Читать книгу The Accidental Life Swap - Jennifer Joyce, Kerry Barrett - Страница 13

Although the front door looks as though it’s an original feature, the lock is more modern, meaning there isn’t a rustic, easily identifiable key on the bunch I grabbed from Vanessa’s office earlier. The only way to gain entry is to try each key in turn until the lock gives and I’m able to push the heavy oak door open.

The door opens into a vast hallway, with a wide staircase opposite and light flooding in from the huge windows either side of the door. The space is bare, with exposed brick walls and stripped woodwork, but I can tell this is going to be an amazing welcoming area when it’s completed. I can picture smooth, plastered walls painted in a warm, creamy shade, a coat stand in the corner, perhaps a bench under the window with storage for shoes underneath, and there is more than enough space for a massive tree at Christmas beside the staircase, all lit up and festive. I get a warm, fuzzy feeling despite the freezing temperature inside the empty, unheated house.

My footsteps echo on the bare floorboards as I move across the room, slowly and carefully, as though I’m an intruder, which I very much feel like right now. I expect to hear noises within the house; hammering, drilling, a too-loud radio, voices at the very least. It’s already past lunchtime and there are a couple of vans outside, so I’d assumed the builders were here, but the house is eerily lifeless as I move from room to room. What was once a kitchen has been updated with bi-fold doors that look out onto the land at the back of the property, where there’s a humongous, overgrown garden lined with trees to give a feeling of seclusion, and another outbuilding that has definitely seen better days.

I back away from the sheet of glass, jumping at the sound my foot makes as it meets the concrete flooring. I tiptoe my way through the rest of the house, marvelling at the amount of space available. The ceilings are high and most of the rooms are larger than my entire flat. I make my way up to the top floor and open the door that leads to a small balcony. It’s cold outside but the view overlooking the canal is stunning, the air fresh and earthy and instantly relaxing. I can feel the stress of the surreal morning being plucked away as I close my eyes, taking deep, greedy breaths as I listen to the soundtrack of the countryside. Gone are the roars of traffic, the dozens of conversations mingling into one incessant hum, the busy lives and dramas of people packed in tight. Here, there is nothing but the mesmerising rustle of the wind tickling the leaves and the sing-song chirrups of unseen birds. A smile flashes onto my face as I take another lungful of the untainted air. Imagine living here, with all this space and beauty, instead of being stuck in a hovel with a semi-feral flatmate. I need this, or something reasonably close but still attainable. And to do that, I have to succeed with my new role as project manager.

*

‘Have you tried the pub?’

‘The pub?’ I sit down on the bottom step of the grand staircase and try to stop my teeth from chattering. It really is bloody freezing in this house.

‘Maybe they’ve gone for a skive since they’re unsupervised?’ Emma gives a throaty laugh down the phoneline. ‘I know I’d slope off for a gin if I could get away with it. Instead, I’m stuck at this reception desk as usual. I almost wish I could swap places with you.’

I’ve been in Little Heaton for over an hour and apart from the vans still parked in the driveway and a small digital radio perched on the cistern in the main bathroom on the first floor, there hasn’t been the tiniest hint of the builders.

‘Believe me, you don’t want to trade places with me.’ I rub at my nose. It’s so cold, it’s hurting. ‘It took forever to get here. I’m definitely staying here for the duration.’ If I can stand the cold, that is. Vanessa mentioned a guesthouse; I hope it has some sort of heating system installed. ‘Anyway, I’d better go and find the pub and see if they’re in there. We passed a couple on the way, so hopefully your hunch is right.’ And if not, I can at least warm up for a bit.

Pushing the phone into my pocket, I make my way out of the house, locking up even though there’s only a paint-splattered radio to nick. It actually feels a little bit warmer outside with the sunshine and the brisk walk to the nearest pub. I manage to find the Farmer’s Arms quite easily by retracing my steps over the footbridge. Being the middle of the afternoon, I expect the pub to be quiet, empty even, but I’m blasted by noise as soon as I push the door open. The jukebox is playing a George Ezra track, interrupted by the clunk of pool balls colliding, and there’s the general murmur of conversation. Emma was right. The builders are here, enjoying a day off by the looks of it as they sip pints around the pool table. There are three of them; one older, maybe mid-forties, one who must be early thirties, and a baby-faced kid who has to be late teens at the most. I obviously don’t know for sure that these are Vanessa’s builders – or builders at all – but with their heavy-duty boots and plaster-ingrained jeans, I highly suspect they are. Emma is a genius who is wasted behind that reception desk. She definitely deserves that gin.

‘Everything okay over there, duck?’

I’m still hovering by the door, but I make my way over to the barmaid, whose face breaks out into a friendly smile as I clamber onto one of the high stools at the bar.

‘What can I get you?’ The barmaid places her hands on the bar, displaying a rainbow of fingernails as each one is painted a different colour. I’m tempted to order something large and lethal, but I still have a job to do.

‘Just a diet coke please.’ I sneak a look at the builders as I reach into my bag for my purse. They’re still playing pool, ribbing each other as tricky shots are missed, completely unaware that I’m here. I should probably march up to them and demand they get back to work (after ascertaining that they are, in fact, Vanessa’s builders) but I find myself furtively observing them as I sip at my drink. The older one claps the youngest on the back before he ambles towards the bar, his hand fumbling in his pocket for change. He orders a round of pints before counting out the pound coins in his fist.

‘Won the jackpot earlier.’ He nods towards the fruit machine and my cheeks burst into flames. I hadn’t realised I’d been staring.

‘Well done.’ I offer a tiny congratulatory smile before I turn away completely, concentrating on my drink and willing my face to cool down. Just minutes ago I’d been about to succumb to frostbite and now I may as well be sunning myself on a Mexican beach in the midst of a heatwave. I should introduce myself, let him know the impromptu day off has come to an abrupt end. But I don’t. I sit and stare at my diet coke.

‘You’re new around here.’ The barmaid gives a statement rather than poses a question as she sets the first pint down. ‘Sorry.’ She gives a one-shouldered shrug and grabs another glass. ‘It’s a small place.’

‘It’s okay. I’ve only just got here.’ I sneak a look at the builder as I continue. ‘I’m here to take over as project manager for the refurbishment on Arthur’s Pass.’

If I had any doubts that these guys were my team of builders, they disappear as the eyes before me widen to unnatural proportions.

‘You’re taking over? What happened to Nic?’ He shoots a look over his shoulder, where the others are still playing pool. The younger one is swaggering towards the table, slowly chalking the end of his cue, while the other is shaking his head and telling him he doesn’t stand a chance, but in much more colourful language.

‘There was an accident.’ I hold up a hand as his eyes widen again. ‘Nicole’s okay. Hurt, but she’ll recover.’ I slide off the stool and hold out a hand. ‘I’m Vanessa Whitely’s PA.’ There’s a roar from the pool table as the never-gonna-happen shot does indeed happen. The young lad is jumping around giving a victorious cry, while the older one, still shaking his head, flails his arms around as he tries to convince his pal that it was a complete fluke (again, with more colourful language).

‘You’re Vanessa?’ The builder’s eyes are like saucers as he turns back to me after the interruption. ‘It’s so good to finally meet you after all those emails early on.’ He takes my hand and pumps it up and down, his eyes still very much rabbits-in-headlights wide. ‘You’re probably wondering what we’re doing here, right?’ He gives a chuckle while I simply frown back at him. He thinks I’m Vanessa? The bellowing from his team obviously cut off the end of my introduction, so I’ve been inadvertently upgraded from PA to the boss herself. I’m jolted by the realisation that I was supposed to get in touch with this guy to explain about the Nicole situation and how I – Rebecca – would be replacing her for the last few weeks of the project. Bugger. I never forget to carry out tasks set by Vanessa – I’d be a pretty poor PA if I did – but I did forget to do this during the panic and disorder of the morning. I need to rectify this, and fast.

The laughter dies as the builder lets go of my hand. ‘We’re not slacking off or anything. We went to the house. Waited ages. Even phoned Nic, but there was no answer. So we came here to wait for her. No key, you see. There isn’t much we can do without access.’ He chuckles again, but it’s much weaker this time and he turns towards the pool table. ‘Hey, guys. Get over here.’

‘Run out of cash already?’ The older of the two stops his tirade so he can turn to his boss with a smirk. ‘I’m skint, pal. You don’t pay me enough.’

‘Did you see that shot?’ The other builder grins, his whole face lighting up and somehow making him look even younger.

‘That was nothing.’ The smirk falls from the older builder’s face as he leans over the table with his cue. ‘Check this out.’

I reach out to touch the head builder’s arm lightly, the frown still furrowing my brow. ‘Excuse me, but there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. I’m not …’ My words are swallowed as another roar goes up from the pool table, but instead of victorious, this roar is of the mocking variety. The older builder is elbowed playfully in the ribs as his mate falls about laughing at his terrible shot.

‘Guys! Seriously, get over here.’ The head builder flashes me an apologetic smile. I open my mouth to try to explain who I am – or rather who I’m not – but he’s already turned back to the lads. ‘Come and meet Vanessa Whitely.’ I see his eyes bulge as he attempts to convey the importance of his words. It works like magic. The lads stop mucking about, their faces turning to stone as they stand upright and rush towards the bar, each thrusting their hand at me to shake in turn.

‘Hi Vanessa. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Harvey.’ The older of the two pool-playing builders is acting as spokesman as he points out his workmate. ‘And this is Todd.’

‘And I’m Vincent Mancini, obviously.’ The boss shakes my hand again and I see his forehead is starting to shine with sweat. ‘I should have said that earlier. Sorry. You can call me Vince. If you want to, that is.’ He chuckles, though the sound is strained rather than joyful. ‘I’ll answer to anything, really.’

I’m astonished by the reaction my mere presence has caused. Or rather, the reaction Vanessa’s presence has caused. I should clarify who I am, but I’m rather enjoying the power Vanessa clearly holds, so I keep it zipped. I’ll tell them later, obviously, but not until I’ve chivvied them along and got them back to work.

‘Shall we get going then?’ I tap my watch in a way I’ve witnessed Vanessa do many times. ‘We’ve lost half the day already.’

‘But my pint …’ Todd, the youngest builder, looks longingly at the bar. I could relent, let them finish their drinks, but I feel a surge of authority shoot through me, straightening my spine and raising my chin.

‘You can have a pint on your own time, not mine.’

I have no idea where those words came from, but I quite like the firm, assertive tone they’re accompanied by, and I get a real kick when the builders march out of the pub instead of snubbing my request. Being Vanessa is strangely satisfying.