Another Me

CATHY MACPHAIL

To Kathryn who suggested I write a ghost story

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Epilogue

Why I wrote Another Me

Meet Cathy MacPhail

Also by Cathy MacPhail

‘Here comes Fay Delussey, always got her nose in a book!'

I jumped when I heard my name, and bumped into my friends, Kaylie and Dawn, as they ran up to me. Dawn snatched the book from my hands.

‘What are you reading anyway? Must be good.' Her face crumpled when she read the title on the spine. ‘
All Quiet on the Western Front
.' She giggled. ‘Sounds
so
interesting . . . NOT!'

As you can tell Dawn wasn't much of a reader and she thought she was funny.

‘It's about the First World War,' I told her. ‘I'm trying to get it finished before I hand it back to the library. Don't want to have to pay a fine for it being late.'

Kaylie sighed. ‘Reading about a war. Honestly, Fay. Why don't you read something good for a change . . .'
Her voice became a whisper. ‘Like Stephen King.'

‘Don't like ghost stories,' I reminded her, ‘or anything scary.'

Dawn rolled her eyes. ‘We know ghost stories don't happen in real life, Fay. That's why we enjoy them. Whereas war—' She pushed my book back at me as if it was contaminated. ‘Now that's real, and that
is
scary.'

I knew she was right, of course. Ghosts aren't real. Ghost stories don't happen. Not in real life. But they scare me anyway.

‘Better hurry if you're going to the library.' Kaylie gave me a push. ‘Or you'll be late for drama.'

‘Does Daft Donald still want us to put on a play?' I groaned at the thought of it. Donald Moffat was one of our English teachers and was always trying to get our class interested in play acting. That's what made him so daft.

Kaylie and Dawn groaned too. ‘Shakespeare.' They said it through gritted teeth.

‘Shakespeare?' I couldn't believe it. ‘Is he off his chump?' We all pretended to be sick in the corridor. ‘I hate Shakespeare. People talking funny and being mistaken for other people. Who'd ever believe that?'

‘At least we'll get to dress up,' Dawn said.

‘Unless he decides we've to play it in the nude.'
Kaylie shrieked at the thought of that and sent Dawn and I into another fit of the giggles.

‘Hope it's
Romeo and Juliet
,' Kaylie said. Her eyes moved beyond my shoulder. ‘And here comes Romeo.'

I turned to look, though I knew exactly who she was talking about. Drew Fraser. Most of the girls in our year fancied him. Though not half as much as Drew fancied himself. I was not one of his admirers. I knew him too well. Always had done. He lived on the second floor of our high block of flats. Eleven floors below me, and beneath me in every way.

I had grown up with Drew, been to every one of his birthday parties and he was always invited to mine. Our mums were friends from way back. I've found it's very difficult to fancy someone when he's bashed you with a fire engine (his third birthday), tried to stuff a chicken on your head (his fifth), and sunk his teeth into your arm and drawn blood (his sixth, if I remember correctly).

He's still a bit of a vampire even now. He loves reading about the occult, and any kind of psychic phenomena. He's a weirdo if you ask me. If my friends could see his room, hung with skeletons and masks and monsters, they would think he was a weirdo too. Of
course, seeing his room counted as a lifetime ambition for Kaylie and Dawn.

However, it seemed mine was the minority view. Drew Fraser had grown from a knock-kneed boy into a weirdo who was tall and handsome. He was long and thin, with floppy dark hair and a lopsided grin. His green eyes sent most of the girls into orbit. He flashed them now in our direction.

‘Hello, girls.' He threw the words at us as if he had scattered precious jewels among his harem. Then he swaggered past us. Dawn watched him with her mouth hanging open.

‘He is gorgeous, by the way,' she said.

I hurried off and left them both mooning after him.

Actually, hurried is the wrong word. I was too busy reading to hurry. Too anxious to finish my book to even look where I was going. So I didn't notice the someone I brushed against as I went into the library. I muttered an apology and was vaguely aware of a green sweater, just like mine, going out as I went in.

Yet, in that second, something ice cold shivered down my spine, as if someone had just walked over my grave. That's what they say, isn't it? Someone walking over your grave?

At the desk, Mrs Watt, the school librarian, was busy pinning up another poster. I had to tap the desk to make her turn round and notice me.

‘Hello, Fay. Did you forget something?'

She must have noticed my puzzled frown. ‘I've only just come in,' I said.

‘Didn't you just leave?' Her eyes moved to the door.

I shook my head. ‘I came to return this book.'

Her eyes were still on the door leading out of the library. ‘My goodness, I could have sworn that was you.' She brushed the notion away with a toss of her head. ‘Oh well, they do say everyone has a double somewhere.'

It was only as I was walking to the drama class that I remembered the girl I had bumped into and the green sweater just like mine. That was what had got Mrs Watt mixed up. She had seen the girl in the green sweater and thought it was me.

That was the simple explanation.

Wasn't it?

The school auditorium was buzzing. It seemed most of our year had stayed behind for the auditions. I spotted Kaylie and Dawn in the corner and waved.

As soon as I was close enough they enveloped me in their arms, as if they hadn't seen me for years.

‘Po-faced Monica thinks she's going to get the lead part,' Dawn whispered in my ear. My eyes shot across the room to where Monica Meldrum stood, holding court with her groupies. She tossed back her thick blonde hair and pouted. Monica wasn't in our set ... or rather we weren't in hers. We weren't clever enough, or good looking enough. Of course, the main reason was that we didn't hang on her every word.

She glanced over and caught me looking at her. ‘You got a problem, Delussey?' she sneered. She'd never do that if she could see herself. That sneer turned her
pretty face into something hideous.

‘Yeah, I've got to look at you.' That's what I wanted to say, but I could never be bold enough to do that. Instead, I blushed. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop myself.

‘Oh look, she's going red,' one of Monica's lapdogs piped up. ‘She's just so chuffed you actually spoke to her, Monica.'

Just then Daft Donald, the drama teacher, stepped up on to the stage. He clapped his hands to get us all to shut up. ‘I'm delighted so many of you stayed for the auditions.' He beamed a smile around the room. ‘All the other teachers said I was crazy to attempt Shakespeare, and I told them you would love to do it. And I was right, eh?'

That's why we called him daft. He hadn't figured out the real reason was that if we were in his play we would be excused other classes. He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. ‘So are we all ready to give Shakespeare a bash?'

‘Somebody should have bashed him long ago,' a voice shouted from the back and we all laughed. All, except Donald.

‘I am going to help you appreciate the beauty of
Shakespeare's language – his passion for words.'

‘BORING!' the same voice called, and the groan that went throughout the auditorium showed we were all in agreement.

Donald ignored it. ‘We are going to do
The Tragedy of Macbeth
. Or . . . the “Scottish Play”, as they call it in the theatre.'

Another communal groan.

‘There's hardly any parts for girls in that, sir,' an aspiring starlet at the front reminded him.

‘I realise that,' Donald said, nodding his head like a toy dog in the back seat of a car. ‘So some of the girls will be taking men's roles.'

That nearly caused a riot.

‘Told you,' I muttered to Dawn, ‘it's going to be
so
unbelievable.'

‘Can we not do a different play, sir?' one of the boys suggested. ‘What about
Reservoir Dogs
?'

Donald knew he was losing what little enthusiasm we had. ‘You want blood and guts, boys. Well, there's plenty of that in the “Scottish Play”. It's wonderful. There's fighting.' He looked around the boys hopefully. ‘There's passionate love and murder.' His eyes turned on the girls. ‘There's even a ghost.'

‘I hate ghosts,' I whispered.

‘And there's witchcraft. What more could you ask for?' Everyone still looked bored. Daft Donald let out a long sigh. His voice changed. ‘We're doing
Macbeth
whether you like it or not.'

By this time hardly anyone was interested in his daft old play. When he clapped his hands for our attention, it took ages for anyone to listen.

‘We're going to put on the play during Christmas week, for the entertainment of the whole school.'

I nudged my friends. ‘The whole school will be delighted, I'm sure.'

Donald carried on. ‘I'll read out to whom I've allocated the main parts, and we'll start rehearsals on Tuesday.'

There was a murmur of protest. ‘Sir, what about the auditions?'

Daft Donald sometimes wasn't as soft as he looked. ‘I teach you, remember? I know what you're all capable of. I have decided who is playing the parts. OK?'

‘That's not fair, sir.'

Donald gave a superior little smile. ‘This is not a democracy.'

I turned to my friends. ‘Well, I'm definitely not playing a man.'

‘I wanted to dress up in a fancy frock,' Dawn moaned.

‘Maybe we could be the three witches,' said Kaylie and we all giggled.

‘Macbeth is going to be played by Andrew Fraser.'