Life Swap (24 page)

‘And other days,’ she continues, ‘I get up and go out and feel overwhelmed by everything. I don’t want to have to compete with other women to see who paid the most for their outfit, or who ran up a bigger account
at Rakers last year. I don’t care about having the latest Balenciaga bag…’

Vicky opens her eyes wide in surprise. ‘I thought this was the country!’ she says. ‘The women here have Balenciaga bags?’

Ambers laughs. ‘I thought it was the country too, but it’s not. It’s the suburbs, and that’s a whole other ballgame, especially in Highfield. Oh yes they have Balenciaga bags, or Birkins if they’re really lucky, but not during the day unless you’re meeting the girls for lunch.’

‘So what do they wear during the day?’

‘Generally workout gear – you’re supposed to look as if you’re just running some errands whilst on your way to the gym, but you have to have enormous diamond studs –’ Amber gestures to her own diamond studs with a roll of her eyes and Vicky laughs – ‘the latest Pumas, some cute yoga/pilates pants and a great bag. Honey,’ she places a hand on Vicky’s arm and looks into her eyes, ‘it’s all in the accessories.’

‘Far be it from me to throw a spanner in the works,’ Richard says, ‘but isn’t that exactly what you wear pretty much every day? Isn’t this a case of the pot calling the kettle black?’

‘But that’s the point,’ Amber sighs. ‘Some days I can see that carrying the right bag is indeed a matter of life and death, but more and more I’m starting to think that none of this matters. That since when did the size of your earrings or the label on the inside of your bag demonstrate what kind of a person you are? I’m fed up
with this consumerism, this perfectionism, with constantly competing with everyone else. Jesus, I wasn’t brought up like this. I don’t even know how I got here.’

‘Wow, that’s quite a speech.’ Richard shakes his head as he looks at his wife.

‘I’m sorry, honey, but it’s true. The only good stuff, the only things I would never ever change are my family, my husband and my kids.’

‘So this really isn’t about me?’ Richard says softly.

‘Oh sweetie.’ Amber gets up from the table and puts her arms around Richard from behind, nuzzling his neck. ‘I adore you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. How could this be about you?’

Richard looks up at Vicky. ‘So when are you thinking of doing this?’

Vicky smiles. ‘I’ll get in touch with Hugh, the director, to see what works best for him, and then we’re pretty much all set.’

‘Director?’ Amber and Richard disengage and look at Vicky in confusion. ‘What director?’

‘Ah yes.’ Vicky takes a deep breath. ‘I knew there was something else I meant to tell you.’

It is the only spanner in the works. Richard point-blank refuses to be filmed for television. And in the end, Vicky concedes, knowing that it is the only way she will get them to agree, and as good as the publicity would have been for
Poise!
, there’s no TV show without the swap, and the magazine comes first.

And she has to admit she is slightly disappointed.
Whilst she told Hugh Janus that she didn’t want to be famous, since they had decided to do it she’d talked herself into quite enjoying the fame and potential fortune that would arise. Because don’t stars automatically become friends with other stars? She and Julia Roberts might start hanging out, she could definitely see Julia becoming a friend of hers. Vicky might help her get through those first difficult couple of years with the twins, perhaps Julia and Danny could bring the kids down to Kate and Andy’s for the weekend.

Or maybe Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. She could see them becoming friends. Could imagine the kids hanging out together while she and Jamie Donnelly sip cocktails with Michael and Cat – do her friends call her Cat, she wonders, or Cathy, perhaps, or Cath? – on the terrace of their house in Bermuda.

Oh yes. Being famous wouldn’t be so bad at all, thank you very much, but Vicky files away her daydreams for another time. Clearly she is not going to be the reality star of this TV show after all. Now she just has to phone Hugh Janus and tell him, and after that find a way of breaking the news to Janelle.

By the time Amber and Richard clear up after dinner – Vicky offered to help but the poor girl was almost comatose with jet lag so they sent her to bed – the cold front between them has evaporated completely, and Richard looks at Amber and raises an eyebrow, the look that signals he’s feeling frisky, he’s up for it tonight.

Normally Amber would groan, would hurriedly think
of an excuse, would claim to have her period, or gas, or something, but she’s missed Richard these last few days, has missed chatting to him on the phone all day long – for Richard is one of those men who phone their wife several times during the day to touch base, has hated how cold he has been since she told him Vicky was coming, and this is the least she can do.

And so they go up to bed, Amber puts on her pyjamas, climbs into bed and into Richard’s arms. Fifteen minutes later she pecks him on the lips, says, ‘I love you,’ turns the bedside light back on and picks up her magazine as Richard goes to the bathroom to clean up.

‘I like her,’ Richard says, climbing back into bed and taking Amber’s hand, grateful to have his wife back, to have the status quo returned to their marriage.

‘I can tell.’ Amber gives him a look and he laughs. ‘But she is cute. And smart, and the kids like her. I think you’ll probably have an amazing time with her. God, you might not want me to come home.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Richard admonishes. ‘But I agree that she’s far better than I expected. And I love the way she speaks.’

‘Just don’t love it too much.’ Amber smiles. ‘So you’re really okay with this? With me going ahead and flying to London for four weeks?’

Richard shrugs. ‘I have to be, don’t I? If I asked you not to go, would you not go?’

Amber pauses and looks Richard in the eye.

‘Exactly,’ Richard says, not needing an answer. ‘I
know your mind’s made up so I have to accept it. I guess I’m just relieved that I’m not being left with some awful woman while you’re gone. At least I know it will be kind of fun.’

‘Just as long as you were joking when you made that comment about her sleeping on my side of the bed…’

‘Just as long as you don’t think you’re going to be picking up strange men in bars and bringing them home to your super-hip bachelorette pad in London…’ Richard smiles.

Amber snorts. ‘God, as if anyone would want me. I’m thirty-five and the mother of two children. Nobody even looks at me any more. All of a sudden I go into stores and I’m not Miss any more, I’m Ma’am. How did that happen? Tell me the truth, does Vicky look much younger than me? Because I bet she still gets called Miss. How is it that I look middle-aged and she doesn’t? Is it just having kids? The physical wear and tear on my body?’

‘First of all,’ Richard strokes her thigh appreciatively, ‘as cute as Vicky is you have a much better body, and that’s despite having two children.’

‘I do?’ Amber perks up.

‘You do. But secondly she doesn’t have any responsibilities. I hate to say it, but she doesn’t look like a mom.’

‘And I do?’

‘You look like a woman who’s had some experience in life, but I love that about you. I think you’re far more beautiful now than when we met.’

Amber’s eyes light up. ‘You really do?’

‘I do. I think you have a maturity now that I love.’

‘But what about these,’ Amber smoothes out the frown lines on her forehead, ‘and these?’ She traces the lines from her nose to her mouth. ‘Vicky doesn’t seem to have all these lines.’

‘She’s probably Botoxed them out,’ Richard says.

‘Do you think?’

Richard shrugs. ‘She does work on a women’s magazine. She probably gets offered shots of Botoxwith her sandwich at lunchtime.’

‘God, I never thought of that. I think I should do it. I should go and get some. These lines make me feel so old.’

‘I love your lines,’ Richard says. ‘They’re the marks of your life. I love that you have a few stretchmarks on your stomach, they tell me the story of our children. And I love your frown lines,’ he leans forward and kisses them. ‘I love that whenever you’re concentrating on something you frown. I don’t want you to Botox anything. I love you exactly as you are.’

Amber smiles at him and kisses him lovingly. ‘Do you know how lucky I am to have a man like you?’

‘Yes,’ he says as he kisses her back. ‘Do you know how lucky you are to have a man like me?’

‘Yes,’ she says happily. ‘But seriously, just a little bit of Botox?’ She frowns as she pulls the skin between her eyebrows taut. ‘Just here?’

‘Oh go to sleep,’ Richard laughs, and turns off the lamp on his side of the bed.

*

The rest of the trip is smooth. Vicky accompanies Amber to school to drop off Gracie, to a baseball match for Jared, to lunch with Deborah, with whom Vicky instantly feels a kinship, another English girl abroad.

‘It’s going to be a great piece,’ she tells Janelle, when she calls her for the second time, having already broken the bad news about the TV show. ‘I’m just sorry they won’t agree to TV because it would have been great.’

‘I’ve got a conference call with Hugh Janus tomorrow,’ Janelle soothes. ‘We’re going to see if there’s anything else we can work on together. So is it very
Desperate Housewives
, darling?’

‘There’s nothing desperate about this life,’ laughs Vicky. ‘Wait until you see the house. It’s like a bloody palace.’

‘Do you think she’ll cope with your little flat, then?’

‘You know what? I think she’s a hell of a lot stronger than she appears. I think she’s going to be absolutely fine.’

Chapter Eighteen

‘If I’d known how much work was involved,’ Vicky moans one evening when her sister-in-law phones to see how she’s getting on, ‘I never would have done this.’

‘What kind of work? Still sorting out your flat?’

‘How can a flat this small contain so much junk? How have I managed to accumulate this much crap in so short a time? I’ve only had this flat two years, and now it’s stuffed to the gills. I never realized how much of this stuff is completely superfluous.’ Vicky is sitting on the floor of the tiny second bedroom that doubles as her office, sifting through yet another pile.

Thus far she has found four unpaid bills, all of which are a minimum of four months old, two invitations to parties, both of which she realizes she not only missed, but never even RSVP’d, a press release about a new method of laser vein removal that she’d brought home from work, not wanting anyone to know she was about to get the spider veins in her legs treated, and had been looking for for weeks, her driving licence – how in the hell did that get there? Wasn’t it always in her bag? – and some readers’ letters that she had brought home to respond to, but that had swiftly been eaten up by the pile.

‘And what about the notes?’ Kate says. ‘How are you
getting on with telling Amber how you live your life?’

‘So far I’m on page twenty-three,’ Vicky groans. ‘Does that answer your question?’

‘Sounds like far too much work to me. So are we going to see you this weekend? The kids miss you, and frankly I’m not sure how much more of their whining I can take.’

‘Nothing like a bit of guilt to get me down to the country.’ Vicky rolls her eyes. ‘Thanks, Kate.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘Okay. Sorry. I’m just stressed. And yes, I’d love to come this weekend. I need a complete break from London, but you have to tell the kids I need a lie-in. The last thing I want to do is arrive in Connecticut next week with enormous bags under my eyes.’

‘God, it’s next week. I can’t believe you’re actually going through with it. I can’t believe it’s happening, and so soon! Oh and before I forget,’ Kate smoothly changes the subject, ‘please please please bring me some tarama from Waitrose.’

Vicky sighs. ‘How many packs this time?’

‘Can you bring ten? That way I can stick them in the freezer until you get back, although if Amber is really being you for four weeks I suppose I can always get her to bring down a load too.’

‘Why not take advantage and get her to bring down fifty?’

Kate starts cackling. ‘Do you know what, that’s a bloody good idea.’

*

Vicky goes to the bathroom and sighs as she scrapes her hair back and examines her spotty chin and bleary eyes in the mirror.

‘God,’ she mutters. ‘I’m thirty-five. I’m not supposed to still be getting bloody spots.’

She is exhausted, had no idea quite how much she would have to do. First there were the notes: copious notes about all her friends, because Amber will have to step into the friendships as if she has always been there – what is the purpose of this swap after all, if not to fully inhabit the life of the swapee?

Ruth

The most important person at
Poise!.
She’s my extremely able, sparkly assistant (although sparkles are usually only on her T-shirts). She’s very clever, horribly efficient and organized, and usually gets me to where I need to be. She’s also a wonderful foil for Janelle’s assistant, Caroline, who’s bloody terrifying on a good day and monstrous on a bad (remember, Janelle’s the editor). Caroline and Ruth are, bizarrely, friends, which keeps Caroline off my back. However, you shouldn’t have to worry about Caroline as everyone knows you’re my stand-in, so they won’t expect too much, and I’m leaving everything in shape just so you don’t get into trouble. Leona – more on her later – is going to pretty much do my job while I’m gone. You’re going to be fine. Ruth completely adores Crunchie bars, so if you really want to get her on your side bring her a Crunchie when you come back from the canteen. She’ll pretend to be upset because it ruins her diet, but she’ll love you for it.

Leona

I love her, she’s my closest friend at work and will probably become yours. She’s the features editor, which is much like the features director except she gets to do a bit more of the grunt work, and I get to go on snazzier lunches. But don’t tell her I said that. She’s always late for work – has two small kids at home – is funny and sarcastic, and usually wears fantastically expensive designer clothes that are covered with stains, have unravelling hems, and look as though they cost a fiver at Top Shop. She is my port in every storm, and is great for drinks after work, although her nanny finishes at 8 p.m., so you have to get her early. Which reminds me, I don’t even know how much you drink. I always think that Americans don’t drink or smoke at all, and I hope that if that is the case you’ll be able to change that for the four weeks you’re being me, because I have to say I do love a glass of wine, and after about three glasses I start hitting the cigarettes – Marlboro Light.