Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was around 5 p.m. on a Wednesday in June, when Aaron Dingle felt a seductive urge to punch Robert Sugden’s lights out.

Considering the string of events since December of the previous year, there was nothing new to the sensation; standing by the backdoor of the Woolpack and watching that plank mither, he got another irritating reminder that anyone would feel that need, whether they’d seen what he’d seen or not.

And he was done with what he’d seen.

A busy day at the scrapyard had worn him out enough as it was, but an afterwork plan that included a pint with zero company had been too much to ask - a meal was already out of the question, since he’d had his appetite ruined by witnessing Debbie and Ross having a snog at the garage.

Not that Aaron thought that much about his cousin’s private life, but one would think she’d have her hands full with her kids - and Pete, who she was supposed to be engaged to, not to mention the surprise baby Charity had handed over from prison.

Another day to admit you really can’t choose your family.

Feeling a migraine stir behind his eyes, Aaron stifled a yawn as Robert got into his side step routine, that stupid toddler dance he did when he was seething.

“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been texting you all day.”

Aaron stared at him blankly. “And I haven’t replied even once, what does that tell you?”

The pillock sped up his Riverdance, nostrils flaring. “You can’t hide things forever, I’ll find out what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done nothing. If this is one of your mind games and I’m pretty sure it is, I can tell you right now I’m not interested one bit”-

Robert made a noise that sounded like a rottweiler bark.

With a dash of ponce, obviously.

“Shut up and listen. This is serious.”

Aaron picked at his nails. “Your need of a new personality? Yeah, agreed.”

Robert towered over him as if it was even remotely intimidating. “Look, Aaron,” he said with that intense whisper he used in step one of predictable coercion, “I need to know where Vic is. She could be in serious trouble if she misses the court date.”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “Have you suffered a recent blow to the head? I’ve told ya a million times I don’t know anything.”

He knew plenty of things.

Including he’d not betray Adam and blab on their whereabouts, nor would he stop enjoying milking the endless possibilities of torpedoing Robert’s ego trip.

Sadly, that was yet to happen today.

The leather jacket made an irritating squeak as the moron breathed foul coffee breath in his face.

“I know you know something.”

Aaron retreated with a grimace. “Can’t help ya, mate.”

Robert scoffed. “More like you don’t want to because you’re still hung up on me.”

Aaron wasn’t one to say lol, but he was getting there.

“You’re right,” he agreed, “I don’t want to. As for the rest of that sentence, ‘bout time you stopped thinking so big of yourself. Besides, it doesn’t even make sense.”

A silence passed as Brenda hurdled past them and Robert went into paranoid mode, eyes darting and head ducking as if that would make him invisible.

Meanwhile, Aaron’s patience was plummeting below zero.

He really needed that pint.

Robert needed a support group for whiny wankers, but all he did was switch gears by plastering on his who, me? face.

He dropped his voice another octave and began batting his lashes.

“Truth is, I’ve missed you too. It’s just been so crazy with all this hassle, I didn’t think it’d be safe to bring up.”

On second thought, Aaron needed ten pints.

“Not safe now either, unless you’re looking for a decking,” he grunted, “and since it’s become obvious you can’t fight back, I suggest you stop winding people up. A permanent head injury wouldn’t change a thing about your intelligence, but you might literally drop dead.”

Robert squinted.

“Is that a threat?”

Aaron crossed his arms. “I don’t need to warn you, mate. If I wanted to get rid for good, you wouldn’t see me coming.”

Robert’s smirk widened.

“Yeah, as in you’d put Cain up to it.”

He leaned closer. “But we both know you couldn’t do that to me.”

The dragon breath disappeared and turned into a quivering hmm.

Flicking his eyes over Aaron’s face, he rolled his teeth over his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do that to you either.”

His hand swept over Aaron’s shoulder. “I could think of other things I’d like to do to you.”

And just like that, Aaron’s brain took a sidestep of its own.

Filling up with all the wrong thoughts.

Sheets and hay and laybys.

Garages, backrooms.

A flash of sweat-soaked skin, blown eyes.

Sometimes a grin that faltered and shrunk into a tiny smile that looked…unsure.

Pleading.

Aaron sent the image right back where it belonged, amongst the stinky recycling bins behind him.

“I wouldn’t get me own hands dirty, no,” he said, making a point to raise his volume, “but given the stuff I know about you and could prove with texts and photos I’ve got stored in a safe place, I’d stop talking if I were you.”

He smiled sunnily.

“In case you didn’t get it, that was a threat.”

Pleased with that parting line and turning on his heels, he began walking away.

And managed a good five meters into the direction of flippin’ elsewhere when the pest was back in his face, this time with the return of shitty smirk.

His hands were flapping inside the jacket pockets, jaw tilted towards the sky.

“I know you live a sad little life,” he said with condescension that lacked its usual edge, “but there’s no need to take it out on someone who has stuff figured out. Envy’s not a good look.”

Aaron’s lol was getting closer by the second.

“I don’t envy you one bit. The last thing I’d want is to be you. We’re done, end of. Now do one.”

This time there was no scraping shoes charging after him, only a pathetic I’d want to be you even less being half-shouted with a croaky voice.

Aaron chose to think optimistically, as in believe he’d not suffer from Robert’s existence for a good sixteen hours.

He stopped at David’s for crisps and a bottle of vodka, striding back towards the pub, now regretting profusely he hadn’t delivered that punch.

He woke up with the worst headache of his life.

Blinking with difficulty, a wave of nausea pushed through his gut.

Brilliant.

Lifting his head with a bit of a wail, Aaron recognised the sand paper sensation of the throat and shaky hands as a monumental hangover.

Seeing a familiar bottle of vodka didn’t help his state, just confirmed his idiocy.

Except the bottle was untouched.

Frowning, Aaron deduced he must’ve bought two.

Throwing his legs from the bed towards the floor, he decided he needed a shower and -

Gold wallpaper?

What.

His head spun around, details flying back and forth.

Bedposts.

Paintings.

A woman’s dressing gown.

Jars of poncy creams and jewellery.

It didn’t take many seconds to clock that he was at Home Farm.

No.

Aaron facepalmed so hard it was bound to leave a handprint.

Not this.

He wanted to drop-kick himself.

He’d done it again.

How the hell could it happen?

Okay, it’s happened before.

But not anymore.

What exactly went wrong yesterday?

I swear I just told him to do one and went home with that vodka.

Aaron’s scrambled brain tried to tie up the events, but the dryness in his mouth, somersaulting heartrate and clammy skin were too distracting.

His hands felt sticky –

What.

Aaron stared at his hands.

They didn’t look right.

He wobbled to his feet, feeling like Bambi on ice as if he didn’t know how they work.

His arms.

Feet.

Stomach -

Slapping both hands on his face, panic rushed through his system.

Head whipping around, his eyes swept over the walls again as he stumbled to find a mirror.

And as he found one, it was a miracle he didn’t collapse.

Staring at the reflection, he felt himself break into a cold full body sweat.

What the actual flamin’ hell.

The face looking back wasn’t his.

It was Robert’s.

As were the arms and the legs and all the rest.

Everything.

There was nothing left of himself, he’d been replaced by Robert Sugden -

Aaron groaned as he glanced inside his pants.

Yup, that looks familiar too.

Just not in the way I had hoped.

He slumped onto the floor.

What is this??

A lot of harsh breath and shaking himself later, Aaron burst into laughter.

This was obviously a nightmare, he wasn’t awake.

Feeling a massive flood of relief, he began scouting the room for clothes.

All he found on a chair were Robert’s jeans, his socks, his burgundy shirt, his belt.

It was a bit too much accuracy from a nightmare.

Maybe he could find a hoodie somewhere.

A phone began to ring somewhere on the floor.

Aaron ignored it and forced his wobbly limbs on loan to motion, looked inside cupboards, flipped through shelves full of clothes and threw them over his shoulder one by one, but there was nothing but pricy trousers, floral print and itchy looking jumpers.

One of those jumpers had given him a rash once.

What was it about rich people and their love for being uncomfortable?

Raking a hand through his hair, Aaron got the shudders as he felt the texture.

It was a tad freaky, and the last thing he wanted to do was touch Robert’s hair.

Meanwhile the phone was still ringing and it wasn’t helping his headache.

Once he managed to pick it up and squint at the A flashing on the display, Aaron realised a certain someone was calling from his own number.

Interesting how thoroughly his unconscious brain had set this up.

With quite an accuracy, given his reluctance to answer a phone was as strong as ever.

“What?” Aaron grunted as he picked up after another seventeen rings.

A voice hurdled into the line.

“How d’ya mean what? You know what I saw in the mirror just now?”

Aaron began wiggling himself into the stupid jeans. “Finally lost face, did ya?”

“This isn’t funny,” Robert rasped, “do you have any idea – wait, why do I sound like you? And you sound like me?”

No, it wasn’t fun for Aaron either.

“I don’t know, do I?” he sighed, “I didn’t plan this nightmare.”

He could hear Robert’s marbles unravel during his pause. “You took my – everything!”

Aaron laughed.

It was now a bit tight and throaty, but laugh he did.

“This is the worst nightmare ever,” he sighed, “and just really flippin’ annoying, considering I’m wasting my shuteye on talking to you of all people.”

It was by far the most ridiculous nightmare he’d ever had, but at least he was having a go at Robert instead of doing other things.

Clearly nothing like that had happened.

And wouldn’t be happening again.

Ever.

“D’ya know what I hate most about you?” he steamrolled over the scoff on the line, “how you just can’t leave me alone even when I’m unconscious” -

“Shut up,” Robert shrieked, “this isn’t a nightmare, this is actually happening. In case you’re looking for your own face, it’s on me now. So me and your stupid mug are on our way. Where are you?”

Aaron glanced at the ugly room.

“In a poncy house with slutty ghosts and the stench of sterling.”

Robert skipped the mithering over his wording.

“Stay there,” he gritted out, “we need to sort this.”

Then the line went silent.

Aaron dropped the phone with a groan.

Apparently the only way to end this nightmare was to just go through with it.

He stared at the clothes on the chair, knowing he didn’t have a choice with this detail either.

When he slipped out of the bedroom, he pressed his hand against the hallway wall.

He was met with a normal, solid surface.

Just his luck, stuck in a nightmare where he looked like Robert but couldn’t walk through walls.

Once he’d tiptoed down the staircase, he proceeded to check if anyone was home. It didn’t actually matter, but avoiding the Whites was a built-in defence mechanism in any dimension.

And he’d rather avoid getting flashbacks from a certain robbery.

Shuffling cautiously around the rooms, he found that no-one seemed to be around.

It was a nice little concession from the nightmare gods, but on the other hand, an inspection of the foyer proved his sneakers were gone.

Oh, right.

He crouched down to put on some ridiculously big loafers, groaning at the grandad creak his knees made.

Not something he expected at 22.

Then again, he’d temporarily aged six years.

In the midst of his exhaustion, he had to admit the vividness of this nightmare was impressive.

Of course, the merciful quiet had to end right then.

The door swung open and slammed shut, with a whiff of rain and panic floating in.

A shock crashed through Aaron’s system for a second.

It was completely mad to look at a confused Robert when it was his own face looking back.

“I can’t believe this,” Robert uttered with Aaron’s voice, “what the hell is going on? How can this happen?”

Aaron couldn’t be arsed to analyse things. “Must’ve been them dodgy sarnies at the caff,” he offered casually, “right then, I’m off.”

Robert blocked the doorway. “You’re not going anywhere.”

It was double annoying since he had Aaron’s body strength now, while Aaron himself was still figuring out what to do with all these extra miles of limbs happening.

Soon as he’d pushed Aaron back, Robert started pacing.

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“Me?”

“Well this is clearly your doing!”

Aaron spluttered. “Are you for real? You reckon I’ve got some supernatural gift? Trust me, if I did, I’d materialised a flying carpet and sent it across the globe with you on it ages ago, I’d not do a body swap in my sleep.”

Robert waved his – Aaron’s - hands in a manner that looked very wrong. “Well how do you explain that I’m experiencing this too?”

Stuff was getting too creepy now.

“It’s just a nightmare, like I said,” Aaron snapped, “I’m stuck listening to you bang on about how you’re trying to pin it on someone else, that’s the definition of a bad dream.”

Robert wasn’t listening as per usual.

“Right, I thought about this on the way,” he said with his ego voice only it was Aaron’s, “everyone’s away until Sunday, so we’re going to stay hauled up in here and figure out what happened.”

Aaron zipped up the hoodie he’d found.

Which turned out to be his own, as it happens.

“Smashing idea, both of us disappearing wouldn’t be sus at all.”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? If it’s just a nightmare.”

Aaron stepped towards the door. “You’re not getting me into bed, mate."

“You really think that’s what I’m thinking of right now?”

“Please, like shagging yourself isn’t a life-long dream for ya. I’m not going anywhere with you. Not even in a nightmare.”

“And you think if this was a dream, you could decide everything you do?” Robert pressed.

“I said nightmare, not dream,” Aaron corrected, “and that can happen. I’m due for a compensation of your hassle, though I’d prefer getting it awake. Anyways, here’s what’s going to happen: you can do what you like, I’m going home. After some kip this will be over.”

Robert seemed to finally understand the facts as he flashed his first smirk of the day.

Aaron grimaced.

It was unsettling to see that smirk on his own face.

“You figured you’d kip in your room looking like that? Good luck getting past Chas.”

Aaron sped through every swear word ever in his head.

“Then I’ll get a cheap room somewhere and keep to myself until this is over. Without you.”

Robert made a growling noise. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here on my own! What if someone comes round?”

“I really don’t give a toss.”

“You’re not disappearing on me, we need to sort this together.”

“You know every time you say that to me, it’s never a good idea.”

“Doesn’t this look like an exception?”

What looked exceptional was Robert doing that stupid side step seething dance in this form.

Aaron wasn’t keen on seeing himself dance under any circumstances, least of all this way.

He was officially leaving now -

Hearing a key turn in the front door lock made them both freeze.

“You said they’d be gone, “ Aaron hissed, breaking into another bout of cold sweat, “well done, plank.”

Before he could say anything else, Chrissie hurdled through the door.

Her face lit up. “There you are.”

“What are you doing here?” Robert exclaimed from behind the coatrack.

Chrissie swung around with a judgmental hair flip.  “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, I just..” Robert trailed off.

The woman of the house turned her attention to Aaron.

“You look pale, darling. Are you alright?”

Aaron felt his eyes widen.

Then he remembered it wasn’t him she was talking to.

Reaching for a panic plan, he coughed loudly. “Soz, I’ve got the sniffles. Best keep a distance. Which is what I was telling him.”

Chrissie’s face drew into concern, right after it had taken a stop at Suspicionville.

A reflex Aaron found difficult not to laugh at.

Chrissie nodded. “Poor thing, you need rest.”

She turned to look over her shoulder. “Surely you can talk scrapyard business later?”

Robert’s face was a picture.

A picture that looked like Aaron, so for once the scowl didn’t look so bad.

Decisively ushering a confused Robert out the door, Chrissie closed it with a gentle thud, though it sounded like a doomsday horn section.

Aaron didn’t really care what would happen, but being alone with Robert’s wife he’d definitely avoid, conscious or not.

“Thought you were coming back on Sunday,” he managed.

Chrissie peeled off her trench coat, smiling like a...girl or something.

“Dad wanted to spend some time with Lucky,” she said, continuing with a suggestive tone, “and I thought we could do with some alone time.”

Aaron had officially lost his lol before he’d even found it.

“Soz, I’m really tired,” he said while an internal scream was saying something else entirely.

His nightmare was entering panic attack territory.

He was getting the heebie-jeebies from just that foyer alone, going back into that bedroom was terrifying, and if Chrissie -

Yeah, that’s a nope.

“I’ll go sleep somewhere else, so you don’t catch this bug.”

Chrissie’s eyes went soft.

Like really soft.

Yikes.

“Nonsense, you don’t need to play the hero like that. Go on upstairs,” she said, “I’ll bring you some tea.”

“No ta, mate, don’t worry yourself.”

Chrissie chuckled. “No ta, mate? You really are ill.”

Dammit.

Aaron had already forgotten he was meant to be talking like a ponce.

The sniffles ruse came in handy as he wouldn’t have to talk much.

Better yet, he’d pretend to lose his voice in a few minutes.

Perfect.

Well, if anything could be considered perfect under these flippin’ circumstances.

The plan to leave failed again, because Chrissie didn’t let him out of the house.

Thanks to being constantly subjected to overbearing women for years, Aaron’s reflex was to not even try and fight her on it – the fact that he’d have to bicker with this particular woman was part of the problem, and most of all, he was about to fall asleep on his feet.

He didn’t have the sniffles even a bit, but his exhaustion matched the symptoms.

It would’ve been impossible to drive – and as he’d managed to notice while he snuck out for a bit while Chrissie was in the study doing whatever posh women do, his car was nowhere to be found.

Nor was Robert’s.

Wherever its owner had gone, Aaron didn’t give a monkey’s as a rule; his only concern was what kind of a hassle the prat would get into while being in possession of Aaron’s face.

It took him a while to remember this wasn’t real.

Of course this had to be the most vivid nightmare ever.

Either way, he was forced to sway by the kitchen island for ten daunting minutes while Chrissie White smiled creepily, recited herbal remedies and watched him drink a cup of some hippie tea that nearly made him gag.

Lying in a guestroom bed with some weird Spanish orange fizz and a packet of posh salted crackers that practically had zero flavour, Aaron wondered why he’d not just told Chrissie about the body swap.

Didn’t matter what people did in dreams, did it?

It was all an annoying kneejerk reaction, getting paranoid and evasive.

Aaron was massively disappointed in himself.

He could’ve told Chrissie about the affair and everything else, gotten Robert kicked out.

The prat deserved nothing less in his dreamland.

Oh well.

The mattress was soft and he was sleepy, the house was horrible but quiet.

He’d fall asleep within sleep and wake up back at the pub.

As his eyes flew open the next day, the first thing Aaron saw were massive hands and gold wallpaper.

His laughter didn’t return, only the panic did.

Either this was the longest stupid nightmare in history, or he was actually living in Robert Sudgen’s body now.

Chapter Text

Robert hadn’t wished to live someone else’s life in years.

It was partly about not having met anyone he’d found particularly enviable, but mostly it was because of the staggering amount of work he’d put into making the most of his own.

And let’s face it, he’d had about nine of them already.

Ever since leaving the village, he’d peeled himself off the pavement dozens of times – at first, he had settled for being the backdrop of several unpleasant situations in dodgy company in equally dodgy surroundings, followed by edging his way to the front and centre; there was counterfeit history at job interviews, romances kept short and messy, cons deriving from house painting thugs in pubs to mansion keepsakes of handsy elderly at garden parties.

He’d been there, done that, burned the t-shirt.

All part of a plan that lived and breathed in any given direction he found necessary.

By sealing the deal with Chrissie and becoming estate manager, that plan had reached its essential form the previous year.

Today, the fruit of his efforts had gone from ripe and low hanging to sour and out of reach.

And waking up in this place felt like he’d been thrown right back into the dodgy days of leftovers and corner shop schemes.

Getting ready to exit the premises, Robert forced himself to face the mirror by the door.

He felt a terrible defeat as he took in the sight, brain sobering up from whatever denial juices it had been swimming in.

There they were.

The stretched out tee, cheap jeans, unkempt hands.

And the hair.

No wonder Aaron drowned it in gel and risked balding before thirty, it was as uncooperative and unruly as its owner.

Looking around the room, his nose scrunched up.

Even after keeping a winter-like draft going, picking up the clothes scattered everywhere, carrying out bowls with dried remnants of a meal that had undoubtedly been something atrocious, it was still stuffy and untidy in there.

How could someone live like this?

His own visits to the space had been kept brief for a reason, and the interior choices hadn’t surpassed priorities of the boner sort.

At least that was a thing of the past now.

If only the past wasn’t scowling at him through a mirror.

Robert glared at the prickly blue eyes while he scratched the cheeks furiously.

The stubble itched like mad.

He’d kept facial hair out of his life for a reason, now he was stuck with this bristly mess.

And what exactly was he meant to be doing with such a ridiculous height? Sneaking into the kitchen for an anxious midnight brew and scanning through a cupboard for better tea leaves in vain, he’d felt like a toddler who couldn’t reach the board game shelves.

Wallowing and getting hammered was a tempting thought.

But he really couldn’t afford that right now.

Giving himself a silent peptalk that was more of a less graceful anticipated loser speech, Robert began forming a plan.

Damage control was his number one priority now, as in making sure Aaron wouldn’t mess up his entire life.

At least no more than he already had.

Robert rummaged through pockets for a while before he remembered he wouldn’t find his own phone there.

What was in the pocket of that ancient hoodie smelling of sweat, grease and Aldi body spray, was a children’s toy-like device he would’ve never bought himself.

His nerves flared up when he found the texts and saw his number was saved as Pillock.

As if Aaron had leverage.

Changing the name to R to keep his own tradition going and shooting a quick text to the pest, he thumped down the stairs with a slouch that could easily become a threat to his posture.

Glancing into another mirror in the hallway, his blood pressure shot higher.

That squint looked like a dare even when it was him doing it.

While sat in the backroom of the pub, Robert went through options, only to discover he was still stuck in the starting square.

He’d demolished three cups of coffee and taken one shower with the water heat on below zero setting, yet the previous two days were still a blur, as was everything else: he couldn’t even fill in the memory blank between leaving home in the morning and waking up in Aaron’s room the next day.

There had been a business meeting with some potential investor at one point - one of those slimy blokes in their sixties with hairline in the middle of the head, vile laugh, and sausage fingers that, ironically, held a dozen sausages that got devoured caveman style.

Sort of a Lawrence if he were a Dingle type of deal.

Not the thought association Robert would’ve preferred to have.

He’d seen Aaron at some point, but when?

Another spike of pain zipped through his forehead.

Thinking was impossible.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, he began tracing mental steps again.

On the day he’d lost his body, he’d snuck out after a massive panic attack and gone to Home Farm, reached no result with Aaron and then got thrown out by Chrissie once Aaron had faked a sudden cold – which was as good as an emergency lie gets, only it meant he’d stayed there and was doing God knows what to Robert’s future.

Stopping that from happening by setting up scheming camp at a B&B had been the only valid idea, thus he’d snuck into the pub to fetch an overnight bag he kept there for emergencies.

And the plan had been a decent one, right until Chas Dingle had found him on the doorstep.

And then she’d sort of taken him hostage by just being herself.

Finishing coffee number four, Robert decided he’d not solve anything by digging explanations out of his own head, because despite the various experiences in his 28 years, this was uncharted territory.

He was just about to hurdle out of the backroom and elbow his way through the exit no matter what, when the door flapped open.

With a swish of a poppy pattern blouse and clinks of swinging pearls, his stepmother swanned in.

Oh, brilliant.

Robert wasn’t in the mood for anything other than getting out of this hallucination, but Diane was in full matriarchal pop quiz mode as per.

She switched on the kettle and stepped closer, putting on her inspector face. “You look rough, pet. Is everything okay?”

At least the concern was as fake as his actual self would have received, but hallucination or not, rough didn’t even begin to cover it.

Robert waved off the question. “Just needed a bit of kip. Reckon there’s something going around, one of those 24-hour bugs.”

Diane gave him a distracted pat on the shoulder. “Robert seemed a bit under the weather too. I should give him a ring and ask how he’s doing.”

The thought of Aaron getting interrogated by Diane’s passive aggressive affection didn’t cheer Robert up as much as it should’ve.

And neither did his so-called brother’s barn door figure, striding in like Diane had called for a backup dancer to her nosy bossa nova.

“Has anyone heard from Vic?” Andy boomed while putting Robert off his brekkie.

Diane sighed. “We haven’t heard anything, pet.”

She sat down with a dainty Victorian palm-to-forehead bounce. “I’m so worried about that girl.”

Andy parked his arse to the next chair and squeezed her arm with a sickening smile, presumably about to dig out the smelling salt and fancy hankies. “I’ll find her, Diane, don't fret."

Bit much, big words were bound to cause a bloke like him an oral rupture. 

Unaware of the impending danger, he leaned over, addressing his words at Robert. “You’re sure Adam said nothing about where they might be going?”

Robert poked at his sarnie. “Not to me he didn’t.”

Andy put on his best authority face which isn’t saying much, it was mostly cheek muscle and vacant blinks. “Aaron, whatever it is you know, now’s the time to tell us.”

Robert had a peculiar urge to laugh.

Maybe there was a sort of comfort in the consistency, knowing he wasn’t being listened to by these two in this form either.

“I’d tell you if I had something to tell,” he said simply, “I need to get going now.”

“Make sure you call us if you hear anything,” Andy bleated from his saint throne.

Robert forced a nod and grabbed Aaron’s things, slipping into the hallway.

It was definitely time for him to sashay away –

More heels and blouses attacked his retinas. “There you are, luv.”

Of course Chas had to appear and stretch the limits of his pre-work hour people skills.

Pulling on the hoodie that felt too small for his inner self, Robert stepped backwards, smiling tightly.

Pushing out a smile for her was more painful than listening to Lawrence bang on about his alleged superiority on the golf course, which actually was limited to identifying cognac brands and club members with the deepest pockets.

“I need to go,” he said, not arsed about leaving details out of the sentence.

Chas sized him up in silence.

“Where are you going?” she demanded then.

Robert switched on a grumpier tone that needed no effort. “I’m going to work, if that’s alright with you.”

Chas did a Flash-like spurt to block his path. “Not until you tell me what you’ve been up to. And the answer better not be what I think it is.”

“I really don’t owe you an explanation.”         

A judgemental finger waved in his face.

“Don’t you dare. If you know summat about Adam and Vic, you can’t keep that from us.”

Robert was about to declare the day ruined before it began.

Flippin’ Aaron was too stupid to realise how much of a mess he was making out of everything just by being stubborn.

He should’ve been on the receiving end of this pointless lecture, not undoing a sweet relief of the upper hand Robert had managed to get over Chrissie and her doubts.

All from a place of love, of course.

Chas inched closer. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, luv, you know I’m only looking out for ya.”

Robert wasn’t into Dingle family mode either.

He already had enough of it the previous evening when he’d been forced to share bangers and mash with Marlon and Debbie, sandwiched between the two on the sofa while Chas bantered about some delivery bloke and the inner workings of crisp manufacturing, humming Chesney Hawkes in between bites.

Scintillating and topical as ever.

Red nails clicked in his face. “Oi, I’m talking to you.”

Robert stretched his face into a scowl he could draw from memory.

“I’m just minding my own business, I suggest you do that too.”

Hearing himself talk was creepy.

Each time he opened his mouth, producing that raspy voice made him flinch.

Meanwhile, Chas hadn’t lost her role as the before image in a nasal spray advert. “What is going on with you? Please tell me you’re not involved with Robert again.”

Clearly it was time to call Merriam Webster and announce the definition of irony had found its greatest example.

“You spend way too much time mithering over my life,” Robert snapped with no finesse whatsoever, “maybe if you stopped obsessing about it for a sec, you’d notice no-one is interested in your theories. Right, I’m off.”

Chas’s face went through all five stages of smothering grief until she settled for a basic glare.

“Just so you know, this conversation isn’t over.”

Robert skipped a reply and walked into the drizzle of rain awaiting outside.

He needed to see Aaron.

Or to be precise, to see himself.

After he had sat in the drafty yet overheated portacabin for an hour, gritting teeth and staring sadly into a cup of tea like his pet goldfish had drowned into it, Aaron finally replied and agreed to meet up there.

Robert had asked about his Audi, but apparently the body stealer knew nothing, or so he said – either way, it would have to be found five minutes ago; having taken another incredulous look at the car he now had keys to, Robert opted for walking in a slouch.

Breathing in the pub stench wasn’t pleasant, but keeping the hood over his head was much better than handing out accidental facial expressions to the villagers.

Living near the village was daunting, living in it needed a word of its own, no matter how temporary it was.

Especially living as the heir presumed of Sulk.

Though he should remember that from now on; absolutely no-one expecting him to smile was the only good thing about this mess.

Soon as the original Sulk came through the door, Robert’s nerves twisted.

“What took you so long?” he clipped, heartburn switching into gear from seeing himself in a wrinkly shirt.

Aaron plopped onto a chair and grabbed the sugar bowl.

Robert had to look away once he got a closer look at the state of his own hair.

“Your family, that’s what took this long,” Aaron said tensely, dropping too many cubes into a mug, “like I told ya, Chrissie wouldn’t let me out. I just managed to convince her I had one of those 24-hour bugs.”

The identical ruse did nothing to assuage Robert’s ticking brain.

“And then what?” he urged.

Aaron scoffed. “Then nothing. Lawrence and Lachlan rocked up and crashed my brekkie.”

“They live there, it’s not your brekkie. You didn’t eat kiwis, did you? I’m allergic.”

“I don’t eat fruit, mate. I had Lachlan’s cereal.”

Again too much sugar to put in Robert’s body, the heartburn was probably a ghost sensation from his stolen digestive system.

"Your missus was all nice and kinda sorry the whole time. What's she done? Or more like what did you drive her to do?" 

Stress vein thumping in his forehead, Robert leaned over the table. “Never you mind. Keep your distance with my wife. I mean it, no funny business."

Aaron's smirk stretched wider. 

"Yoy didn’t say anything sus to them, did you?” Robert checked. 

Aaron shrugged his lips. “I just sat them all down and explained that I’ve been having an affair with myself.”

He flicked a paperclip and smirked.

“Pack away the whiny pout, it’s not like I was serious. They banged on about some family trip you weren’t a part of, then I told them I was going out for massively important estate crap.”

The little shithead’s comedy routine wasn’t entertaining.

“You better not mess up my job,” Robert sniped.

Aaron offered him an unarsed look. “How hard can that be if you pull it off? Smiling at old biddies and saying investment ten times in one sentence, that should cover it.”

He threw his feet over the desk, making Robert blink emotionally at the sight of his new loafers.

They were so comfortable, like walking in supportive butter.

The 2010 model Nikes on his current feet, not so much.

“Anyways, it’s just one meeting today about logistics,” Aaron said smugly, “which is something I know about, so keep your knickers on.”

Robert wouldn’t be feeling comfort as long as the bloke’s attitude was still the same.

“Change that shirt for starters. And you can’t just wing it, there’s things you need to know.”

Aaron flung a clipboard over the desk. “Just as it is with everything you do, I need to know as little as possible. I know who the bloke is, what he’s coming round for and what he needs to be told. It’s just haulage, mate, I can do it in my sleep. Here’s the schedule for this place, think you can handle cancelling a few scrap runs? You really don’t need to be here, an answerphone is less condescending but more human.”

He stood up. “And I’ll be heading out of town on Saturday.”

Robert wasn’t having this solo act. “As if someone won’t ask why I don’t have anything happening here. I can sort things here, ta. Besides, you going somewhere else is out of the question.”

Aaron couldn’t looked less interested. “You’ve been lying your arse off your entire life and now suddenly you’re out of source material? Don’t think so, mate.”

Robert was about to press on about this mystery trip, then the door flew open with an energetic rattle that spared no hinges.

It didn’t require looking up to know this was a Dingle interruptus.

“What’s he doing here?”

Robert took a minute to string together an answer that would placate Cain as well as send him on his merry way.

Something succinct and reluctant, just as everyone liked it.

“He lost a bet and now he must suffer,” he said eventually.

“Right,” Cain grunted, luckily seeming very uninterested, “any word on Adam?”

“Nowt.”

The uncle gave him an assessing glare. “You better not be lying to Moira.”

Robert almost broke character; he knew for a fact the self-appointed hardman had no leverage to say that.

“Chas already gave me the lecture, why don’t you skip it. I’ve told you all I know. We’ve got business here, if my livelihood is of any concern.”

Cain seemed to grow a couple of inches. “Don’t get smart with me, lad. Make sure your at the garage later like we agreed.”

Then he thankfully took his death stare and repetitive banter as he went.

Robert waved a thumb after him.

“That’s the third person today who doesn’t understand the concept of haven’t heard anything.”

Aaron balanced a pencil on his palm. “Everyone’s up in everyone’s business in this family, how is that news to ya?”

Robert snorted. “The question is, why do you still live in the pub like a kid?"

“You’re not actually in the family, you don’t get to pry.”

Examining Aaron’s seemingly nonchalant expression, Robert was thoroughly annoyed that he couldn’t read his own poker face when it wasn’t his. “I’m guessing they all assume you’re hiding things cause you’ve told Adam you’ll keep it zipped about some dodgy plan. Have you?”

Aaron slumped further on the chair. “I’m not doing this again. We’ve got other stuff to worry about, so can you just take your head out of your arse for a sec and think? I don’t hear you chiming in with bright ideas how to undo whatever this is.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “And what did you have in mind? An exorcism from Harriet?”

“Why not, you seem to be chummy with her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aaron shoved half a bacon butty in his gob as if Robert didn’t have enough digestive issues already.

“I’ve seen you pestering her in the caff,” the pest mumbled through the mouthful, “and the pub. What’s that about anyway? Bit sus considering your sister Jenson Buttoned her boyfriend.”

Robert pushed away the lukewarm tea. “Never you mind.”

“Okay, then I’ll just have a chat with her on me own. With your face.”

Little shit had chosen to do Robert's head in record speed. 

But needs must, thus he relented with absolutely no desire to do so.

“I asked her to look for Vic and Adam. She’s eager to find her too, obviously.”

Aaron dropped his napkin after wiping the chin Robert really wished he still had. 

“Right, should’ve seen that coming. Just so you know, she won’t be finding them. And Vic’s not about to miss the court date, they’ll be back before that.”

Funny how he thought he could play the evasion game with a successful result.

Though the Dingles were thick by nature and Aaron wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier either.

“You said something about going away,” Robert circled back with the pointed authority Andy didn’t have, “that means you know where they are and what they’re up to, because that’s where you’re heading too.”

His own face across the table smirked. “You have my phone, why don’t you just call Adam?”

He was really underestimating Robert and his patience now.

“He’s not picking up. I’m guessing you tipped him off and said you lost your phone or something. Anyway, I’m going with you,” Robert continued, “unless you want me to stitch up your cousin for that failed robbery she did with Ross.”

Finally Aaron’s grin dropped.

He couldn’t pull it off it with Robert’s face anyway.

Least he wasn’t dumb enough to ask how he knew about the robbery.

Sometimes a bloke has to suffer through bangers and mash gatherings to gain eavesdropping results.

As was the tradition, their passive aggressive meeting tipped the scale towards just aggressive at the end.

A shouting match and begrudging plan making later, Robert got one more unpleasant surprise in the form of spending his afternoon with Cain.

Aaron had promised to help Cain out.

Which wasn’t the issue workwise, Robert had once been a mechanic.

And Cain’s boss.

The fact he hadn’t fixed cars in about a decade was beside the point, it wasn’t that hard.

Going back into the pub and feeling a wave of profound sadness as he saw Chrissie on the street and received a tight nod instead of a snog and a pair of soothing tits pressed up against him, Robert went back to the pub for a drink.

A quiet one, or so he thought.

He’d just barely taken a seat and scrolled through messages on Aaron’s phone without any leads, when Sam Dingle took his pitstop right in Robert’s face.

“Hiya. How’s the scrap business?”

Boring as ever.

“It’s fine,” Robert grunted.

Sam nodded, elbows thumping against the bar.

There was an odour of moss, smoke and something that was probably wellies.

“Thought I’d ask Marlon if he fancied a bit a pheasant on the menu, had a bit of luck with Zak this morning.”

Meaning he’d been pouching at Home Farm’s estate, and pheasant was more likely to be peasant.

Robert wouldn’t put cannibalism past them.

He nodded towards the kitchen.

“You go ahead and do that, I bet Marlon will think it’s a tremendous idea.”

Sam snorted. “Same old Aaron, grumpy round the clock.”

Yeah, that was not a compliment from any angle.

Zak leaned over from the other side, because why wouldn’t there be a Dingle sandwich around him at all times.

“Any word on Adam?” the appointed patriarch asked.

Robert felt like reaching over the bar and grabbing another pint.

An empty one to knock himself out.

It was like being in a kids’ show where everything got repeated twelve times in one episode, just to hammer home that the creators didn’t have faith in their audience’s wits.

The Dingle sandwich was looking at him expectantly.

“I’ve heard nothing,” Robert said quickly, “and I’ve got to be somewhere. Promised Cain I’d give him a hand.”

“Ross took care of that, have a pint with us.”

Why did Ross take care of it?

Aaron had assumed he couldn’t handle the work and just took away his afternoon by delivering the message through the endless Dingle chain somehow.

Even as Robert, he managed to be his shitty self.

Not that Robert wasn’t relieved, but he should’ve been the one to hand out  rejection.

As for the family pint, it was the fastest pint of Robert’s life, and that included chugging races as a 19-year-old city life rookie. 

Five minutes in, Sam and Zak began talking about dogs, pigsties and whatnot - what was worse, assuming he was part of that conversation.

Robert excused himself to the back and up the stairs.

Now was the time to resort to drinking.

In good company, as in with the only person he liked right now.

Sans the appearance.

Checking the door was locked, he dug out the tins from his bag and cracked one open.

Flicking through the music library took another dent into his trust in mankind.

Stone Roses, Arctic monkeys, Fratellis.

Pigeon Detectives, Snow Patrol, Sea Power. 

Wasn’t it a bit obvious, all the Dingle blokes listening to tunes about working class vodka depression and ballads with construction site sunrises and zebra crossing analogies?

Dropping the phone, Robert scratched at the cheeks again and considering shaving.

But he knew that would only elicit more commentary - as would wearing a suit without a funeral or a sentencing to go to, so.

Yet another deadlock.

He reached under the tee to scratch under his arm.

Everything felt itchy. 

His palm swept over the stomach, noticing how prominent the abs were.

Huh.

It wasn’t like he didn’t know they were there, but now they were there all the time.

Shifting the tee back in place, his fingertips grazed over a row of scars.

Robert squeezed his eyes shut.

He didn’t open them until the tin was empty and he cracked open another one and found a radio station that played S club 7.

The toy phone beeped around midnight, or whatever the time was during Robert’s eighth lager.

Found your Audi, you’d dumped it in Hotten.

I drove it back.

Robert didn’t feel like sending a thanks for a bare minimum, so he just replied with an ok.

He slumped back into the pile of pillows, gulping down the lukewarm lager.

What mattered now was that he needed to find Vic.

If taking a road trip with himself was the only way, then so be it.

In the meantime, he’d make sure things would stay calm at Home Farm.

He was still taking over a business or ten, even if he had to wear a hoodie while doing it.