Other Alice

by Michelle Harrison

  ‘Go on,’ I pressed.

  ‘I could tell how bad she wanted it,’ he continued. ‘It made me wonder who else might want it, too.’ His hair flopped over his eyes, but he left it there. ‘I figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep some of it as a sort of . . . leverage.’

  Gypsy looked as if someone had dangled a dead rat under her nose.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ Piper said, his mouth set in a sulky, vicious line. ‘I know what you think of me. But at least I told you. I could’ve kept quiet.’

  Gypsy clambered to her feet.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Piper asked.

  Take us to wherever you stashed the pages, she wrote. I want to see them.

  ‘Now?’

  Why wait?

  ‘Perhaps we should wait,’ I said quickly, trying to keep the worry out of my voice. If the pages Piper had taken mentioned Gypsy, or him, it could be disastrous. I also had another reason for wanting to delay it. ‘We still don’t know anything about Dolly. She was watching me before. What if she’s watching us now?’

  Piper’s dark eyes darted about. ‘He’s right. We should wait till tomorrow; it’d be easier for us to be followed and not realise it tonight when it’s dark. We could be leading her straight to it.’

  Gypsy huffed out an impatient breath, then nodded reluctantly.

  ‘So now what?’ Piper asked.

  ‘I need to get home,’ I said. ‘There’s not much else we can do tonight.’

  Except wait for Alice to be Summoned, I thought, but kept this to myself in case Gypsy asked to listen in. But, as it turned out, Gypsy had another request.

  Perhaps there are other clues in Alice’s work somewhere, she wrote. Even if it’s not the story itself, there could be notes, pictures, or something. I should come with you.

  ‘What about me?’ Piper enquired. ‘Take it I can go now?’

  He was rewarded with a withering look from Gypsy.

  You’re coming with us, she wrote.

  ‘Him? At my house?’ I said doubtfully.

  He’s more slippery than a slug in a bowl of jelly. And until we have those missing pages I don’t want him out of my sight.

  ‘All right.’ I shot him a warning look. ‘But if anything goes missing, even a crumb, I’ll know who to blame.’

  We got up and moved through the town. Only a few people remained now and most of the streets were empty. Litter was strewn across the cobbles and we followed it like a trail until we reached the corner of Cuckoo Lane. I stared past the shop, now closed, to our house a short way down. It would be empty now, apart from Twitch . . . and Tabitha, if she was still where I’d left her asleep earlier. No Alice, no Mum and no Dad. I thought back to this morning when I’d seen Gypsy for the first time.

  ‘What were you doing here today?’ I asked her. ‘You looked like you were staring at our house.’

  Gypsy slowed a little as she wrote her response. I slowed with her.

  It seemed familiar. The house and the street. It looks a lot like the one I grew up in.

  ‘Thought your ma said she was going away?’ Piper interrupted.

  ‘She is.’ I gazed at the house and stopped walking. It should have been in darkness, but it wasn’t. A light was on in the attic.

  ‘Alice’s room,’ I whispered. ‘Someone’s there . . . maybe she’s back!’

  My legs felt stringy and clumsy as I raced to the front door, my feet slapping loudly on the path and then the hallway tiles. Was Alice really home? What would happen if she came face to face with two of her characters?

  A draught whistled through my hair as I flew up the stairs and thumped up the ladder to the attic. Behind me, I heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs: the real sounds of imaginary people.

  ‘Alice?’ I called. ‘Alice, are you up here?’

  I crawled into the attic. When I saw Alice’s room, a small cry escaped my throat.

  It was empty, but someone had been in there all right.

  Alice’s desk was swept clear. Her inspiration wall was plucked bare, notes and photos drifting about the room like loose feathers. Notebooks were strewn all over the floor, some open like fallen birds. Her beautiful old typewriter lay on its side next to her little tea tray. A used tea bag was split open on the floor. I stared at the smeared tea leaves, wishing I could read whatever answers they may have held, but finding only more questions.

  I stared at the wreckage, aware of low voices on the landing below, and a dull, repetitive thumping noise, but they all seemed so far away.

  I shrieked as something moved in the corner of my vision, a dark shape slinking out from under Alice’s bed. A black cat stared up at me, quivering and wide-eyed.

  I scooped it up in my arms, burying my face in its fur.

  ‘Twitch!’ My voice was muffled. ‘Thank goodness you’re all right!’

  ‘No, not Twitch, I’m afraid,’ said Tabitha from the depths of my hug. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘No wonder,’ I said hoarsely, still clinging to Tabitha. ‘She must have been terrified. She ran away once before when there was a bad storm.’

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Piper called, but I was too upset to answer him.

  ‘No,’ said Tabitha, wriggling out of my grasp. She landed delicately on all fours, then sat and curled her tail round her feet. ‘She didn’t run away . . . she was taken.’

  ‘But . . . why?’

  Tabitha’s golden eyes were solemn. ‘I thought that was obvious. I believe she was mistaken for me.’

  11

  Alice in the Looking Glass

  ‘SO WHOEVER TOOK TWITCH . . . THEY really wanted you?’ I asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Tabitha answered. She licked her paw and smoothed it over her ear, like a lady fussing with her hair.

  ‘Did you see who it was?’

  ‘Not from where I was hiding, no,’ the cat replied. ‘I was asleep, but all the crashing and thumping woke me.’ She glanced about at the mess. ‘Whatever it was they were looking for, I don’t think they found it.’

  I stared at the wreckage of Alice’s room and had a pretty good idea of what they’d been searching for. ‘If they were looking for something in this room, why would they want you?’

  ‘How should I know?’ Tabitha said haughtily. ‘Why wouldn’t they want me? That’s a better question. Talking cats are quite out of the ordinary here apparently.’ She sighed. ‘I really should stop speaking to strangers; it’s a bad habit.’

  I gave her a cold look. ‘Yes. A habit that’s probably got Twitch catnapped. Didn’t it cross your mind to tell them they were taking the wrong cat?’

  ‘And get myself catnapped? I think not. They’ll realise their mistake soon enough and let her go, I would imagine. No harm done.’

  ‘That’s the problem,’ I said. ‘You think, but you don’t know. How can we be sure Twitch is safe? What were you doing up here anyway?’

  The cat blinked insolently. ‘Napping, like I said.’

  ‘You can’t just come and go as you please,’ I said. ‘It’s bad manners.’

  ‘Speaking of manners,’ said Tabitha, ‘I could murder a cup of tea.’

  Once again, I felt the cat was being deliberately awkward and I decided I didn’t trust her. Not one bit.

  ‘Fine. Don’t touch anything. We should check the rest of the house.’

  We climbed down the ladder. Piper and Gypsy were already downstairs, for we could hear their footsteps wandering from room to room. A quick glance in the bedrooms told us they hadn’t been interfered with, and before we even began down the stairs I had the feeling it was only Alice’s room that had been ransacked. The rest of the house was untouched.

  In the living room, a light was flashing on the phone. Someone had left a message. Alice? I grabbed it and pressed the button, holding my breath, but it wasn’t Alice’s voice I heard. It was Dad’s. As always, he kept things short, telling a couple of silly jokes, and said he was coming home in two weeks. I clung to the receiver, wishing he were here now. I pla
yed the message twice, just to hear his voice. Then I hung up, feeling even more alone.

  Piper and Gypsy were in the kitchen. There we found the cause of the thumping noise I’d noticed up in the attic, as well as the draught I’d felt when we’d first entered the house. The back door was open, flapping like a useless wing. The lock had been broken.

  ‘We heard it banging from upstairs,’ Piper said. ‘That’s why we came down. We didn’t touch it in case you want to call the police.’

  I shook my head dully. ‘No point. I don’t think anything’s been taken.’ Apart from the cat, but I couldn’t exactly report that, not with Tabitha as the only witness. People stole pedigrees, not smelly old moggies with bad teeth.

  ‘Can you fix the door?’ I asked Piper.

  ‘Me?’ He looked doubtful. ‘Dunno. I’m more of a breaker than a maker.’

  Gypsy came over and inspected the lock. I think I can fix it. Do you have any tools?

  I fetched the toolbox from the cupboard under the stairs. Piper looked relieved as she set to work. He pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  ‘Who were you talking to upstairs?’ he asked. ‘Is your sister back?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘Alice definitely isn’t back.’

  ‘So who . . . oh, hello.’

  Tabitha had jumped on to the table and sat in front of him, looking at the teapot expectantly. Piper lifted his hand and ran it along the cat’s tail.

  ‘And what’s your name, puss?’ he murmured.

  ‘Tabitha,’ she replied, flicking her tail. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Whoa!’ Piper jumped up from his chair, scraping it along the kitchen floor. ‘How did that . . . I mean, what—?’

  ‘Whoops,’ said the cat. ‘See what I mean?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ I snapped. ‘You can’t keep quiet for five minutes, can you?’

  ‘I can’t help it, I’m thirsty,’ Tabitha complained. ‘And I’ve had a shock. It’s hard to concentrate when I’m parched.’

  ‘I’m making your tea now.’ I filled up the kettle and threw a handful of tea bags into the pot.

  ‘Lovely,’ said the cat. ‘Milk and two sugars. Sweet tea is good for shock.’

  ‘It d-drinks tea?’ said Piper. ‘What kind of a cat drinks tea?’

  ‘The kind that talks,’ I said sarcastically. ‘You’ve never met a cat that talks before?’

  ‘Not since I was a kid,’ said Piper. ‘I thought they’d all been rounded up and killed.’

  It was my turn to stare.

  ‘You’ve seen cats that talk before?’ I asked, unsure if he was fooling me.

  ‘You haven’t?’

  ‘No.’

  He shrugged, taking his seat again. ‘Like I said, I haven’t seen any for years.’

  Gypsy drew closer to the table, nibbling her lip. Seeing her now, in our house, it was hard to believe she wasn’t Alice.

  Piper nodded to Tabitha. ‘When was the last time you saw a mischief?’

  ‘A mischief?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s what they’re called,’ said Piper. ‘Cos they usually lead to trouble.’

  Gypsy shrugged. Not since I was a little girl.

  ‘I’m not mischievous,’ said the cat. ‘I just want a quiet life with lots of naps and the odd cup of tea.’

  You shouldn’t keep these cats, Gypsy wrote. You can get into a lot of trouble where I’m from if you’re found harbouring them.

  ‘It’s not my cat,’ I said, setting a cup of tea in front of Tabitha. ‘It just arrived out of . . .’ I caught myself in time. ‘Out of nowhere.’

  ‘Must still be a few out there then,’ Piper said. ‘Even if people don’t realise it. Making out they’re ordinary cats.’ His mouth twisted as he observed Tabitha lapping daintily from her teacup. ‘Ones that are better at it, too.’

  ‘You said you can get into trouble for having them where you come from,’ I said. I slid into a chair next to where Gypsy stood. ‘Where is that?’

  Gypsy set her notebook on the table and sat down. Everywhere and nowhere, she wrote. I go where the waters take me. But I grew up in a town called Twisted Wood, and the house I lived in was like this. She looked round the kitchen. A lot like this.

  ‘What brought you to Fiddler’s Hollow?’ I asked.

  I don’t know. I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. This town isn’t on any of my maps; that’s why I moored and got out to ask directions. She frowned. It’s like this place doesn’t exist.

  I stared at the woodgrain in the table surface, imagining that the lines were roads leading to faraway places: places that were only real in Alice’s imagination. How soon before Gypsy figured out that it was her map that didn’t exist, not Fiddler’s Hollow?

  ‘How about you, Piper?’ I asked.

  ‘I didn’t mean to come here, either.’ His dark eyebrows knotted together. ‘I was hitch-hiking. Didn’t really care where I was going as long as it was south. This is where I ended up.’ He glanced at Gypsy. ‘On exactly the same day as you.’

  Gypsy looked at each of us in turn, seeming to shrink in her chair. She thought for a moment, then started to write.

  Something weird is going on here. The last time I saw Piper was six years ago, and now he turns up on the same day as I do in a town that doesn’t exist, as well as a mischief. The story I’ve been searching for turns out to be unfinished, and written by your sister, who happens to look exactly like me. Not only that, but someone else wants this story, too. Badly. She looked at me, hard. Are you sure there’s nothing else you should have told me?

  I forced myself to look at her, certain she knew I was squirming. ‘Odd things have been happening ever since Alice went missing. I don’t know what’s happening, either, or why.’

  A gust of wind shook the back door, rattling us all.

  Gypsy stood up and went over to it, examining the broken lock. She took a screwdriver from the toolbox and began to work on it. Splinters of wood around the lock came away like loose teeth.

  ‘I don’t want to stay here tonight,’ I said, before I could stop myself. ‘It doesn’t feel safe any more.’

  The cat looked up from her tea and hiccuped. ‘I doubt she’ll be back any time soon.’

  I whipped round to face her. ‘She?’

  ‘Didn’t I mention that it was a girl who took your cat?’

  ‘You said you didn’t see who it was.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Tabitha confirmed. ‘Not the face anyway. I only saw her shoes – right fancy, they were. Pointed with little red bows.’

  Piper’s hands flattened against the tabletop. ‘That’s her. The one who’s got the notebook.’

  I nodded, shivering at the thought of those cold, blue eyes searching through our home, Alice’s things. ‘Dolly.’

  Another horrible thought struck me. ‘Tabitha,’ I said urgently. ‘My mum . . . she came back to get her bags earlier. She wasn’t here, was she? She didn’t get in the way . . . or get hurt?’

  ‘No,’ said Tabitha. ‘I heard her leaving. She’s quite safe.’

  ‘So it can’t have been long before we got back.’ My knees felt shaky. I was glad I was sitting down.

  ‘It wasn’t,’ Tabitha confirmed. She began to wash her whiskers, more relaxed now she’d had her tea.

  ‘I don’t want to stay here,’ I repeated. ‘But there’s nowhere else we can go.’ I stared round the kitchen. Everything was there just like it normally was: the toaster, the drippy tap, the clock ticking closer to midnight. Ordinary, homely things. Only tonight they felt different. Unfamiliar. It felt as if everything in the house had eyes and was watching us like unseen, lurking spiders.

  We sat wordlessly, only the ticking clock breaking the silence. Gypsy pushed her notebook towards me.

  You can stay with me tonight.

  I didn’t need telling twice. ‘I’ll go and pack some things,’ I said.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the cat interrupted. She was staring into her teacup.

  ‘You’ll have to wait,
Tabitha,’ I said crossly. ‘I don’t have time to make you tea all night.’

  ‘That’s not what I was going to say actually,’ Tabitha sniffed. ‘I was trying to tell you that there’s a girl in my teacup.’ She peered closer. ‘Are you sure that was ordinary tea?’

  Piper leaned over the cup and gave a low whistle.

  I leaped out of my seat, grabbing the cup. The tea dregs sloshed up the sides, then stilled at the bottom. Already I could see a face forming there, reflected back at us.

  I gasped. ‘Alice?’

  Chairs scraped and tools clattered to the floor as four heads – one of them furry – crowded round the teacup.

  ‘Get back, it’s too dark to see with all of us leaning over!’ Piper complained.

  ‘You get back!’ I elbowed him, panicking. I’d forgotten all about the Summoning, but it had worked, even if it was in a way I hadn’t expected it to. Alice was here and I hadn’t even thought about what to say to her. One question . . . just one . . . and she’d be gone. I couldn’t bear it. Perhaps the cat had been right – perhaps I could keep her talking longer, without asking questions, if I was clever enough.

  ‘That’s your sister?’ Piper said incredulously. ‘Why’s she in a teacup?’

  ‘I do hope that doesn’t upset my tummy,’ said Tabitha. ‘This is most absurd.’

  ‘Everyone just shut up!’ I roared, slapping my hand on the table, then wishing I hadn’t. Alice’s face rippled, then stilled again. The kitchen was silent. ‘I need to think. The rules of the Summoning say that you can only ask one question. But one question won’t be enough. I can’t just ask her where she is, if she’s safe, or why all this is happening. Or how we get her back. I need to know all these things, not just one.’

  ‘So you decided to take my advice,’ said Tabitha. ‘Maybe you are more sensible than I gave you credit for.’

  ‘I wouldn’t take advice from a mischief,’ said Piper.

  ‘I wouldn’t offer any to a thief,’ she shot back.

  ‘Quiet!’ I said, exasperated. I leaned over the cup. ‘Alice? I hope you can hear me.’

  Alice’s lips moved, but only bubbles came out.

  My heart sank. ‘Maybe it doesn’t work if you don’t ask a question.’