If I Were You

Chapter 59 Amy

Through the open curtains the sky is a hazy pinkish blue, the island on the lake obscured by mist; two deer joyfully leap and spring across the lawn. I place a large hand on the glass, trying not to be distracted by the hand that isn’t mine, and focus on the serene scene.

It’s only then I notice Flynn’s mobile charging on the bedside table. I glance at the screen and see notifications from Karim and Bex with updates and comments. I pick it up and stare down at them, imagining Flynn as the boss of this company. The detail makes my eyebrows shoot up. Even on a weekend away he is getting messages like this; it makes me feel ashamed that perhaps I haven’t truly understood how never-ending his job is. I place the mobile back, even more desperate to share all of this with someone who might care.

Wrapping a dressing gown around myself, I creep out of our room, the hotel deadly quiet so early. I half hope to step over Flynn curled up asleep in the hallway, but no one is there. For a moment I panic he’s actually left. Would he do that?

The smell of beeswax and fresh flowers is stronger on the top floor as I make my way up the stairs towards the honeymoon suite. Knocking quietly, I rehearse my opening line, still drowsy from broken sleep and Eddie’s punch to the head. She needs to believe me.

‘Laura,’ I whisper through the door and knock again. ‘Laurs.’

I’m desperate to get in, plead for her help.

She opens the door in her new green silk crepe-de-chine pyjamas, black cats stalking across the fabric. I’d sent her the link to them from the Net-a-Porter website.

‘Oh my god, that print looks so good on you.’

‘Flynn? What the—’

She steps back from the door and I step inside, immediately flummoxed by the sumptuous setting.

‘Holy shit,’ I laugh, eyes rounded, the opulence obliterating everything else in my head.

I have never seen a room like it. It’s not a room, it’s about four rooms that all flow into each other. The walls shimmer; different shades shift in the light like the inside of an oyster. Mahogany tables, polished to perfection, line the entranceway, vases atop filled with pink roses and white orchid sprays, the scent making my head swim.

In the main bedroom there is a copper bath positioned in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to take advantage of the view. From this height you can see out for miles, rolling Devonshire fields of browns and greens currently emerging from a layer of mist.

‘This is insane,’ I say, jaw dropping as I take in the rest of the place, bigger surely than our childhood home in Bedminster. The pale pink velvet chaise longue in the corner, the elegant, curved silver floor lamp, the raised platform with a soaring cream four-poster bed, intricate carvings around the headboard, thick gold curtains pulled back theatrically.

I lift a hand to my neck and rub at it. ‘Shit, you’ve made it, Laura.’

I know now I should have been less judgemental about this venue. Who wouldn’t want to wake up here on the morning of their wedding? And if Patty, who can afford it, has offered to foot the bill, why shouldn’t Laura accept and simply relish the whole experience? Why hadn’t I realized this before now? Do I always assume the worst? Is Flynn right about that?

I’m met with a defensive press of the lips, hands moving to her hips. ‘What’s that supposed to mean, Flynn? Like, I’m not good enough for the room?’

Flynn. Christ. Of course, I’m Flynn.

‘No, of course you are,’ I say, flapping my hands in panic. ‘I just, I came to talk to you and this place just blew me away a bit.’

‘So,’ she says, still glowering at me, ‘spit it out, why are you here? Where’s Amy?’ For a second a look of worry crosses her face. ‘Nothing’s happened?’

It makes my heart melt a little that she does care, gives me hope that this is going to go well.

‘Amy’s fine,’ I say.

‘Well, she shouldn’t be after last night, she should be feeling like shit.’

‘Laura, Laura …’ I hold out both my hands and clamp her flailing arms to her side.

Startled, her mouth snaps closed and her body goes rigid as I try to get her attention. Horribly, she looks momentarily frightened and I immediately let her go. I think of the times when I’ve felt nervous, a man a little too close, an unwanted hand on my arm or shoulder. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just need you to listen to me. Laura,’ I say slowly, licking my lips, mind racing, head pounding as I stare at her through my bad eye.

I take a breath. ‘Laura, it’s me, I’m Amy. As in I am Amy, in Flynn’s body.’

There’s a moment’s pause as Laura, hands still hanging at her side, stares at me.

I wait, trying to gauge her reaction, but it doesn’t come.

‘I know it is unbelievable but it really is true. Seriously. I’m your sister. It’s me.’

She doesn’t react, still just staring at me, muscles still, everything suspended.

Then she lets out a sort of strangled laugh. ‘Why are you doing this, Flynn? Is it a wedding day joke? Because I don’t get it.’ Her face turns steely, ‘And it’s not funny.’

‘It’s not a joke, Laura, I’m Amy. I’m your sister. I was born in Frenchay Hospital, Bristol on July the twenty-fourth. I’m a Leo,’ I say loudly, ‘which you were always a bit jealous of because you are a Virgo and Louis Jones told you Virgos are swots. Our parents Trish and Robert always wanted two little girls and got them …’

‘Flynn, seriously, stop it,’ she says, her forehead creasing.

‘No,’ I say firmly, breath quickening. I must convince her, ‘We used to stand on that little table in the front room and put on shows for them. You used to be Posh Spice and you made me Mel C because I liked wearing Kappa tracksuits, but I always hated it and wanted to be Baby and I wore my hair in bunches for like a year to convince you. And then we cried for about a week when Geri left the band and we burnt the tickets we got for Christmas in the dustbin under the hall table because they’d sung “Friendship Never Ends” but it had ended and we were devastated. And Mum told us off because we scorched her new carpet in the hall and nearly burnt the house down. And Dad took us for McDonald’s and told us Mum would come round and we chose her a new bin which every time she used she’d sigh thinking of the other bin.’

Laura was frowning as the information spilled out of me.

‘You had a boyfriend called Callum who had a skateboard which he’d bought from Argos but he’d bought special new wheels and always carried tools round in a bum bag so he could tighten them and he called snogging “French kissing” because he thought that was more grown up and Dad called him a prat because his dad had put a Tory poster up in his window – and you didn’t talk to Dad for like a week. But then Callum dumped you anyway because he booked to go to Majorca and didn’t want a girlfriend to “tie him down”.’

My chest is heaving as I finish, rooting around for more to say.

‘She could have told you this stuff,’ Laura says quietly, confusion crossing over her face. ‘This is just stuff you could have learnt.’

‘I haven’t learnt it,’ I insist.

‘I don’t get why you guys are doing this to me.’

Now there are tears in her eyes and I’m frightened and desperate. I put my hands on her shoulders and I feel her body turn rigid once more. ‘Laura, please, I’m not doing this to upset you. I wish it was a joke. Believe me.’

‘Flynn,’ Laura says, holding two fingers up to the side of her head like she does when she’s stressed. ‘It’s my wedding morning and I don’t know why you’ve been sent along to play this trick on me—’

‘It’s not a trick, Laura, you have to believe me. It was on the way here, we were hit by lightning and when we stood up we had literally turned into each other …’

‘Stop it, OK, stop it, this is the worst bullshit to get Amy out of behaving badly this weekend. She’s always been weird about me and Jay.’

I think of what I could tell her, about why I’m funny around Jay, but I bite down the words. She doesn’t deserve that. It’s fair enough she’s all over the show – why did I think anyone would believe me, even Laura? It’s absurd.

She pushes me backwards, my dressing gown coming loose, her hands on my bare chest. ‘Get out, get out.’ Marching past me, she flings open the hotel door. ‘I won’t let you both ruin the whole weekend.’

‘But I can’t go. I don’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t know what I’ll do if I go,’ I’m suddenly petrified. If Laura doesn’t believe me, no one will.

‘Shut up.’

‘Laura, please,’ I say, my eyes now filling as I turn in the doorway. ‘We have to talk … please, Laurs.’

But Laura isn’t looking at me; she’s looking beyond me to a man three doors down, hair wet and sticking up, towel wrapped around his waist, hotel key card in his hand.

‘Jay,’ Laura whispers.

He is frowning as he looks at her, dishevelled in her silk pyjamas in the doorway, chest heaving, cheeks red. Then he looks at me, bare-chested, my dressing gown flapping, shoved out of the honeymoon suite by his flustered fiancée.

He steps forward. ‘Flynn?’ His forehead puckers. ‘Laura? What the …’

‘Flynn was leaving,’ Laura says in a desperate shout.

‘Why is Flynn leaving? Why was Flynn there?’ Jay says, voice raised, his hotel key card slipping from his grasp.

‘I’m not Flynn,’ I shout to nobody, ‘I’m not fucking FLYNN.’

Another door opens and Patty, complete with large hair rollers and an eye mask pushed up her forehead, peers out. Then she steps into the corridor.

‘Jay? Laura? What is going on?’

I suddenly see what they are all seeing. And although I’m frustrated and scared, I can also see how terrible this looks for Laura.

‘Did he spend the night?’ Jay asks, his voice a husk.

‘Of course I didn’t,’ I interrupt.

‘Laura?’

Patty is moving down the corridor towards us. ‘Laura, I think you owe Jay an explanation.’

‘Mum, stay out of this.’

‘He didn’t stay the night, he just turned up,’ Laura says, about to burst into tears.

‘Why?’ Jay asks.

Laura throws up her arms, ‘Because he’s an imbecile, because he’s trying to ruin our wedding. I don’t know.’

She is crying now. Guilt pierces my own devastation. I have done this to her. I must fix it.

Then I hear a voice that makes my heart sink. It’s about to get a whole lot worse.