Other Alice (5 page)

‘Say something else.’ I felt sure it wouldn’t and that I had some kind of fever.

The cat carried on washing its face with no sign that it had heard me. Just as I was starting to convince myself that I had imagined it, the cat sat up and looked straight at me.

‘I miss soap and water,’ it said.

‘Wh-what?’ I stuttered.

‘Soap . . . and . . . water,’ the cat repeated slowly, as if it were speaking to someone stupid.

Still disbelieving, I moved towards the cat and sunk a finger into the warm, soft fur. There had to be batteries, or some kind of remote control. The cat batted my hand away again.

‘Do you mind? How would you like it if someone poked you?’

This time I felt the warm hiss of its breath on my skin.

‘You
are
real,’ I whispered. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I got in through the cat flap,’ the cat drawled, like it was obvious. For the first time, I realised that its voice was female.

‘Yes, I guessed that,’ I said. ‘But, um . . . what I meant was, why did you come here? Where are you from? And how can you talk?’

‘So many questions.’ The cat yawned and spread herself over Alice’s notebooks once more. ‘Too many questions make me sleepy.’ She half closed her amber eyes, but
still watched me through the narrow slits. It was a sneaky look.

‘One at a time then,’ I said. ‘Where are you from?’

‘The Crowstone Marshes,’ she replied. ‘It’s cold there. Next?’

‘I’ve never heard of that place,’ I replied. ‘It must be far away. How did you get here?’

‘That I can’t answer,’ said the cat. ‘Because I don’t remember.’

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t be asking me all these things,’ the cat said. ‘Weren’t you ever warned about talking to strangers?’

‘I don’t think talking cats count.’

‘Fine,’ the cat replied. ‘My name is Tabitha. Tabitha Elizabeth Ashwood.’

‘So you’re
T. E. A.
,’ I said, remembering the initials on the pendant.

‘Yes,’ said Tabitha. ‘Speaking of which, I’d love a cup. Would you mind?’ She glanced at Alice’s little tea-making table.

‘Tea? You don’t want milk?’

‘Oh, no,’ said Tabitha. ‘Tea would be lovely, thanks. Milk and two sugars.’

I put a tea bag and sugar into a cup and switched the kettle on.

‘Why did you come into our house?’ I asked.

‘I needed somewhere to stay,’ said Tabitha. ‘Somewhere I hoped I wouldn’t be noticed while I figured out what to do.’

‘And so when you saw Twitch in the garden you decided to follow her through the cat flap?’ I guessed. ‘Because you look alike enough to be mistaken for her?’

‘Yes,’ said the cat. ‘Although that part didn’t exactly go to plan, did it?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘But it would have if I hadn’t come up here to . . .’

To look for Alice.

All the excitement and weirdness of the talking cat had distracted me from wondering where my sister was. I wanted so badly for her to be here that I actually felt an ache in my throat. A
talking cat, in Alice’s room. It was just so, well . . .
Alice
. Exactly the sort of thing she loved and would write about . . .

The thought sat uneasily in my mind as I remembered the things Alice had been saying the night before and what had happened last summer.

I made the tea and put the cup in front of Tabitha. She lapped at it in neat little licks that made it look like she was trying not to wet her whiskers.

‘How long have you been a cat?’ I asked. ‘And who turned you into one?’

Tabitha didn’t answer straight away. She drank all the tea in the cup, then a second after I refilled it. When it was licked clean, she settled down, purring, her tail curled over the keys
of Alice’s typewriter.

‘What makes you think someone turned me into a cat?’ she said finally. ‘And that I haven’t always been one?’

‘Because you can talk,’ I said.

‘All cats talk,’ said Tabitha. ‘But not all people understand them.’

‘Twitch definitely can’t talk,’ I said.

‘But you can still understand her, can’t you?’

‘Yes, but that’s different. She just stands around and meows, but you talk. You really, actually
talk
. And you drink tea. Normal cats don’t drink tea.’

‘It’s more refreshing than milk,’ said Tabitha.

For the second time, I got the feeling that the cat was being sneaky and more than a little unhelpful. Then I remembered something.

‘You said something a minute ago, when you were washing yourself. You said, “I miss soap and water.”’

‘Did I?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘And that proves it – you were a human once. Cats don’t use soap and water to wash, and missing it means it’s something you
used
to
do!’

Tabitha’s tail twitched. ‘Cleverer than you look, aren’t you?’

I was clever enough to know that that wasn’t much of a compliment.

‘So who are you?’ I knew I sounded huffy now, but I couldn’t help it. ‘Or who
were
you?’

‘Have to be careful about who I tell that to.’ Tabitha tucked her paws underneath her.

‘Why? Are you hiding from someone?’

I didn’t get an answer. The front door rattled and a moment later Mum called up.

‘I’d better go downstairs,’ I said, still staring at Tabitha. I didn’t care about pancakes for breakfast now. I wanted to stay and quiz the mysterious cat, but it seemed
she had had enough of my questions, because she’d gone to sleep.

I climbed down the ladder, hesitating when I reached the bottom. All it would take was two quick folds of the ladder and the hatch would swing back in place, trapping the cat in the attic.
Eventually I decided not to. She wasn’t my prisoner and, besides, she seemed in no rush to leave. There would still be time for questions and Alice should be back soon. She’d know what
to do.

Mum was pouring the pancake mixture into the frying pan when I got downstairs and the table had been cleared of the rainy-day boxes and set for two.

‘Where’s Alice?’ I asked.

‘I haven’t spoken to her,’ said Mum, slicing a lemon into quarters. ‘But I saw her in town just before I came back.’ Her forehead crinkled. ‘I waved, but she
didn’t seem to see me.’

I sat down at the table. When the pancakes were cooked, we sprinkled them with sugar and squeezed wedges of lemon over them, digging in. But each mouthful of pancake stuck in my throat. I washed
it down with a slurp of tea, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. It wasn’t like Alice to go out so early on a Saturday, especially not without telling anyone where she was
going. And she’d been in such a weird mood last night.

A buzz by the toaster broke the silence. Mum looked up.

‘That’s Alice’s phone,’ she said. ‘Strange that she’d go out without it.’

‘Do you think she’s all right?’ I asked.

‘She looked fine when I saw her,’ Mum said. ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’

I shrugged. Alice didn’t talk to Mum like she did to me. I knew things about Alice that Mum didn’t, and wouldn’t ever know, because Alice had made me promise. Sometimes I
didn’t know if this was a good thing.

‘No reason.’ I glanced at the phone. ‘She’s just forgetful, I suppose.’

‘Have you decided who you’re going to make a Likeness of?’ Mum asked.

‘Not yet. I was hoping Alice would help me.’

‘I can help you,’ Mum offered. ‘Or we can get it started anyway, but I need to pack this afternoon, I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.’

My head snapped up. ‘Flight? To where?’

‘Brussels, Midge. It’s the book fair – I did say.’

‘Oh. That,’ I said, making a face. ‘How long will you be gone this time?’

‘Only for three days. Don’t look so gloomy! You’ll be fine with Alice. I know how she spoils you when I’m away.’

It was true. Alice
did
spoil me. We stayed up late, watched bad TV and ate too many sweets. On the good days. Mum wasn’t around enough to notice the bad ones. The ones when Alice
forgot to wash her hair, hardly spoke, and dinner was beans on toast that I’d have to make myself.

I’d just finished my last pancake when I caught sight of the tip of a black tail sailing past the table behind Mum. In an instant, I knew it wasn’t Twitch, because she was on
Mum’s lap, sniffing her plate. I jumped up, knocking the table.

‘Midge, be careful!’ said Mum. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘Thought I saw next-door’s cat,’ I blurted out. I ran for the back door, hearing the squeak of the cat flap, and looked through the window just in time to see a black blur
vanishing over the garden wall. Quickly, I unlocked the back door and ran to the gate, unlatching it and stepping into the alley that ran between our house and next door’s. At first, I
thought the cat was gone, but then I caught a small movement towards the front of the house. I crept out of the alley and into the street.

Tabitha was sitting on next-door’s front wall, totally still except for her tail, which swished from side to side in a figure of eight. I approached and was about to speak when I saw what
she was looking at.

On the other side of the road near the corner shop was a girl with long, blonde hair who had a notebook tucked under her arm. She wore a black leather jacket that I didn’t recognise, but I
did
know
her
. Relief rushed through me.

‘Alice!’ I called, waving. ‘Mum’s made pancakes – still some left!’

Alice looked behind her, then back at me, but didn’t return my wave.

‘Alice!’ I shouted again.

She continued to stare blankly in my direction. Weird. Mum said she’d waved at Alice, too, and she hadn’t seen her . . .

I crossed the road and went towards her, not caring that I was still wearing my pyjamas and slippers. ‘Alice,’ I said again. ‘Are you all right?’

She looked at me with a puzzled expression. There was something odd about her eyes. They looked different to normal, but I couldn’t figure out why. She appeared prettier somehow: her
cheeks and lips pinker and her hair glossier, with tiny plaits woven in here and there. I’d never seen her wear her hair like that before. I waited for her to answer, but instead she took out
a pen and wrote something in the notebook. She held it up to show me.

I’m not Alice
, it said.

‘Very funny. Why aren’t you talking? Do you have a sore throat?’

Alice gave a strained smile and wrote something else.

I don’t know who Alice is. You have the wrong person
.

I waited for her to laugh or wink, but she didn’t. I stared into her eyes and finally saw what was different about them: Alice’s eyes were blue, like mine. This girl’s were
bright green.

I backed away from her, gasping as my foot slid off the kerb and into the road, almost tripping. The girl grabbed at my hand to steady me, but I brushed her off and got my balance, my skin
crawling where she’d touched me.

A squirmy, knotted-up feeling had started in my tummy, the sort of feeling I’d had at my granddad’s funeral when I was just seven. Of not fully understanding what was going on, but
knowing it was something bad and that things would never be the same again.

My gaze was fixed on her face. Everything about her was almost
exactly
like Alice. It was only the eyes that were
really
different, but it was enough to convince me. The girl
underlined something and held the notebook up again.

I’m not Alice
. She turned away from me and began to walk off. I watched her round the corner and vanish into the next street, now certain she wasn’t my sister.

But if she wasn’t Alice then who was she?

W
HEN I GOT BACK TO
the house, mum was sniffing around in the living room.

‘Was it next-door’s cat?’ she asked, coming into the kitchen.

‘Oh, er . . . yeah,’ I said.

Mum picked up the water-spray bottle that she used to mist her pot plants. ‘Well, I can’t smell anything. But if you see it again give it a squirt with this.’ She went into the
living room with her cup of tea, leaving me alone.

I stood for a moment, trying to calm down. My breath was coming too quickly, like I’d just run really fast, and my knees felt all shaky. I put a hand out in front of me and saw it was
trembling. Who was the girl I’d just seen, the
not
Alice?

After a minute, I went into the living room. Mum was sitting down with Twitch curled up on her lap. I blinked, remembering the reason I’d gone outside in the first place – Tabitha
– and wondered if she would come back, half wishing I
had
shut her in the attic. I pushed the thought away. Talking cat or not, this was more important.

‘Mum?’ I said. My voice came out thin and squeaky. I coughed. ‘Mum, something strange just happened.’

Mum dunked a biscuit in her tea. ‘What’s that, love?’

‘When I went outside just now, I saw Alice. Only it
wasn’t
Alice.’

‘Is this one of your riddles?’ Mum said through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘Because you know I’m hopeless—’