The Sister Swap: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year!. Fiona Collins

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СКАЧАТЬ wasn’t how she remembered her. ‘I’m her sister.’

      ‘You’re Sarah’s sister?’ Another one. Why did everyone have to say that? ‘Why, you’re nothing alike!’

      ‘Right, well, I’m staying at Orchard Cottage for two months,’ said Meg. ‘Sarah’s in my flat in London. She’s got a job there. We swapped houses.’

      ‘Oh, I see,’ said the woman. ‘Tell me, would you like to run the library while she’s away?’ Oh, very direct, thought Meg, but she could already tell this was that kind of woman.

      ‘She’s already asked me,’ said Meg. ‘Kind of. What would I have to do?’

      ‘Keep it tidy; sort any books that get donated. The decent ones go on the shelves, the others we get rid of. Sorry, I should introduce myself. I’m Violet Chase, I’m head of the parish council.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you, Violet. I’m Meg. OK, I might be up for doing that,’ Meg said. ‘And the other thing Sarah mentioned was running the art class.’ Well, she might as well. There was nothing else to do. No dalliances to be had. If she was busy, the time would go quicker and she could get back to London faster.

      ‘Yes, it’s life drawing. Thursdays at eleven a.m. There’s not much to it. I’ll be here to let everyone in. You’ll just have to make sure everyone behaves, really.’

      ‘Life drawing? I didn’t know that. So there’s a model?’

      ‘Yes.’ Violet smiled. ‘I think Sarah books someone different each week. She’ll have a list somewhere.’

      ‘OK, I’ll do it. It sounds … fun.’ Meg would rather be booking models for her clients in Paris, but hey, this would do, for a while. Needs must.

      ‘Fantastic. Meet you here on Thursday at ten forty-five, then,’ said Violet. Meg turned to go, but then Violet called after her, ‘Did Jamie ask you out when you met him?’

      ‘No …’ said Meg, wondering how to respond. Of course he hadn’t; he’d pretty much detested her on the spot.

      ‘Surprising,’ said Violet, looking at Meg quizzically. ‘You’re just his type.’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ said Meg, rather at a loss for what else to say. ‘So, OK, thank you. I’ll see you on Thursday.’

      ‘See you then,’ said Violet, and Garfield gave a bark as if to punctuate things.

      Meg left the village hall for the trudge back across the fields to Orchard Cottage.

Chapter Eight

       Sarah

      Sarah had been at her new job in London for approximately three hours and already felt mentally drained. It had been a long morning. She wondered what to have for lunch and where she would get it from. She wondered if the coffee machine in the corner of the office was free or whether you had to pay for it. She wondered why she had not returned to her former career sooner as she was absolutely loving it.

      She’d let herself out of the flat at eight o’clock this morning, quite a civilized hour, she’d reasoned, then travelled the four stops on the Tube feeling extremely nervous, and worrying about how she looked. When she’d laid her clothes out on Meg’s bed early this morning, she’d realized her black skirt and white blouse was going to make her look like a waitress, so she’d rooted around in her sister’s wardrobe for something less Service Industry. Everything Meg had hanging up was so glamorous, but she’d found a navy shift dress which, though far too tight, she hoped she could tone down, glamourwise, when she added her boring black courts.

      It was weird wearing Meg’s dress, she’d thought, as she looked in the mirror. This was what her sister wore, when she did her glamorous job and lived her glamorous life. How jealous Sarah had been of it over the years, while she’d changed nappies, and got divorced, and picked up pieces of fish finger from the floor, and wept over Harry’s affairs, and had endless nights on her own, watching telly, and trudged over the fields in the rain with two whingeing children, to nursery in the village hall. Now here she was, in London, doing a job that called for a dress like this.

      Her hair didn’t match, Sarah had decided; it looked so mumsy she felt she was going to a PTA meeting from the neck up, so she’d consulted Meg’s many expensive-looking lotions and potions in the bathroom and ended up slicking back her hair into a kind of wet look quiff with some trendy hair gel. Not bad, she’d thought, as she’d looked back in the mirror. She did look rather accidentally sexy, though, and hoped nobody would notice.

      Her heart was thumping as she’d travelled down the escalator at her final Tube stop, realizing she’d forgotten the rule about not standing on the left – she’d had to move over when she got a giant tut from somebody behind trying to power climb. She stood on the right and stared at the posters she was gliding past: West End shows, new book releases, weight loss programmes – all in identical oblongs framed in chrome. They had changed since she’d been here last – lots of these moved, and videos advertising all sorts talked at her as she descended.

      The office for House Events had also moved, from a dark and poky office above a cigarette and magazine kiosk in Soho, to a gleaming glass-fronted office, just off Tinder Street. As she stood outside, Sarah realized House Events was now impossibly trendy and wondered how she would possibly fit in. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and walked into the marble lobby. Ahead of her was an opaque reception desk with a shiny silver lift glinting beyond it, and the receptionist behind it looked about eighteen.

      ‘Good morning, welcome to House Events, London. How may I help you?’

      ‘Good morning. I’m Sarah Oxbury,’ said Sarah, her voice wavering. ‘I’m starting work here today.’

      ‘Sarah, welcome. We’ve been expecting you. I’m Joanna. Let me just give you a pack’ – she reached into her desk for a coloured file –‘and then we’ll get you whisked upstairs.’

      Joanna handed Sarah the file and then buzzed through to someone on her snazzy-looking phone: ‘About to bring Sarah Oxbury up.’

      Joanna escorted Sarah to the lift. Its surfaces reflected all parts of her like an exposing kaleidoscope. Her bum looked big in this outfit and Meg’s dress suddenly looked not only tight and a tad too short but also indecent – Accidental Office Sex Bomb was really not a role Sarah wanted to inhabit. She realized she was shaking in her courts as the lift rose one floor and the doors whooshed open. Waiting outside it was a very tall, thin girl – early twenties? – with poker-straight white-blonde hair tucked behind her ears. She had a tight little smile, eyes that looked like turquoise precious stones, a tan drape-y dress with yards of material spun all around her, so she resembled a spindly chrysalis, and nude platform heels three sizes too big. She thrust out an arm at Sarah as though it were a baseball bat.

      ‘Sarah. I’m Felicity. Welcome back to House Events, London.’

      ‘Thank you, Felicity,’ said Sarah, reaching for the end of the bat and shaking it with a clammy hand.

      ‘I look forward to working with you.’ Felicity’s voice was clipped and brittle.

      ‘You, too. I mean, me too.’

      ‘Let’s СКАЧАТЬ