Life Swap (39 page)

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I think you like what isn’t yours. That what really turns you on is the thrill of the chase, the thrill of the unattainable, and that the minute it’s yours you probably don’t want it any more.’

Daniel starts to protest, but the wine has fogged his brain, and he can’t quite get the words out, so instead he shrugs with a smile. ‘I think,’ he says finally, ‘that I would have paid you the same attention whatever your situation.’

‘Well that’s lovely to hear,’ she says, and opens the front door, pausing for a moment to look at Daniel. ‘Thank you for a perfect evening,’ she says. ‘Can we do it again? As friends?’

‘Sure,’ says Daniel. ‘I’ll call you,’ and he waves and turns away, feeling fairly certain that he won’t see
Amber again, or if he does, his chance has come and gone.

Amber sits cross-legged on Vicky’s bed and places the photographs of her family on the cover in front of her, and she starts to cry, the pain of missing them just too much for her to bear any more.

‘Oh bugger,’ she says out loud, in true English fashion, and reaches for the phone, not caring that she’s not supposed to call home, nor that it is around five o’clock in the afternoon, which is dinnertime and commonly referred to in her house as the witching hour. I want Richard, she thinks. I’m far away from home and I’m lonely, and I need to hear my husband’s voice. I need to hear that everything’s okay, because I don’t want to do this any more. I don’t want to be here. I want to be home, where I belong.

The phone rings and rings, and then Amber hears the machine pick up and, bizarrely, she hears Vicky’s clipped English tones on her answerphone. ‘You’ve reached the Winslow residence,’ she hears. ‘There’s no one available to take your call, but please leave your name and number after the tone and someone will get back to you.’ ‘Oh God,’ Amber whispers, putting down the receiver without leaving a message, taking a big gulp of breath. ‘I know I signed up for this but why do I feel that I’m in danger? Why are my antennae suddenly going up?’ Amber hadn’t expected to hear Vicky’s voice on her machine, and hadn’t expected to feel what she is suddenly, and unaccountably, feeling.

Fear.

Amber shivers as a thought comes to her. What do I do if another woman is trying to take over my life?

Chapter Twenty-nine

‘Vicky had a boo-boo last night but Daddy kissed it and made it better,’ Gracie announces at the breakfast table and Vicky winces.

‘It was on her face,’ Gracie continues as Vicky starts to flush, despite there not being anyone other than the children present, Richard having – thank God – gone to work, and Lavinia sleeping in.

Shit, Vicky muttered to herself last night as she wrapped a towelling robe around herself and walked into the house. She glided quietly past Gracie’s bedroom door, hearing Richard talk softly to Grace as he put her back to bed. She hesitated, wondering whether to go in, but didn’t want to face Richard, didn’t want to be reminded of what had just almost happened, because this was not part of the equation. Having an affair with a married man was the last thing she wanted to happen.

And even though she knew she hadn’t imagined the chemistry between them, it wasn’t something she had any intention of acting upon. Even last night, she hadn’t planned for anything to happen, hadn’t expected Richard to strip off and jump in the pool.

It wasn’t as if Richard had married the wrong woman and had suddenly found his soulmate. It was clear that
if something had happened, it would have been because Richard was lonely, because he felt abandoned by his wife, because he was seeking comfort, not because he had suddenly decided he was crazy about Vicky.

Vicky sat on the huge bed in the master bedroom, wrapped in her towelling robe, and waited with pounding heart for Richard to come in so they could at least talk about it. I’ll tell him it’s a mistake, she thought. Tell him that we ought to probably avoid one another for the next couple of weeks until it’s time for me to go home, and as she thought about home she felt a wave of homesickness.

This life was wonderful, there was no doubt about it, but it was not her life, and all of a sudden she missed her flat off Marylebone High Street. Missed her local butcher, coffee at Providores, lunch at the Japanese café.

She missed work. Missed Leona, and Ruth, and even Janelle. She missed being surrounded by people all the time: even on the weekends, even those days when she chose not to socialize, holed up in her little flat and watched television for hours and hours, DVDs of her favourite films, she still knew that she was surrounded by people, and if she ever felt lonely, all she had to do was walk out of her front door.

As quiet and peaceful as it was here, if she wanted to go anywhere, to see people, to do anything, she had to climb into Amber’s huge SUV and drive into town. Nobody ever dropped in, nobody seemed to walk anywhere. She had even tried a couple of impromptu playdates
with friends of Jared’s, but their mothers were horrified at the very idea of their children coming back to Jared’s after camp that day – although they’d happily schedule something in the Thursday 3 p.m. window in three weeks’ time.

Her brief experience with the League had shown her that it was not something she wanted to be a part of, even as research, for the cliquishness and bitchiness reminded her overwhelmingly of her schooldays, and that was something she tried very hard not to remember most of the time.

For all its superficial perfection, Vicky could see that this life was exactly that: superficial. Her single life, with her eclectic group of friends, her disorganized wardrobe that was a combination of high street and the odd designer discount item, her beloved cat Eartha – oh God, how she missed Eartha – her single life may be nothing compared to this, it may be something that all these women were thrilled to have left behind, but sitting on Amber’s bed, her arms wrapped around her knees, trying not to shiver in the air-conditioned coolness of the room, Vicky suddenly realized that she wouldn’t swap her life for anything in the world.

Amber’s children were delicious, but they were not hers. And Richard was delicious, she thought sadly, but he was not hers either. It was an experiment that may not have gone horribly wrong, but has definitely taught her to appreciate what she has. The grass may look greener on the other side; that doesn’t necessarily mean that it is.

And perhaps because of what happened, perhaps because Vicky was embarrassed, and humiliated, and didn’t know how to face Richard in the morning, all she wanted was to go back home.

The next morning Richard has left for work by the time Vicky gets up, for which she is enormously grateful. Of course they will have to talk about it somehow, and she wishes he had told her what he had said to Gracie, for he must have said something, she obviously saw something that had to be explained, but Vicky will deal with it later, or so she thinks until Gracie drops the bombshell about her boo-boo.

Oh well, thinks Vicky, as she turns away from the table, busying herself making the coffee, at least I know what he said.

‘Where’s the boo-boo?’ Jared asks suspiciously.

‘It was on my nose,’ Vicky says, walking over to the table and crouching down. ‘I was swimming so fast I bumped my nose on the wall, can you believe that? Is it cut? Is it bruised? Do you see anything?’

Jared examines her nose carefully before shaking his head. ‘Nothing,’ he says, before turning his attention back to his bowl of Cheerios. Thank God. Vicky finally manages to exhale as Jared and Gracie start fighting over who gets to read the back of the cereal packet.

When Vicky gets back from dropping the kids at camp, there’s a message from Richard on the machine. ‘Hi, Vicky, I’m just letting you know that I have a crazy day
at work today, and won’t be back until late tonight, so don’t worry about dinner. Have a great day and say hi to the kids for me. Bye.’

Nothing. No indication that anything has happened, that there is anything to talk about, and the cloud that has been weighing down heavily on Vicky’s shoulders starts to rise. Perhaps she is making far too big a deal out of it. Hell, these moments happen, and maybe they don’t mean anything. What’s important is not what did happen, but what didn’t, and judging from Richard’s ordinary-sounding message, nothing will again.

I’m not going to think about it any more, Vicky decides, picking up the phone and calling Deborah. I’m just going to pretend it never happened.

‘Hey, I was just thinking about you,’ Deborah says. ‘You know that Irish comedian Jamie Donnelly?’

‘Um… yes,’ Vicky says, sure that she hasn’t told Deborah about Jamie Donnelly.

‘Did you see the British papers?’

Vicky’s heart starts beating fast. ‘No – what? What’s happened?’

‘He’s only bloody shagging Teri Hatcher! Can you believe it? What would a gorgeous woman like Teri Hatcher see in a two-bit Irish playboy comedian like Jamie Donnelly?’ There’s a long silence. ‘Vicky? Vicky? Are you there?’

‘Yes,’ Vicky says as the tears start to well up.

‘Oh God, you probably think I’m pathetic,’ Deborah says. ‘But I’m completely addicted to showbiz gossip. Sorry, but it’s my secret shame. I go online every
morning to read the British tabloids, and Spencer brings me back
US
and
People
every time he goes to the chemist for anything. Am I pathetic? Should I just shut up?’

‘No, no,’ Vicky manages. ‘It’s fine. Listen, I’ve got to go. I’ll call you back, okay?’

‘Sure,’ says Deborah, wondering how she could possibly have offended Vicky. ‘Look, are you okay? Did I say something wrong?’

‘No, no, but there’s someone at the door. I’ll call you back. Promise.’ And Vicky puts down the phone, goes to Amber’s computer and goes online to the
Sun
where she sees the story for herself. And whilst Vicky never normally believes what she reads in the papers, the photograph of Jamie and Teri is there, in mid-snog, taken at the Soho House on Friday night. This time there are no explanations that could justify this. No ‘Teri and I are old friends’ rubbish. He’s a liar and a cheat.

‘Fucker!’ she yells at the computer screen, banging the table in anger. ‘You fucking fucker!’

‘Vicky?’ A frightened Lavinia pops her head round the door of the office. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘No!’ Vicky bursts into tears as Lavinia rushes over to put an arm round her in a bid to comfort her. ‘No it bloody isn’t. I want to go home.’

An hour later Vicky is sipping from a cup of tea, her tears finally having subsided. Great, she thinks. My period’s coming and I’m having the worst PMT I’ve
ever had in my life, I almost jumped into bed with a married man, and the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with is now sleeping with Teri Hatcher. Teri Hatcher, for God’s sake. Who the hell can compete with Teri Hatcher? I don’t want to be here any more, work or no work, and I’m tired, and pissed off, and fed up, and if I wasn’t thirty-five years old I’d add that I want my mum.

Oh Christ, she mutters, as she dunks a biscuit into her tea. At least my day can’t get any worse…

‘Guess what?’ she says to the kids when she picks them up from camp. ‘I’ve decided that today is a no-classes day, so instead we’re going for a special treat. We’re going to go to the aquarium and we’re going to eat ice cream all afternoon!’

‘Yay!’ chorus Jared and Gracie from the back seat. ‘Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!’

It is for purely selfish reasons that Vicky has decided to go to the aquarium. She has opted out of all practices, all classes, all lessons today because she’s fed up with the routine. And after only two weeks, she thinks wryly. God alone knows how Amber puts up with it. And Vicky has always loved aquariums, finds something incredibly soothing about wandering round darkened rooms looking at fish. Even now she regularly goes to the London Aquarium by herself, and happily spends a few hours centring herself, always feeling infinitely better by the time she leaves.

They drive over to the Maritime Center in Norwalk,
stopping at Mr Chubby’s en route for the first ice cream of the afternoon, then park in the car park where they join the masses of people all with the same idea – cooling off in the air-conditioned aquarium on a blisteringly hot day.

Gracie puts her little hand in Vicky’s, her other thumb firmly in her mouth as they wander round looking at the sea horses, stroking the stingrays, the kids bouncing with excitement when they find the tank full of the same fish as in
Finding Nemo
.

The turtles are enormous and majestic, the sharks eerily graceful, and as they step behind the jellyfish tank to sit and watch the jellyfish float up and down in their phosphorescent splendour, the children let out shouts of joy.

‘Daddy!’ they both yell, and run over to where Richard is sitting on a bench, gazing at the jellyfish, in his suit and tie, his briefcase by his feet, looking completely shell-shocked.

‘Richard?’ Now it is Vicky’s turn to be shell-shocked. ‘What are you doing here?’

And Richard, confident, gregarious, friendly Richard, for once seems entirely lost for words.

‘Let’s take the children for ice cream,’ he says eventually. ‘And I’ll explain.’

‘Ice cream! Ice cream!’ the children clamour, and even though they’ve just polished off a Mr Chubby’s special, Vicky concurs, because clearly Richard has some explaining to do, and if a little ice cream will help
keep the children quiet, give Richard the time and space to say his piece, then so be it.

And the events of last night are well and truly forgotten. When Vicky does finally remember what so nearly happened, for a few seconds she wonders whether she did in fact dream it.

‘You what?’ Vicky says, the shock apparent on her face.

‘I lost my job,’ Richard says again, looking at the table, unable to look her in the eye.

‘But what do you mean, you lost your job? When? Why are you at the aquarium? I don’t understand. How could you have lost your job?’

‘I lost it six months ago,’ Richard says quietly as Vicky takes a sharp inhalation of breath and her mouth drops open in shock.

‘Six months?’ she repeats.