volunteered her own ring, but perhaps that was a bit too much to expect. Instead, Anna had bought a cheap gold band from Argos. It wasn’t much to look at, but what it symbolised was so much more important. She was here to be Mrs Neil Dixon, after all.

And as mistress of the house, she needed to know everything, she reminded herself. More rooms to see. Or at least one more room – she hadn’t found a bathroom yet and hadn’t fancied using the one on the train so the need to find it was rather urgent. Leaving the bedroom, she tried the next door. Bingo. She pulled the light cord. Avocado. Lovely. Not. Still, a decent size, and someone had invested in a Jacuzzi-style corner bath. Things could get pretty steamy in here, Anna guessed. She unzipped her trousers and sat down on the toilet seat, allowing her buttocks to press down firmly against the rim. Neil would have sat on here. It was good to be close to her ‘husband’. Kate probably would have sat there too though, and her ill father. This was a less appealing prospect. Anna changed position into a squat, hovering over the toilet instead as she peed.

Finished, flushing the chain and washing her hands with the twee hand soap that Kate had clearly put out for having a guest, she made her way back into the living room. She continued her exploration. There was a further double room. Rather drab. A couple of foam armchairs with flannel covers, an old divan covered with a brown bedspread and a brown blanket. Must be the dead man’s room. Dull. Anna tried to open the wardrobes. Locked. She pursed her lips – that was hardly the ‘access all areas’ they had agreed. She would have to jimmy them open later. Anna went back to the living room to explore it more thoroughly. She had noticed a desk in the corner of the room. She advanced towards it and tried the drawers. Again, locked. She tutted. Clearly finding a crowbar or similar implement was going to have to be high up on her to-do list.

She stretched and yawned. It could wait though. She wanted to relax first in her new home. She unpacked her very favourite sweatshirt – that sweatshirt – and put it on. Then she retrieved Neil’s photo from the bedroom and reclined on the sofa, using the television remote control to select what seemed to be a film version of Jane Eyre. Not thrilling, but it would do until children’s TV came on later. Some of their dramas were quite good. She plumped up a cushion and placed Neil’s photo on it, so that they could all sit down and watch the film together. Anna provided a running commentary on the film. Photo Neil did not respond. Perhaps he liked to watch films in silence. She stopped talking and snuggled up closer to him. She didn’t want to annoy him. Companionable silence would do just as well. All Anna needed now was some popcorn – she had everything else she wanted. Or very soon would do.

Chapter 8

-Kate-

Kate’s black cab pulled up outside the apartment block. She thanked the driver, let him keep the change (after they’d had such a nice chat it seemed a shame not to) and assembled all her luggage on the pavement. Once inside the building, she began the slow task of taking the bags upstairs in shifts, along with a big brown envelope addressed to Anna that was on the mat. She hoped it might be the first of the proofs that she would have to read, and by claiming the post she felt as though she was committing her first proper act as ‘Anna’. She wondered idly if the police would see it like that, or whether she would still technically have committed a crime by opening somebody else’s post. Deciding that you would substitute yourself for the addressee temporarily probably wasn’t enough to satisfy the law that you had the right to open their letters. But she had consent; they would accept that. She could open the mail without qualms or risk of being struck off the register of solicitors. Kate slid her finger under the lip of the envelope, neatly tore it open and took a peek inside. It did indeed look like proofs. Resisting the urge to sit down on the staircase and commence work at once, Kate put the package under her arm and continued with the luggage.

Finally having brought all of her baggage upstairs, a somewhat breathless Kate fumbled with the key and let herself into the flat and deposited the luggage with a sigh. Closing the door behind her, noticing that the intercom was still cloaked in bubble-wrap (and therefore presumably still channelling the outside world), she walked through the flat, sticking her head into each of the rooms as she did so. The bathroom was clean and tidy, as was the bedroom she had been shown on her visit. She walked with an ‘Aha!’ into the spare room that had previously been out of bounds.

Kate surveyed the room quickly. Not very exciting, she thought to herself, vaguely disappointed that it was not the sort of secret room that would be worthy of Captain Bluebeard but just an ordinary spare room. The walls were the same neutral colour as the others, but had flakes of paint missing, as if blue-tacked pictures had been taken down. There was a single divan pushed into the corner of the room, with drawers underneath it, and a plain white bedspread. A low bedside table stood next to the bed, and a pine writing desk on the adjacent wall. A blue roller-blind came halfway down the window. It was a fairly uninspiring, identikit spare room – clearly Anna had not put the design effort into this room that she had with the others.

Leaving the room, Kate walked through into the main living area, flicking on the light switch. It was as airy and bright as she had remembered, and she flopped down onto the sofa and kicked off her shoes. Tilting her head back and resting it on the back of the sofa, she blew her cheeks out and emitted in the air in a loud puff. Bringing her head back to its normal level, she laughed to herself.

“Well! Here I am!” she said aloud. She sat on the sofa for some time longer, partly recovering from her journey and partly thinking out how the next few days would go. She had the first drama class to go to in a couple of days’ time, and she wanted to go to the big university bookshop on Gower Street to get a couple of audition speeches. She had no idea what they would be doing in the first class and thought she should try to find a couple of soliloquies that she could present if necessary. More immediately, once she had done the modicum of unpacking and perhaps had a quick shower, she fancied a glass of wine and a nice meal in some candlelit bistro looking out onto the street. Perhaps Angel might have something to offer. She felt a slight pang as she thought how nice it would be for Neil to be there with her, then shook herself – these next few months were about her, not about her and Neil. There was a whole lifetime of dinners ahead of them. The whole point of this exercise was to get her back to her old happy self, to make her a more enjoyable dinner companion than the red-eyed wretch silently toying with a plate of microwaved baked beans on toast that had sat opposite Neil last time he was home. Grimacing at the thought of how she had felt so recently up in the isolated cottage, she pulled herself off the sofa and out of the negativity of her thoughts. An hour later, washed and made up and dressed in what she hoped was a sophisticated yet understated outfit of black trousers and aubergine silk halter-neck top, she stepped into the energy of the London evening, new bank card and Anna’s ID in her bag and a spring in her step.

Despite her years of practice of eating dinner in restaurants alone and her determination to regard it as a perfectly acceptable thing to do, Kate still hadn’t quite mastered it. She had developed a particular brand of steely glare reserved for waiters who dared to repeat the ‘Table for one’ back at her in a questioning, pitying tone. She had perfected the knack of eating with perfect insouciance, looking like she was concentrating on her food and enjoying it. She had even managed to get over the conviction that everyone was staring at her and wondering what had provoked her to eat by herself. What she had not quite yet managed to do, however, was maintain this poise in the gaps between eating if she did not have a prop. This may be an evening newspaper, a book or a mobile phone, but she liked to have something to keep her occupied in the time between the order being placed and the food arriving, and then disappearing again, that saved her from having just to think to herself, stare vaguely at the other diners or be plain bored. All the while she would be repeating in her head the mantra that she was a grown mature woman and that if she wanted to treat herself to a nice meal, whilst just so happening to be alone, that was totally acceptable and that in any event she didn’t care what they thought. Sadly the fact that she couldn’t get by without thinking this evidently meant that she did care. It was fine if there was someone else sitting alone – suddenly her unaccompanied eating became more socially acceptable. It didn’t do to stare at the other lone diner too much though, particularly if they were a man, in case they thought you were attempting to open a flirtation, in some fantasy world in which single diners in restaurants do actually saunter up to each other and ask if they can join the other for dessert.

That evening started off slightly differently. When the waiter went away with her menu she was so intent on looking out of the window at the London evening, the black cabs going by, the diners on the pavement across the street, couples wandering along at a leisurely pace caught up in their own lives, jostled occasionally by impatient businessmen or a lone evening runner, that she hardly noticed when the walnut and pear salad appeared in front of her. It wasn’t so much that these were scenes she wouldn’t see in Portsmouth – with the exception of the destination indicators on the fronts of the buses, this could in theory be any city almost anywhere. To Kate the difference seemed to be more about the possibilities, and the variety of the places that these people could be coming from and going to, perhaps they themselves as yet undecided as to the latter, combining to create a vibrant buzz of potential. Waiting for the steak that would follow the salad starter, Kate nursed the elegant wine glass and the window again held her attention. This time she looked at her reflection and practised saying in her head “I am Anna Roberts. Pleased to meet you” and “I’m Anna, Anna Roberts” – and then for a bit of fun, “The name’s Roberts, Anna Roberts” with a mysterious Sean Connery-esque wiggle of the eyebrows. She stifled a giggle. She generally tried not to laugh by herself in public, unless she really couldn’t help it, and felt it would be even less excusable to be caught laughing at her reflection.

Diverting as this was, by the end of the steak she was becoming a little bored. She was, she felt, at the cusp of something exciting and it was totally amazing that she was embarking on this experiment, and she herself was totally amazing for doing it (her self-satisfaction having the particular intensity and warmth that a large glass of shiraz often gave her) and wished to tell someone about it. She reached for her mobile, thinking that she would send someone a text to say she was in London, maybe followed up by a call – a lot of her university friends and some colleagues were still based there. Then she realised there were two problems. First, she had agreed with Anna that neither of them would tell anyone they had embarked on the swap as to do so would bring them out of character, and talking to friends of their ‘real’ selves would remove the focus on the social environment created by the other. This alone might not quite have been enough to stop her, diligent though she was, but there was a second more practical point that she had forgotten in her desire to communicate – the mobile phone she had in her bag did not contain the numbers of her friends. She and Anna had swapped phones, and so she did not have any pre-programmed numbers. Like most people in her generation she was almost solely reliant on her mobile to give her the numbers of her friends. There were a few she knew by heart – Neil’s mobile, of course, the office number, and the land line numbers of a couple of friends who had managed to establish themselves in the property market early on and so hadn’t had a string of rental properties with the consequent constantly changing phones – but those people would either not be available or, if they were, may not appreciate a tipsy call at this time on a Friday evening.

Besides, going through this complication in her head was enough to check Kate’s initial impulse. She shouldn’t be thinking of breaking the rules of the experiment on the very first evening, she rebuked herself, and vowed that she would follow the terms of the agreement with Anna. Sure, the point of the exercise for her was to have fun, as Anna had reminded her, but there was the responsibility and trust that Anna had placed on her – and she didn’t want to have to lie in her report back to Anna. The drink was no excuse for falling prey to temptation. Sobered up by her narrowly-avoided fall from grace, as well as irritated by the fact that the lively texts she had been composing in her head could not come to fruition, she gulped down the last of her wine and mineral water, put down a tip and left the restaurant.

As she exited onto the pavement she was vaguely aware of someone calling out a name behind her. It wasn’t until that someone tapped her on the shoulder that she became aware they were calling to her.

“Ms Roberts?”

It was a waiter. She looked at him blankly.

“Your card?” and he handed her a credit card.

“Oh, yes, of course, that’s me!” she said gaily, laughing in an attempt to hide the fact that she had been completely thrown by the use of that name – it was the first time she had been addressed by the assumed appellation, after all. She must have left the card on the table by mistake. Smiling, she took the card, and made her way to the tube, using Anna’s pass to go through the barriers. Well, someone else had now accepted her as Anna Roberts, so she now just had to do the same.

Chapter 9

-Kate-

Kate spent the next afternoon prepping herself for the start of the drama class. She had not intended this to take the whole afternoon. She had got up in reasonable time, efficiently taken herself off to the bookshop on Gower Street and had returned the triumphant possessor of what looked like a good book of women’s auditions speeches. She had flicked through it while eating a hastily-prepared sandwich (courtesy of the food and wine store – she really was getting back into the metropolitan method of just buying food when it was needed, glad to be free from the weekly suburban supermarket drudge) and had settled upon a speech by Viola from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night. She planned to have a quick coffee, crack on with learning the speech, then spend the rest of the afternoon looking at the proofs that had arrived the previous day. So far, so many good intentions.

She had made pleasing progress initially, reading through the speech, familiarising herself with where it came in the play. She was reading it out loud for the second time whilst parading round the room when she realised there was a problem. She had thought about the characterisation of Viola, and how she would feel when she realised that the beautiful Countess Olivia (believing her to be the man that she was disguised as) had fallen in love with her, whilst Viola herself was in love with the Duke of Illyria. She felt she had pretty well mastered Viola’s emotional turmoil through a good use of varied tone and pace. However, what she had not done was think about how Anna would approach the piece.

Kate became involved in a difficult and somewhat frustrating debate with herself. If she had truly grasped the essence of the part of Viola, then surely it would not matter whether she was playing her as Anna or as Kate, because she would have captured the true Viola-ness of the character? But then on the other hand, she was only playing her as an actor of her own capabilities and understanding, drawing on her own internal resources to think about how Viola would feel in the circumstances, and adapting her intonation and modulation from her own experience of how she, Kate, herself would react to that situation. Perhaps what she ought to be doing was thinking about how Anna would react, or at the very least how Anna would interpret the character? Perhaps she had to be Kate playing Anna playing Viola (in a soliloquised reprieve from playing Cesario)? Anna did say she had certain standards to maintain, after all.

Kate ran her hand through her hair and flipped it over to the other side. The only difficulty with the ‘What would Anna do?’ approach was that she didn’t really know enough about Anna to know how she would tackle the role, never mind the situation in which Viola found herself. She thought hard, marshalling what little she did know about her opposite number. Anna had been pretty focused and business-like through the exchange process, particularly on the second visit, with a strong drive and energy propelling her to closure. Kate thought about the obvious awareness that Anna had of her good figure, the casually stylish dress sense, the cool way in which she had gone into a coffee shop as her first act in Kate’s life. This and the impeccable design of the flat and the collection of jazz that graced the shelves convinced Kate that Anna would be a very cool, sophisticated Viola, maybe quite sensual and sexual in her desire for the Duke, not given to over-indulgence in emotion or sweeping gestures. Kate would have to shelve her own usual depiction of Viola, frank and almost childlike in her honest and zealous puzzling over the situation in which she found herself. Thus resolved she tried again.

“I left no ring with her. What means this lady?

Fortune forbid my outside have not charmed her!”

No, too keen, too concerned. She tried again. And again. She finally got through the speech, but the net result seemed only to be that Viola was now being played as a paranoid schizophrenic, veering between total selfish disinterest in all but carnal lust for the Duke on the one hand, and sudden deep emotional attachment to him and concern for Olivia on the other when Kate’s own instinctive interpretation got the better of her. And that Kate was now completely hoarse.

Sighing with frustration after her voice gave way on “It is too hard a knot for me t’untie”, she gave up and threw herself onto the sofa, and the book onto the floor. She reached for the television remote. There was always tomorrow morning before the class, right? And she could get up a bit earlier and start looking at the proofs then. She simply did not have the spirit to try and work out how Anna would feel about the more controversial aspects of punctuation this evening. The virtue of trashy television was that it was surely scientifically impossible for anyone’s brain to remain capable of active thought after about twenty minutes of watching it, and if she was effectively brainless for the rest the evening it wouldn’t matter if she was Kate or Anna.

Unfortunately for Kate’s plans for an efficient morning, she had forgotten another important element of trashy television – its strangely addictive quality. Reality television show had merged into comedy quiz show had merged into statistic-driven investigative journalism exposé. Even more addictive was imagining Neil there beside her, how he would laugh at the contestants, how they would fantasy cast their friends into the shows, how he would reduce her to tears of laughter with innuendo about what was going on behind the TV scenes. It was a square-eyed Kate that had finally pulled herself off the sofa and into bed the wrong side of midnight, and consequently rather a bleary-eyed one who finally emerged from bed the next day after spending the best part of two hours hitting snooze on the alarm clock on the bedside table.