-Kate-
The day the invitation appeared in her email inbox, Kate Dixon was ready to give up.
Cards congratulating her on the success of her dadâs funeral the previous week were still pouring through the letterbox of his Kielder cottage. âI thought it went well, all things consideredâ, they said, or âHe would have been very pleasedâ. Kate knew the blue silk inside the coffin had been fetching, but she still thought dad would have preferred to be alive. They could be going for a jog, even now, in the Kielder National Park surrounding his cottage, like they used to.
At least Neil had been there to fulfil husbandly duties, the Navy having flown him home for the funeral. Heâd even come to the pulpit with her when sheâd read, gently caressing her fingers when she began to cry.
âDonât worry,â heâd whispered, smiling that sweet Neil smile. âIâm here.â
Yes, she had thought, returning his smile, Neil was there. He would protect her, and soon theyâd be laughing together again, reminiscing about happier times.
Then Neil had re-bereaved her after the funeral by telling her he had to return to the Gulf for a further three months.
Without Neil to soothe her, Kate sat on the sofa in the cottage, playing the last year back in her mind. She remembered the emptiness in her dadâs eyes when the prognosis had worsened. Cancerâs a bastard, heâd said. Heâd been right. Dad had refused a nurse, or a hospice, so Kate had suffered with him.
Dad.
Kate sighed. Trying to push out of her mind his vomiting, his cries of pain, his final night when sheâd held him into peace, she pulled herself off the sofa to get her iPhone from the desk. She caught sight of herself in the mirror and found tears forming in her eyes. It happened every time she saw her reflection. How was she supposed to propel that pale ghost of a self onwards? Or summon the energy to move their stuff back to Portsmouth? Or get the composure to don a suit and speak to a client there â or even her secretary? She couldnât work remotely forever.
Waking the phone, she checked for mail. Come on, somebody must have something to share â Neil if heâd reached the ship, or a social networking update. Finally, the phone vibrated.
âWant to stop the world and get off â into somebody elseâs world?â
The title of the new email was so apposite that Kate couldnât decide whether to laugh or cry. She opted for both. This must be junk mail, though, right? She should delete it without reading it. But she didnât. She touched through into the email.
âDear Kateâ it began. At least theyâd bothered to personalise it.
âBored? Lonely? Frustrated?â
One out of three, thought Kate.
âOr just want a change? Here is your chance to take a break from your life and step into someone elseâs â while knowing that your own life is in safe hands. This is for serious research for me â but a break for you. If you fancy living somebody elseâs life (and in a London flat) for a few months and have your own property that you can offer, look no further. Simply reply to this email with a short description of your property location, job (if you have one) and a contact telephone number, or call the number below. Interview and details to be arranged with suitable applicant(s).â