It Had To Be You. Barbara Hannay
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matter. This was his life, or rather his non-life, and he was wasting it. One day he’d wake up and discover he was fifty—like his boss—pale, anxious, boring and only able to talk about one thing. Work.
His mobile phone pinged. It was Angela, as expected. Tight-jawed, he clicked on her reply.
Sorry. Not Friday. Not ever. One cancellation too many. Goodbye, sweet P. Ange
Patrick cursed, but he couldn’t really blame Ange. Tomorrow he’d send her two—no, three dozen roses. But he suspected they wouldn’t do the trick. Not this time. If he was honest, he couldn’t pretend that her rejection would break his heart—but it was symptomatic of the depths to which his life had sunk.
In a burst of anger, he pushed his chair back from his desk and began to prowl.
The office felt like a prison. It was a damn prison, and he felt a mad urge to break out of it.
Actually, it wasn’t a mad urge. It was a highly reasonable and justified need. A must.
In mid-prowl, his eyes fell on the globe of the world that he’d salvaged from the old boardroom when it had been refurbished—in those giddy days before the financial world had gone belly up. Now it sat in the corner of his office, and lately he’d stared at it often, seized by a longing to be anywhere on that tiny sphere.
Anywhere except London.
Walking towards it now, Patrick spun the globe and watched the coloured shapes of the continents swirl. He touched it with his finger, feeling the friction as its pace slowed.
If I were free, I’d go anywhere. When this globe stops spinning, I’ll go wherever my finger is pointing.
The globe stopped. Patrick laughed. He’d been thinking of somewhere exotic, like Tahiti or Rio de Janeiro, but his finger was resting on the east coast of Australia. A tiny dot. An island.
He leaned closer to read the fine print. Magnetic Island.
Never heard of it.
About to dismiss it, he paused. I said I’d go anywhere—anywhere in the world. Why don’t I at least look this place up?
But why bother? It wasn’t as if it could happen. He wouldn’t be going anywhere. He was locked in here.
But what if I made it happen? Surely it’s time?
Back at his desk, Patrick tried a quick internet search for Magnetic Island, and his eyebrows lifted as the first page of links scrolled down. The island was clearly a tourist destination, with palm trees and white sand and blue tropical seas. Not so different from Tahiti, perhaps?
The usual variety of accommodations was offered. Then two words leapt out at him from the bottom of the screen: House Swap.
Intrigued, Patrick hit the link.
House Swap: Magnetic Island, Queensland, Australia
2 bedroom cottage
Location Details: Nestled among trees on a headland, this home has ocean views and is only a three-minute walk through the national park to a string of beautiful bays. Close to the Great Barrier Reef, the island provides a water wonderland for sailing, canoeing, parasailing, fishing and diving.
Preferred Swap Dates: From 1st April—flexible
Preferred Swap Length: Three to four months
Preferred Destination: London, UK
Patrick grinned. For a heady moment he could picture himself there—in a different hemisphere, in a different world.
Free, free …
Swimming with coral fishes. Lying in a hammock beneath palm trees. Checking out bikini-clad Australian girls. Writing the fabulous thriller that resided only in his head. Typing it on his laptop while looking out at the sparkling blue sea.
OK, amusement over. Nose back to the grindstone.
With great reluctance, he lifted a folder of computer printouts from the pile and flipped it open.
But his concentration was shot to pieces. His mind couldn’t settle on spreadsheets and figures. He was composing a description of his house for a similar swapping advertisement.
Home Exchange: Desirable Chelsea, London, UK
3 bedroom house with garden
Close to public transport and amenities—two-minute walk.
* Television
* Fireplaces
* Balcony/patio
* Dining/shopping nearby
* Galleries/museums
Available for three-month exchange: April/May to June/July
Destination—Coastal Queensland, Australia
Two and a half hours later Patrick had closed the last folder, and he’d also reached a decision.
He would do it. He had to. He would get away. He would make an appointment with his boss. First thing in the morning.
To: Patrick Knight <[email protected]>
From: Molly Cooper <[email protected]>
Subject: We’re off—like a rotten egg
Hi Patrick
I can’t believe I’ll actually be in England in just over twenty-four hours. At last I’m packed (suitcases groaning), and my little house is shining clean and ready for you. Brand-new sheets on the bed—I hope you like navy blue.
I also hope you’ll feel welcome here and, more importantly, comfortable. I considered leaving flowers in a vase, but I was worried they might droop and die and start to smell before you got here. I’ll leave the key under the flowerpot beside the back door.
Now, I know that probably sounds incredibly reckless to you, but don’t worry—the residents of Magnetic Island are very honest and extremely laid-back. No one locks their doors.
I don’t want you to fret, though, so I’ve also left a spare key at Reception at the Sapphire Bay resort, where I used to work until yesterday.
Used to work.
That has such a nice ring, doesn’t it? I’ve trained Jill, the owner’s niece, to take my place while I’m away, and for now, at least, I’m giddily carefree and unemployed.
Yippee!!
You have no idea how much I’ve always wanted to live in London, even if it’s only for three months. Thanks to you, Patrick, this really is my dream come true, and I’m beyond excited. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
Have you finished up at your work? Are you having a farewell party? Mine was last night. It was pretty rowdy, and I have no idea what to do with all the gifts people gave me. I can’t fit as much as another peanut in my suitcases, so I’ll probably have to stash these things in a box under my bed (your bed now). Sorry.
By the way, please feel free to use my car. It’s not much more than a sardine can on wheels, but it gets you about. Don’t worry that it’s unregistered. Cars on the island don’t need registration unless they’re taken over to the mainland.
It was kind of you to mention that your car is garaged just around the corner from your place, but don’t worry, I won’t risk my shaky driving skills in London traffic.
Oh, and don’t be upset if the ferry is running late. The boats here