Jennifer Joyce - The Accidental Life Swap

‘Now then.’ The driver slows as he peers at the sat nav. ‘Can’t be far from here.’

We pass an assortment of houses, from squat, crumbly-looking cottages to three-storey newbuilds, until we reach the high street. There’s a small community garden in the centre, facing a terrace of shops. There’s a tanning shop, which jars against its picturesque surroundings, but it makes me think of Sonia, who is probably laughing her socks off at me back at the office. There are more houses, lots of greenery and even a castle in the distance, which makes me do a proper double-take as I catch sight of it. We pass a couple of pubs – which I fully intend to make use of during my stay – then end up back alongside the canal. The car stops and I peer out of the window, my brow creasing with confusion. There are no houses here, just the water and trees.

‘Just give me a minute, love.’ The driver is tapping at the screen of his sat nav, tutting and sighing as he jabs harder and harder.

‘Are we lost?’ Just when I thought things were looking up. Maybe this isn’t the right place after all.

‘Ah, no, nothing like that.’ The driver is still stabbing the screen with his finger. ‘It’s just this stupid thing …’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s sending us that way.’ He points across the canal. I look both ways, looking for another bridge, but there is nothing but the narrow wooden footbridge we’ve parked alongside. ‘We must have taken a wrong turning somewhere.’ He jabs at the screen one last time before he spots another dog-walker heading our way. Winding down the window, he leans right out and waves a hand to catch her attention. It’s as she approaches the car that I realise she isn’t a dog-walker at all. The animal plodding behind her isn’t of the canine variety but of the woolly kind. She’s taking a sheep out for a stroll. What the …?

‘We’re looking for Arthur’s Pass, love, but the sat nav’s playing up.’ The driver thrusts a thumb at the malfunctioning equipment. ‘What’s the best way to go?’

The woman stoops to pet the sheep. She’s only young, early twenties at the most, with long blonde hair plaited to the side. She’s wearing bright red wellies over skinny jeans and a matching parka with a furry hood.

‘You’d need to go all the way back to the iron bridge.’ She pulls an apologetic face, as though she’s responsible for the balls up. ‘Arthur’s Pass is on the other side of the canal and we only have the one access across the bridge for vehicles. It’s a bit of a nightmare, actually, but you sort of get used to it.’ She shrugs and pets the sheep again. ‘Are you just dropping off?’ She’s looking at the side of the car, at the taxi’s markings. ‘Because you’d be better off jumping out here and walking the rest of the way.’ She’s peering past the driver now to address me. ‘It’s just over this footbridge and down the lane.’ She points across the canal, towards a cluster of trees. ‘I’m heading that way myself so I can show you.’

‘That would be so kind, thank you.’ As much as I appreciate the driver getting me here safely, without turning out to be a bloodthirsty maniac, I don’t fancy driving all the way back through the village. I’m still feeling a bit queasy and desperate for a bit of fresh air.

I pay the driver, fighting hard not to wince at the number of notes I’m forced to hand over, and grab my holdall from the boot. With a cheery wave goodbye with one hand and the receipt for the journey clutched in the other, I set off across the footbridge with my volunteer tour guide and her woolly friend.

Arthur’s Pass is a tiny, tree-lined lane that leads to a clearing in which stands what can only be described as a manor house. The house is made of pale stone, with wide stone steps leading up to the heavy wooden door, which is set under its own pitched roof. The house is magnificent, but it isn’t the only building on the land. Set back from the main house is a long, one-storey building, with three large windows and a smaller version of the wooden front door. Both buildings are angled so they’re facing the gorgeous, unobstructed view of the canal, and there are a couple of smaller buildings to the side. Clusters of trees surround the land, creating a barrier to the outside world.

‘Here you are.’ I’m so in awe of the building before me that I’d forgotten about my companion. She’s led me the short distance from the taxi to Vanessa’s place, chatting about the village and its amenities once she learned I was new to the area. ‘It’s such a gorgeous house, isn’t it? It’s been empty for years, though. I’m glad someone’s finally giving it the TLC it needs to bring it back to life.’ She starts to back away, whistling at the sheep so it follows. ‘I’m sure I’ll see you around, but if you need anything, I’m just along the lane.’ She lifts a hand in farewell and I copy the gesture briefly before I’m drawn back to the house.

Wow. I can’t believe I’m going to be staying here for the next month. I’d already decided that I wouldn’t be making the arduous journey back and forth over the next few weeks as I allowed the paranoid thoughts to attack me during the taxi ride over, but this just seals the deal.

Welcome to your new home, Rebecca , I think – rather smugly – as I make my way towards the front door.

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.