Читать книгу The Accidental Life Swap - Jennifer Joyce - Страница 16

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.