If I Were You

Chapter 64 Flynn

I’m feeling lighter inside, overwhelmed with the relief of letting some of this out. I know it’s just the beginning, but I feel like it’s the start of something. I think back to the day I last tried to talk to Mum, really talk to her. How she had simply walked out. I’d believed her response was about me, but was it more than that? Could she not dare either? Had her grief robbed her too? I vow to reach out after this weekend.

Conversation amongst the men I hung out with was shallow: sports and small talk. I was adept at swerving anything real, made friends easily but failed to truly get to know anyone. A couple of friends probed me, wondered why Tanya and I had split, but none of them pushed me on it. I wonder now what they thought. Had they judged me? Assumed I’d left my own child? Why hadn’t they said more? Why do some men not dream to ask?

‘So, you’re not cross?’ Amy checks for the sixteenth time.

Laura sounds exasperated, ‘How can I be cross? You didn’t deliberately switch into your boyfriend’s body to mess up my wedding, Ames.’

‘Well, I know, but,’ Amy fiddles with the hem of my T-shirt, ‘I do this kind of thing. I make things about me …’

Laura opens her mouth and then closes it again, a small sigh as it’s her turn to look awkward. ‘I’m sorry I’ve made you think that,’ she says. ‘It’s not your fault you’re someone who lives life out loud. And …’ She picks her next words carefully. ‘I was always jealous of what you and Dad had, jealous of how he loved everything you did.’

‘I think being the second child was easier,’ Amy admits. ‘I wasn’t expected to do things; you were forced to trail-blaze, so if I seemed to be doing it too I think they gushed a little more over me …’

‘I could be jealous,’ Laura admits, her head drooping. ‘You and Dad had all these things in common, with the marches and petitions, the music and the song-writing, and no matter how hard I tried I didn’t share them.’

‘Well, I should have realized how much pressure it was to always be the first, be the one who has to pretend she’s all grown-up and capable. And you were so amazing, moving to London at eighteen – I would have been petrified!’ Amy said.

Laura couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice, ‘I always thought you thought I was too good to stay in Bristol, stay at home.’ Her head dips low, ‘Dad thought that too …’

Amy scoots nearer Laura, her voice reassuring, ‘Laurs, he thought you were brilliant. He couldn’t stop boasting to the pub when you got into uni, the first one in our family, his chest puffed out with pride that you’d be going to London.’

‘I always thought it was you he talked about,’ she admits. ‘I was envious that you could sing a song and he’d be putty … It wasn’t fair of me to make you think that was your fault. I love your songs, I miss them, they’re beautiful …’

I leave them both to talk as I scan my mobile for news from work. Two days ago I might have made light of something or steered the conversation away, but I know now that the best thing I can do is let them talk and listen to each other. I’m starting to think I might have inherited some of Amy’s emotional maturity when we switched bodies.

Karim has forwarded me an email from one of our clients gushing about the company. All three events went without a hitch and a small, guilty voice reminds me I hadn’t had faith. I need to trust my team more to shoulder some of the stress.

This gives me an idea and, when Amy and Laura have finished talking and hugging, I spin around.

‘Go on,’ Amy says, over Laura’s shoulder. ‘You have something to say.’

She’s smiling as I burst with it. ‘So,’ I announce, brain whirring like this is a day in the office, ‘I have a plan, Laura.’