Other Alice (9 page)

Gypsy nodded her thanks and picked up her notebook.

‘Are you going upstairs to look through the old books?’ I asked. I could barely meet her eyes, I was so afraid she would see the truth in them, but she was too distracted to notice
anything different. She sighed, nodding.

‘Where shall I meet you later?’ I asked. ‘For when . . .’ I paused, moving closer to her. ‘When you pretend to be Alice?’

She dropped her gaze and a sick feeling seeped into my stomach. She didn’t want to do it.

‘You said you would.’ My voice came out harder than I meant it to, and I stared at her until she was forced to look at me again.

I’ll be here, at the bookshop
, she wrote.
Come and find me when you’re ready
.

‘You’ll be here?’ I said. ‘Promise?’

She nodded.
Gypsies don’t break promises
.

I left her and rushed out of the shop into the cold air, aware of how hot my cheeks were all of a sudden: hot with guilt.

I was the only one who knew the truth: Gypsy’s search was pointless. She would never find what she was looking for there, or anywhere else. Only one copy existed in the world, and that was
the half-written version bumping along in my rucksack. Until I figured out what Gypsy wanted with the story, the best thing I could do was keep my mouth shut. I needed to think about what to do
next, but the hugeness of it all felt too much. I wanted Alice, to help me and tell me what to do. But I was alone. It felt like another one of Alice’s riddles . . . only this
time none of it made any sense and there was no hope of solving it.

I moved away from the shop, following the trickle of people towards the town square. Things were getting busier now, more crowded than an ordinary Saturday. A bandstand had been set up at the
top of the steps to the town hall, and street vendors had sprung up in every direction. At the centre of the square was a towering mass of wood. Even as I watched, people were heaping more on:
branches, garden cuttings, broken furniture. It made me think of
Sleeping Beauty
: of all the spinning wheels in the kingdom being burned after the wicked fairy had spoken her curse. But
this bonfire was for the Likenesses to burn on.

‘Don’t you just love a good fire?’ a voice said nearby.

I looked round to see a lady standing close to me. Her smile startled me, for her mouth was bright and shiny with the reddest lipstick I’d ever seen.

I shrugged. ‘Bonfires are fun, I guess.’ I looked at the clock tower. It was time to head back home soon. I started to move off, but the red-lipped woman spoke again.

‘You’re Alice’s little brother, aren’t you?’

I turned back. ‘That’s right.’

‘Oh, thank goodness I found you.’ She stepped closer, lowering her voice. ‘Alice sent me.’

My heart leaped. ‘You’ve seen Alice? Where is she? Is she OK?’

She shook her head and her glossy, black hair swished at her jawline. ‘She’s in trouble. She asked me to bring her something.’

I felt a stab of fear. ‘What kind of trouble? Wait – who are you?’

The woman smiled wider, her lips stretching over her teeth. Her mouth was so red I could hardly look away from it, but when I did I saw that she was more of a girl than a woman, perhaps a bit
older than Alice. Her clothes made her look more grown-up. She wore a neat suit, with shiny, pointed, black shoes that had little red bows on.

‘I’m a friend of Alice’s,’ she said.

‘Are you?’ I asked. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Dolly.’

Why was she still smiling if Alice was in trouble? I didn’t like it and I didn’t like her eyes. They were blue, but not blue like a summer sky, like Alice’s. They were blue
like a frozen lake, icy and staring, with no warmth in them.

I heard Alice’s voice in my head, a memory of last year.

If anyone ever approaches you, Midge, anyone you don’t know that asks you about me, don’t trust them. Do you hear me? They’ll say anything . . . just get
away from them . . .

Could she be another one of
them
? Another character from Alice’s story? Before I knew it, I’d taken a step back. I tried desperately to remember the names of the other
characters that were written in the notebook, but my mind had gone blank with fear.

‘I know all Alice’s friends,’ I said. ‘She’s never mentioned anyone called Dolly.’

‘Surely you don’t know
all
her friends?’ Dolly’s voice was sweet, but those eyes of hers still chilled me.

‘I’m pretty sure I do,’ I said. ‘She doesn’t have that many.’ I took another step away, my heart thudding.

‘Look, you know she’s in trouble,’ Dolly hissed, her smile gone. ‘Do you want to help your sister or not? She told me she could count on you. Was she wrong?’

I froze, like I’d been slapped. The sudden change in her manner had caught me off guard. My gut was telling me to run and yet . . . What if this girl was genuine and there
was
a chance to help Alice? I’d
never
let Alice down . . . but her warning echoed in my mind. The only way to know for sure would be to set a trap.

‘What does Alice want?’ I asked.

Dolly smoothed a strand of hair with a gloved hand. ‘There’s a notebook containing a story she’s working on. She wants me to take it to her. Do you know where it is?’

I stared at her, heart pounding, hesitating a heartbeat too long. ‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

I nodded, then, as her eyes strayed behind me, realised too late that my hand was resting protectively on my rucksack. I let it drop. ‘I – I could go home and look for it,’ I
said at last. ‘But you tell me where Alice is and
I’ll
take it to her.’

Dolly shook her head. ‘No can do. She told me not to let you – she doesn’t want you getting mixed up in all this. I’m the one who has to take it.’

‘OK,’ I said, thinking hard. ‘But Alice warned me something like this might happen. So she set a riddle and only the people she trusts know the answer to it.’

The girl looked at me, her face unreadable.

I swallowed. ‘Take half of free, and all of end, with I in the middle, on me you depend.’

‘Oh, yes. I remember her mentioning it.’ I saw her lips moving silently as she repeated the verse to herself. ‘The answer is
friend
,’ she said brightly.

‘Right,’ I said. ‘The thing is, that wasn’t Alice’s riddle. It was one
I
made up. So you’re lying.’

Dolly stared at me wordlessly, then grinned again. This time her teeth were tinged red. At first, I thought it was lipstick, but then I wondered if it might be blood. Had she bitten her cheek in
anger, now I’d tricked her?

‘Listen,’ she said softly. ‘Why don’t you come with me?’ Her eyes darted from side to side. ‘You’re alone, right?’

I didn’t answer. A jittery feeling was bubbling up inside me. I badly wanted to run.

‘Come with me,’ Dolly repeated in a friendly voice. ‘I can see you’re worried – I’ll take you to Alice . . .’

‘NO!’ My voice came out forcefully, and I was aware of people turning to look. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you!’

Dolly’s fake smile froze on her lips. Suddenly, it didn’t look anything like a smile at all. It just looked as if she were baring her teeth at me. Without another word, I turned and
fled through the crowd, weaving this way and that, glancing over my shoulder. Twice I ducked and doubled back, checking to see if she was behind me, but there was no sign. Heart thundering, I hid
behind the bandstand and tried to slow my breathing. After a minute or two, I felt calmer. She hadn’t tried to follow, and I was sensible enough to know that she wouldn’t try to grab me
or drag me off with all these people around.

I was convinced now that Dolly – if that
was
her real name – didn’t know where Alice was at all. She’d lied, simply to trap me. But why? Was she looking for
Alice herself, or did she want the notebook? Or both?

I thought about how I’d caught her out. It was Alice’s doppelgänger story that had given me the idea, where the boy had saved himself with a riddle. The one I’d used
wasn’t too difficult, not when it was written down anyway. But Dolly had solved it in her head and quickly. She was smart.

Something brushed against my ankle and a lazy voice drawled up at me.

‘What is all this fuss about?’

I looked down to see Tabitha sitting at my feet.

‘What are you doing here?’ I gasped. ‘Are you following me?’

‘Only for the last few minutes,’ Tabitha replied. ‘I thought I recognised you, and it’s not like I know anyone else here.’

I eyed her suspiciously. All the questions I had about Gypsy, and now Dolly and how much they knew . . . the same questions applied to the cat, too. Did Tabitha know about the
story? Or was she being truthful about not knowing where she was?

‘Why are you following me?’

‘I thought I just explained that,’ said Tabitha, narrowing her golden eyes. ‘You’re the only person I know. And, well . . . I’m hungry. I’ve
nowhere else to go. I waited at your house, but your cat’s a greedy beast. She gobbled up all her disgusting food and didn’t leave a thing, although I suppose I should be
grateful.’

I bent down and lifted her into my arms. ‘Come here,’ I said. ‘There are too many people about; you’ll get trodden on if you stay down there.’

She nestled in the crook of my arm, paws on my shoulder and whiskers tickling my cheek. ‘So what is all this?’

‘The Summoning,’ I said softly. ‘It’s sort of a custom of Fiddler’s Hollow. Some kind of old magic. A bit silly really. It’s never worked before, not for
me.’

‘Magic is never silly,’ said Tabitha. ‘Only the nincompoops who get it wrong.’

I couldn’t argue with that. I’d seen enough today to know that some magic was real. I hesitated, then decided to be bold.

‘Can I ask you something?’

Tabitha rested her head on my shoulder sleepily. ‘You can. I might not answer, though.’

I thought about different ways in which I could ask the question that was burning inside me. ‘If . . . if there were a book of your life, with everything written from start
to finish, would you read it?’ I said finally.

Tabitha lifted her head and flexed her claws. I heard the sharp scratch of them on my collar and was grateful for the thickness of my coat. ‘What a peculiar question,’ she said.
‘Do you mean a diary? Or a biography? Because, in that case, wouldn’t I have to be dead for it to have my entire life written in it? And if I was I’d know everything that had
happened anyway.’

‘No, not a diary, or a biography exactly. You’d still be alive. It’d be like . . . like being able to see into your future. Everything that was going to
happen.’

‘I’m not sure,’ Tabitha replied. ‘What if I found out that I’d get run over? Or eaten by a dog, or poisoned? I’m not sure I’d like that. Cripes, I could
get poisoned, run over
and
eaten by a dog.’

‘You’d have to be very unlucky for all three to happen,’ I said.

‘Not really. Lots of people think black cats are unlucky. And cats have nine lives. Does that mean there would be nine of these books?’

‘No, just one,’ I repeated. ‘Why do you have to muddle things up?’

‘I’m not the one muddling things. You’re the one asking silly questions.’

‘You still haven’t answered,’ I pointed out.

‘I’m thinking,’ said Tabitha. She tilted her head to one side. ‘Yes, of course I’d look. Curiosity always gets the better of cats; that’s where the saying
comes from. But then that would alter things, wouldn’t it? If you read the story before you’d finished living it. If there were things you didn’t like the sound of that
hadn’t happened yet, you’d try to change them, wouldn’t you?’

‘Maybe you wouldn’t be able to change them,’ I said. ‘Maybe trying to change them would just lead to making whatever it was actually happen.’

‘I don’t see how,’ Tabitha answered grouchily. ‘If I found out that I was to be poisoned by a certain meal and a certain person, at a certain time, then I’d avoid
it. So reading it would have to change things, wouldn’t it? Besides, who would have written the book in the first place?’

‘Oh, I don’t know!’ I shook my head, half wishing I hadn’t asked. The cat had an annoying way of twisting things. ‘It was just a question, that’s
all.’

‘Hmph,’ said the cat. ‘I don’t like too many questions. They make me—’

‘Sleepy,’ I interrupted. ‘I know.’

‘I’m still hungry, too,’ she complained.

‘Can’t you catch a mouse or something?’

‘Yuck.’ She shuddered. ‘I only do that when I have to. Anyway, I’d have no chance with all these people about.’

I looked around us at the ever-increasing crowd, and realised a small girl was staring at us open-mouthed, tugging her father’s arm. I turned away and slid further within the folds of
people. ‘Perhaps you’d better keep quiet,’ I muttered. ‘Talking cats aren’t normal here. You could get taken away if the wrong person notices.’

She raised her nose and sniffed the air. ‘What is that delicious smell?’

‘Candyfloss,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘Did you hear what I said?’

‘Yes.’ She sniffed again. ‘I’m not deaf. I’ll keep quiet if you get me some candyfloss.’

‘Cats aren’t supposed to eat candyfloss,’ I said, exasperated.

‘They aren’t supposed to talk, either.’

‘OK, I’ll get you some. Anything to shut you up.’

We wove through the growing crowds of people gathering in the square, passing through the steam of buttery corn on the cob and smoky wafts of roasting nuts, to a stall selling toffee apples and
candyfloss. I bought a stick and tore some off, discreetly giving it to Tabitha.

‘Oooh,’ she said, licking pink fluff off her nose. ‘That’s good stuff.’ I fed her some more, pausing by a stall selling plain little straw dolls. There were tables
set up nearby with pots of paint, glue and scraps of fabric to decorate them, mostly occupied by children. I saw little fingers become sticky with glue, collecting beads, paint specks and stray
thread. As I watched, I realised what I had to do. My fingers fumbling with excitement, I dug out some money and paid for one of the straw dolls.