The Mix-Up

by Elizabeth Neep

Genres: Holiday books; Humor & Satire; Women's Fiction; Contemporary Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

What if you meet the love of your life, but he thinks you’re someone else? Anna and Marley are best friends. So when Anna rings Marley, panicking because she has to miss a tour of an exclusive wedding venue, Marley agrees to go in her friend’s place. After being totally ignored by the glamorous receptionist who can tell she doesn’t belong there, Marley meets handsome hotel manager Cameron. He assumes she’s Anna and instead of admitting that she’s not the blushing bride, but the unlucky-in-love single friend, Marley plays along to see what it’s like to be Anna for a day. After all, Marley is unemployed, single and was woken up that morning by her flatmate playing the bagpipes. Anna has a high-flying career and is planning the perfect wedding. Why wouldn’t Marley want to be her? Only she wasn’t counting on Cameron being so smart and funny. Or this spark between them that she can’t ignore. She hasn’t felt this way about a guy in forever. But he thinks she’s somebody better. Marley needs a way out of this mix-up to get her shot at true love. But her fictional fiancé is now standing in her way and it’s harder than she thought to stop living someone else’s life… A funny, uplifting and poignant story of friendship, love and finding your way. Fans of Dolly Alderton, Mhairi McFarlane and Holly Bourne will adore Elizabeth Neep’s wit and warmth. Readers are falling in love with The Mix-Up : ‘ Elizabeth Neep hit it out of the park… Grab a comfy blanket, a cuppa, clear your schedule, enjoy. I look forward to more.’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ A light-hearted read that makes your heart smile… This book had everything – a loveable cast of characters… laugh-out-loud moments, and (of course) a bit of romance… A girl-power novel… The perfect feel-good read. I read this in one day! ’ Goodreads reviewer ‘ I loved this fun, uplifting feel good book. It really made me smile and at the moment is something that we all desperately need.’ Goodreads reviewer ‘ What a fantastic read!… A fun, fast read that I enjoyed!... Wonderful book!’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘ A feel good romcom with a difference… A fun and light read.’ Goodreads reviewer ‘ It has a wonderful Wedding Planner type vibe… This is my first book by the author but I cannot wait to read more.’ Goodreads reviewer ‘I discovered Elizabeth Neep last year and I've read her three books as soon as they have been available!... The best thing about this book is that it's not only focused on romance (although there is romance in it) but on the power of female friendship, on finding yourself, and the thought that it is ok not to be perfect… I hope Elizabeth Neep writes another book soon! ’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘I have enjoyed all of Elizabeth Neep's books… They are getting funnier with each book!... A very humorous and light-hearted read which I would recommend to all.’ Goodreads reviewer ‘ I’m so happy that I found this book! Lots of romance, having fun and spice! A must read! ’ Goodreads reviewer ‘ I loved… I read this in one day because I kept needing to know what happened next! ’ Goodreads reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

‘This is my third Elizabeth Neep *whoop whoop*… I enjoyed this book so much and stayed up all night to read it.’ Goodreads reviewer ‘ Cheeky, fun and light… Lots of twists and turns… Exactly what I wanted.’ Goodreads reviewer ‘A fun read… Great to sit back and enjoy with my morning coffee! ’ Goodreads reviewer ‘There were so many twists and turns in the story that it quite honestly kept me on edge for ages wondering how it would all work out.’ Goodreads reviewer

Release date: May 27, 2021

Publisher: Bookouture

Print pages: 350

Sample

It’s hard to be yourself when you’re paid to be someone else. Or not paid, in my case. I risk a glance at the other actors sat on the chairs beside me, a long line of long legs crossed and hair cascading along the corridor. I swear these people are perfect, no pretending about it.

‘It went so well,’ I hear one of them say. A sentence I’ve not said for years. I trace the voice back to a face so symmetrical and sparkly that it might legitimately be filtered (or at least filled with something). Her long brown hair shoots straight down her perfectly postured back as she holds a bejewelled phone up to her ear. ‘I’ve got it, I swear.’ She beams, as more eyes around the room turn to fix on her. She doesn’t seem to mind. ‘You know when you just get that feeling that the role is yours?’ No. No, I categorically do not.

I search around the room for a pair of eyes to roll mine with, any pair will do. Anyone? But no, everyone seems far too busy with their own phones, I assume calling partners and loved ones, or agents, before jotting down addresses of their next auditions, preparing to dash off as soon as the casting agent of this apparently ‘up and coming’ pilot comes and puts us out of our misery. Except, no one around the room looks that miserable. Not the woman I recognise from Nike’s latest ad campaign (and by woman, I mean girl, as she can’t be older than eighteen). Not the dusty-blonde surf chick who seems to follow me like a shadow around the audition circuit each year. And especially not the sunshiny teenage supermodel singing into her phone. But then, what does she have to be miserable about? Just look at her. Oh, you already were? You and everybody else.

‘I think they’re going to call us back into the room any second now.’

I watch Shiny uncross her impossibly long legs only to recross them, my eyes catching on the iconic red soles of her super-cool biker boots. A thousand questions scramble for space in my mind: Louboutin do biker boots? How does an actor afford Louboutin biker boots? Where can I find a knock-off pair? And most importantly: do I stand a chance in hell of booking this part and being able to afford a knock-off pair of Louboutin biker boots, or… you know… lunch?

I reach for my phone with shaking hands. I need this job, any job. The image on my locked screen mocks me as I read the twisting typography: ‘dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die today.’ Well, that’s all very well and good, James Dean, but you were famous by the time you were twenty-four. Okay, so… you also tragically died soon after – maybe that was a bad example – but it’s hard to dream as if you’ll live forever when you’re surrounded by constant reminders that you’re not getting any younger.

‘Excuse me?’ I look up to see a man standing in front of Shiny, so tall and broad that he eclipses her completely, drawn into her forcefield like an X-Men superhero (which, to be fair, he could totally play). ‘I think you’re really cute, can I have your number?’ I hear a giggle emerge from behind the fourth Hemsworth brother. Screw you, Shiny. I don’t hear her reply but judging from Hemmy’s slump back to his seat, I assume he’s been rejected. Just like I will be in T minus however many minutes. There is no way I can compete with Shiny and whatever dark magic she’s thrown into her shopping bag along with those boots.

Forcing my eyes back down to my phone, I curse the fact that I can still see the quote so clearly; isn’t my home screen meant to be blowing up with good luck messages from my best friend (too busy) and my flatmate (too high) and my agent (too bored)? I guess we’ve all seen this scene play out too many times to expect a big twist in the ending now.

‘Marley?’ From somewhere in the distance I can hear someone calling my name. ‘Marley Bright?’ I look up to see a short woman wearing glasses with colourless frames and holding a clipboard just outside the audition room. ‘Marley?’ She looks directly at me and, stunned, I force myself to nod. Surely, she isn’t going to reject me in front of everyone. Usually, it is the successful ones who get called back into ‘the room’, with the rest of us thrown a brief, ‘Thank you so much for coming, better luck next time.’

‘Lucy?’ Clipboard Lady calls into the room. Oh, maybe she just got the name wrong? I slump back in my chair, trying to act like my whole career doesn’t depend on this. Trying to act, full stop. The surf chick stands and starts walking into the room, turning to me with a narrowed stare that means either ‘you’re my competition and you don’t stand a chance’ or ‘your name has been called and you should stand the hell up’. I decide on the latter, forcing my shaking body to walk along the corridor and into the audition room as Clipboard calls one final name into the space behind me.

Three casting agents and one producer look up as I take a seat next to Lucy (or some desperate actor pretending to be Lucy just to get into the room). I make eye contact with each of them, trying my best to look confident. I need this job. I am a twenty-eight-year-old actor and the best role I’ve managed to book of late is as chief bridesmaid at my best mate’s ludicrously expensive forthcoming wedding. I repeat: I need this job. At least I’m finally in the room. But so is Lucy. Out of the corner of my eye, I study her honeyed skin, her wavy blonde hair lopped off at her ears, an ombre that looks intentional – unlike my own, which just needs the roots doing. To my left is an empty chair. I wonder who is meant to be there?

‘Sorry about that.’ Shiny twinkles into the room. ‘I was on the phone to my agent.’ She beams at the casting panel and like magic – her magic – they beam back.

‘That’s okay, darling,’ the producer says, smiling Darling? It’s a miracle they even remembered my name. ‘Take a seat.’

Suddenly, I am the freaked-out filling in a Shiny sandwich. This is unchartered territory. Are we getting called back? Are we all going to play the part? Am I going to be cast as Shiny’s mum? I don’t look a thing like these girls but I guess if she dyed her hair and Lucy grew hers out and I went to the gym every morning and gave up cheesy chips and you tilted your head and squinted until your eyelids were almost closed then maybe we could pass as related.

‘Marley and Lucy.’ The producer looks between us. No darlings left for us. ‘The reason we have called you in here today…’ What about Shiny? Is she about to get rejected in front of us? I guess she just did the same to Hemmy but that was different; this feels cruel.

‘Is that you are both very promising young actors…’ I swear the producer looks at Lucy when he says the ‘young’ part ‘…and we’re always looking for ways to invest in upcoming talent…’ Upcoming? I should have arrived by now.

‘So, Sabrina here has offered to give you some pointers on how to really achieve that on-screen spark the next time you go for an audition.’

‘Oh, so we didn’t get—’ Lucy begins, clearly not as well-versed in rejection as me.

‘No, Sabrina got the role.’ The producer nods at his darling as I try my best not to cry. ‘Thank you so much for coming though – and better luck next time.’ He trots out his spiel as Sabrina, no less than a decade my junior, tilts her head to flash me a sympathetic smile.

I knew this girl was a witch.

This will be okay. Everything has to be okay, I try to tell myself as I make my way out of the building and into the car park. I gulp the fresh air like it’s water, drinking it deep into my lungs. Next time. There is always a next time. But maybe I’ve been at this acting game for too long already? There are only so many times you can get knocked down and get back up again – despite what that old nineties pop song taught us to chant. Now, I have a new mantra: this will be okay. Everything has to be okay. So what if I’ve just got rejected from another audition? It is just another audition. My agent will get me another one and another one, until I finally get my big break. I know that. But right now, I’m just broke.

I look at my phone again – not one single message – and try my best not to cry. I just need to keep putting one foot in front of the other until something better comes along.

‘Hey there.’ I look up to see a broad torso in front of me, up further to see the square-jaw and fringe-framed face it belongs to. If this is the something better, I will take it. I force myself to smile, tears still threatening to fill my eyes.

‘Hey,’ I whisper, heart picking up pace as my day finally starts to look up.

‘I saw you getting called back into the room. Marley isn’t it?’ The gorgeous face grins, as he begins walking further into the car park. As if on automatic, I do the same.

‘That’s right, and you are?’ I try my best to smize, channelling my inner Sabrina as we walk side by side through countless shiny cars that I don’t know the name of.

‘Todd,’ he says, eyes fixed forward and scanning the sea of vehicles for his own. I follow suit, looking left and right until I remember I don’t have a car. I don’t even drive. Shit. We are too far into the car park for me to suddenly remember this fact now.

‘So, good news?’ He turns to me, slowing to a halt at what I assume is his car. Which one should I pretend is mine? Which one can I get away with lingering behind until this gorgeous stranger disappears into his day? Stupid Marley, always pretending.

‘Not this time.’ I shake my head. And none of the times before now either.

‘Next time.’ Todd tilts his head in the same stupid sympathetic way Sabrina had. ‘Lost your car?’ His eyes follow mine across the miles of metal. You could say that. I nod, eyes fixed on his, my heart hammering in my chest. As if this afternoon wasn’t humiliating enough, I am now going to have to tell a perfect stranger that his perfect jaw has made me momentarily lose my mind. ‘Want me to help you find it?’

‘I’m actually waiting for somebody,’ I lie, pulling my phone out of my pocket and wondering whether my acting skills are up to faking an emergency call. Doubtful.

‘Me too.’ He grins, folding his broad arms and leaning against the boot of his car. Is he waiting for me? Buying some time to talk to me for a little longer? If this is the universe giving me a post-rejection pick-me-up, I just wish it wasn’t one that makes me feel like such a muppet. There is only so long I can pretend to look for my imaginary car. ‘I could keep you company until your friend arrives?’

Oh no. Now I have an imaginary friend. I grip the phone in my hand even tighter. If I can just dial someone, anyone, I can bluff my way out of this situation.

‘That’s so kind of you but actually…’

‘Sabrina!’ Suddenly Todd’s eyes aren’t anywhere near me, his body stretching high as he waves over to a person fast becoming my nemesis. Sodding Shiny. Before I can walk (read: run) away, Sabrina is bounding over, throwing her arms around Todd. He lifts her into the air, and she wraps her teenage-skinny legs around his swimmer-broad body. ‘I got the part.’ She grins, as he pulls her back into him.

‘I thought you did, baby.’

I watch as Todd twists a piece of her hair in his hand, still suspending her with his other arm. Oh please.

‘Especially, when Marley said she didn’t…’

I stare on, not knowing where to look, not knowing how to slip away.

‘Who’s Marley?’ Sabrina asks Todd, just inches from his face.

Turns out you don’t need an exit strategy when you were invisible all along.

Walking further and further into the car park, I crouch behind what I think is a Range Rover until Todd and his teenage witch have safely driven away. Must she get everything? I think to myself as I pick myself up off the floor. Safe to say this is a new low.

Rising to my feet, my tears start to fall. I know rejection is part and parcel of being an actor, but knowing you can afford your rent feels like part and parcel of being an adult. Maybe it’s time to start acting like one? Everyone else has managed to grow up by now. Like Anna, my best friend, the one getting married, the one who still hasn’t called. It’s not like my auditions are that hard to remember now they’re so few and far between. But still, she is busy with work – selling perfect houses to perfect people. And with planning the perfect wedding, even though at times, it feels like all the planning falls on me. Pretty handy having an unemployed friend when it comes to extra womanpower. Especially when you’re trying to plan said wedding in less than six months. I have no idea what the rush is if you ask me, but then no one has. Requests are usually retained to hen-party planning and leading the Bride Tribe WhatsApp group – the role that found me (and won’t flipping leave me alone).

Retracing my steps across the car park, back to the building and towards the bus stop on the other side of it, I can’t help the tears from falling and even though I know Anna is busy, I know she’s never too busy for me. We’ve been best friends ever since we were thirteen (almost Sabrina’s age). Swallowing my pride and my tears, I call her.

‘Marley!’ Anna picks up almost immediately. ‘How’s it going, darl?’ At least I’m someone’s darling. Just hearing her voice makes the floodgates open even more.

‘Not great actually,’ I croak, a tear tracing its way down my face as I pray to God that Todd and Sabrina aren’t about to do a U-turn. I arrive at the bus stop and slump against the bench as the heavens begin to break. Nothing like a bit of pathetic fallacy to make you feel even more pathetic.

‘Oh no, Marley. Why?’ I hear Anna gush along with some chatter in the background – something about ceiling heights and square footage; she’s clearly showing around a house. ‘Sorry, I just need to take this,’ I hear her whisper as I become the one in the background. She hasn’t remembered about my audition or even read the message I sent to her this morning.

‘I had an audition,’ I say, putting a hand to my mouth to try and muffle my tears. I know Anna’s getting fed up with all my drama.

‘And…?’ Anna’s voice is injected with hope and for not the first time I question whether even she could act better than me. Anna seems to excel in every area of life.

‘I didn’t get it,’ I say, even though I know she can fill in the blanks.

She musters a half-hearted reply – ‘Next time’ – and I feel my stomach sink. She could have at least remembered. ‘I’ve been meaning to call you all day!’ Oh? I feel a flicker of light starting to warm me from the inside as the rain begins to hammer harder. She did remember.

‘Yeah,’ she says, exhaling deeply, and it finally feels like I have her full attention. This will be okay. My mantra begins again. Best friends make everything feel okay.

‘I was wondering whether you could do me a massive favour?’ Unless the next words out of her mouth are: I need you to come to mine and faceplant ice-cream with me whilst telling me all about your audition and the bitch who pinched your part, consider me categorically annoyed.

I stay silent, willing Anna to say the right thing. You can do it bestie; I believe in you.

‘So, there’s been this last-minute cancellation at our dream wedding venue, and I have this appointment with the hotel manager tomorrow…’ she begins, and I feel my stomach drop to the floor. You had one line. ‘And, well, my dream client has just asked to look around one of my listings and well…’ she says, pausing, ready to deliver the final blow. ‘You don’t think you could go for me, do you?’

There is it. I look down at my rain-soaked feet, not even trying to stop them getting wet – it’s pointless.

‘If I miss it the date will go to someone else and my name will go to the bottom of the waiting list,’ Anna goes on, speaking faster and faster; the natural pace for someone who has things to do, places to be. Unlike me, sat here in the rain, waiting for the 188 to take me back to my flat share with a grown man who has just taken up juggling.

‘You’d just have to meet with Cameron, take a tour of the hotel, tell them our colour-scheme and what we had in mind, which I know I’ve told you like a thousand times.’ Anna giggles and I force myself to add my own into the mix. Try a thousand and one. ‘Jake found the place on a work night out not long ago and it’s…’

‘The dream?’ I snap sarcastically but Anna is oblivious.

‘Exactly!’ She beams as my mind searches for excuses. It’s not like my diary is full but that doesn’t mean I want to spend my day schmoozing some skinny Cameron Diaz lookalike at somewhere an investment banker like Jake would hang out. It’s hardly my scene. I look out from my position huddled under the measly bus shelter. I guess it’s not like my scene is particularly dreamy.

Suddenly, my phone starts to chime, and I pull it away from my ear to see my agent’s name dancing across the screen. My heart leaps as a dopamine hit floods my brain – the same way it did three years ago when she first signed me to her agency, the same way it always does when I see Billie Forester’s name. Billie Forester. My agent.

‘Anna, can I let you know in a sec?’ I say, before adding (with no small amount of pride) ‘My agent is on the phone.’ Anna knows Billie’s name but still, the two words ‘my agent’ feel like a plaster, like they could cover over any bruise to my ego and tell the world: I still have an agent, I could still be a success…

‘Of course, of course,’ Anna says speedily; these words still impress her too. ‘Just drop me a text as soon as you know or I’ll have to cancel the appointment.’ Anna doesn’t try to keep the disappointment from her voice. Unlike me, who’s been trying all this time.

I hang up one call and without a moment’s hesitation, swipe open the next.

‘Hi Billie,’ I say, trying my best to sound breezy. Please have another gig for me.

‘Mary!’ she sings, so loudly that I have to pull my phone away from my ear.

‘It’s Marley,’ I tell her for the thousandth time, all my breeziness blowing away.

‘Marley, sorry, so sorry.’ Billie doesn’t sound all that sorry. ‘How did it go?’

‘It was a no this time,’ I tell her and as she talks on and on about ‘potential auditions’ and ‘rethinking our strategy’ I pull my phone away to drop Anna a quick message: Count me in for the appointment. Just drop me the address.

It’s not like I’ll have anything better to do.

My phone buzzes somewhere in my bed. Where the hell is it? I search the covers (not changed nearly enough) and the other side of my double bed (rarely used). Eventually, I find it nestled under the pillow I’ve just spent the whole night sleeping on and well, half of the morning by the looks of things. Just one look at my phone screen and I wish I hadn’t found it. Not only is it ten forty-five already but there’s a message from my mum, sending me a link to something. Obediently, I click it open to find not another audition, not another theatre role that she thinks I would have been perfect for. No, it’s a link to a recruitment site. Her text may be asking me how the audition went yesterday, but her message is clear: it’s time to get a real job. I turn over on my side, studying the shard of light forcing itself into my room and taunting me all along my bedsheets. It’s time to get up and get a real job.

Rolling myself to the cold edge of the bed, I force my legs to swing over the side and reluctantly pull open the curtains. Light floods the room and I’m instantly reminded that there’s a Saturday out there that everyone else is already seizing. Before I can think better of it, I look down at my phone again and have to shield my eyes at the sight of an aggressive yellow pop-up on the recruitment site that tells me my ‘dream career is only one click away’.

I scan the jobs: a thousand executive assistant roles flash up – most of them for recruitment firms. A recruitment firm recruiting for recruitment firms. It’s recruitment inception. And it’s not my dream. All of a sudden, my phone jumps to life in my hand, shocking me even further awake. For a moment, the small bit of hope left inside me wills it to be Billie, calling with news of another audition, another random address for me to run over to like chasing the rainbow. Then, I see the name of the caller dancing across the screen.

‘Hey Mum.’ I sigh, searching my bombsite of a room for my headphones. If Mum is going to give me an earful, I’d rather do it with my hands free. At least that way I can get ready at the same time – and by get ready, I mean get breakfast.

‘Nice to speak to you too.’ My mum’s voice drips with sarcasm. I get all my dramatics from her. She was once an actress herself before she became a drama teacher. Needless to say, she taught me everything I know. Which is what makes it so damn difficult to hear that even she’s giving up on me now. ‘Did you get the link I sent through to you?’

‘Yes Mum,’ I say with the exact same tone with which I picked up the phone.

‘And…?’

‘And nothing. I’ve just woken up…’ I finally slot my headphones into the bottom of my phone just in time to hear her reply at full volume.

‘YOU’VE JUST WOKEN UP?!’

Oh, for goodness’ sake.

‘You’re twenty-eight, Marley. You shouldn’t be lying-in like a teenager.’

‘Need I remind you that you spent your twenties following some random bassist around the country on tour?’

‘Marley, that’s no way to talk about your father.’

‘Fine,’ I concede. ‘But you didn’t know you were going to marry the man.’

‘The man can hear you!’ My dad’s voice rings into my ear. Stupid speaker phone.

‘Hi Dad,’ I say, managing to peel off my pyjamas (an oversized Glastonbury 2013 T-shirt) until I realise it’s a bit weird to talk to your old man in the nude.

‘Anyway, we’re not talking about us right now, we’re talking about you’

I hear my mum rant on as I scramble to put on a top (another oversized band shirt).

‘You will take a look at the website won’t you, honey?’ Her voice softens and somehow this feels even worse. My parents are not just on at me, they’re worried about me.

‘I will but maybe not today, I’ve got something important on,’ I say, pulling on some joggers, a classic sign that I have nothing on today, but picking up my laptop nonetheless.

‘Another audition?’ my dad says, somewhere between exhaustion and hope. I let a silence stretch on for far too long as I swing open my bedroom door and trudge down the small corridor of our small flat to our small living room. There I find my thirty-two-year-old flatmate Xavier doing something that involves Plaster of Paris. I guess the juggling career didn’t take off then.

‘Marley? Are you still there?’ Dad asks down the line. ‘An audition?’

I finally reply with a non-committal noise: Your youngest daughter can neither confirm nor deny that her acting dreams are hanging by a thread.

‘Oh well that’s wonderful, Marley.’

I slam my laptop onto the small dining room table as Xavier takes a toke of his spliff.

‘Good luck,’ Dad adds as I watch a piece of Xavier’s Plaster of Paris fall to the floor.

Something tells me I’m going to need it.

‘Dude.’ Xavier nods, raising one plaster-covered hand in my direction. After watching his hobbies get more and more absurd over the last year we’ve lived together, I know better than to ask what he’s up to. If pressed, I think his job description would land somewhere between ‘freelancer’ and ‘unemployed’. But then, so would mine.

‘Dude.’ I nod back, taking a seat and opening my laptop to hide behind it. The aggressive yellow pop-up still mocks me from my phone. Maybe my parents are right. They may have spent their early twenties as a bassist and an actor respectively (well, not that respectably if the stories are anything to go by) but then they did become an accountant and a drama teacher. Maybe everyone’s dreams have to drift into something more attainable eventually. Xavier coughs from across the room and it’s like I’m staring into my weed-filled directionless future unless I do something about it, and soon. ‘Plans for the day?’

‘You’re looking at them.’ Xavier beams down at what I think will become a bowl. That’s what I was afraid of. ‘You?’

‘I might start applying for some jobs.’ I feel the weight of the words as I say them.

‘Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do all this time?’ Xavier asks cheerily and yet I struggle to gleam anyt. . .