Lainey touched my arm. ‘Look, Alice,’ she said softly. ‘We were stupid. Wrong. We were out of order, Yaz and I, and we want to put it right. We’ve been telling Savvy what a cool person you are; how we used to be really good friends. We suggested she might ask you along to one of her sleepovers.’
‘You suggested?’
‘Well, yeah. And Savvy was fine with it. I mean, I’m not saying she’s going to want to be your new best friend; she doesn’t accept just anyone into her friendship group. She plays games with people sometimes, but she doesn’t mean any real harm.’
I blinked hard, because I really, really didn’t want to cry in front of Lainey. I wasn’t sure whether to be hurt about how she had treated me, or happy that she wanted to put it right. As for Savvy being a game-player, that was nothing I didn’t already know. She was the puppet master and Lainey and Yaz were her puppets; I knew all too well who was pulling the strings.
‘I have feelings, Lainey,’ I said, as calmly as I could. ‘I’m not some toy for you and Yaz and Savvy to pick up and put down when you feel like it. I’m a person, not a game!’
‘I know that!’ Lainey argued. ‘I swear I do. I’m not proud of how I treated you, Alice. Call it insecurity, hormones, jealousy; call it what you like, but I know I was wrong. I want to fix things, I really do. That’s what this sleepover is about – for me, anyway. Please come. I won’t let Savvy do anything mean. No games, no pranks. OK?’
Right up until a day or so ago, I’d have turned my back on all the bad stuff I’d been through in a heartbeat just to have my old friends back. Now, I wasn’t sure.
The hurt of what Lainey had said was lodged in my heart like a rusty blade.
Lainey sighed. ‘It’s no excuse, but the last few years have been pretty awful for me, you know. Family stuff. I think I was kind of jealous of you; your family were lovely, and mine … well, things were the opposite of lovely, as you know. It was just like everything started to go right for you at the same time as it was going wrong for me, and it didn’t seem fair. It was childish and stupid of me to think that way, and I want to put that right. Please come tomorrow, Alice. For me? I’ll stick up for you, I promise.’
I wasn’t sure if I could trust Lainey’s promises, not any more, but I wanted to. I wanted to more than anything else in the world.
15
Alice’s House
It is half past two on Tuesday afternoon and Laura Beech is fresh out of the shower and asleep on the sofa, a duvet pulled over her head to block out the daylight. She is sleeping on the sofa because it is right next to the phone, and she doesn’t want to miss a call from the hospital with news. She didn’t want to leave the hospital at all – not while Alice was still unconscious, but even the doctors and nurses have been telling her she needs to get some proper sleep.
Laura is pretty sure sleep isn’t an option, but the moment her head hits the pillow she is gone, lost in a series of dark dreams that morph seamlessly into nightmares of falling, falling, falling.
A siren shrills, jolting her awake, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the phone is ringing. She snatches it up, still groggy from sleep.
‘Mmmph … hello? Has something happened? Is something wrong?’
‘No, no, nothing’s wrong,’ an unfamiliar voice says. ‘At least, nothing else. Am I speaking to Mrs Beech?’
Laura shrugs off the duvet and struggles into an upright position. ‘Yes; who’s calling?’
‘This is Jenny Hunter, Savannah’s mother. I’m just calling to offer you my support, and to see if there’s been any change in Alice’s condition. As you can imagine, Savannah has been worried sick …’
Laura feels a surge of anger flood through her; Jenny Hunter, Savannah’s mother, the woman who went away for the weekend and left a houseful of teenagers to fend for themselves.
‘No change,’ she says through gritted teeth. ‘Alice is still in a coma. We’re lucky she’s alive!’
There’s a brief pause at the other end of the line, then the voice is back, smooth and placatory. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry we all are. Such a dreadful, dreadful accident. It’s shaken us all up terribly. I believe Savannah was trying to befriend Alice, because she was very quiet at school, but of course, it all went terribly wrong …’
‘You could say that,’ Laura grates out. Inside, she is boiling with anger; she wants to shout and scream and throw the phone across the room. She wants someone to blame, and this Jenny woman is an easy target.
‘If there’s anything at all we can do …’
Laura tries to bite her tongue and fails. ‘It’s a little late for that,’ she says. ‘Perhaps if you’d been at home on the night of the accident, looking after those five girls instead of flitting off to enjoy your luxury break in … in … Cornwall, was it? Perhaps that might have helped. Because I can’t help feeling that something very strange was going on when everyone but Alice was fast asleep in bed at one in the morning, and yet she was fully dressed and wearing a coat and shoes as if she was planning to come home.’
‘My elder daughter, Carina, was keeping an eye on them,’ Jenny protests.
‘Not very well, by all accounts,’ Laura snaps, but her anger is ebbing away now and tears threaten. ‘Not very well!’
‘Oh, Mrs Beech, all this must be dreadful for you,’ the voice sweeps on. ‘And of course I feel terrible that we weren’t there, but that weekend had been planned for months; it was our wedding anniversary. And then at the last moment Savannah said she wanted a friend to come over – Erin. I didn’t want to disappoint her. And of course Carina is seventeen and very responsible; and she promised she’d look after everything. I had no reason to believe that anything could or would go wrong!’
Laura can feel herself folding, crumpling and curling up in a sad, defeated slump.
‘Savvy didn’t mention anything about Yaz and Lainey and Alice, but of course I know now that she’d invited them over too,’ Jenny Hunter says. ‘I have had a very stern talk to Savvy about that; about honesty and respect. If it’s any consolation, she is very sorry. We all are. Nobody had any idea things could turn out like this!’
‘No. No, of course not,’ Laura concedes. ‘I’m just – well, worried sick. And very, very tired.’
Jenny Hunter bulldozes on, but her voice is kinder now. ‘You poor, poor woman – I can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling. I know in your shoes I’d be going out of my mind with worry. Is there anything I can do? Drop off a casserole? Help with lifts? Get some groceries delivered? I have an account with Ocado; it would be no trouble at all. Just let me know.’
‘No, no; we’re fine,’ Laura says, her voice no more than a whisper.
‘Well, that’s all I was ringing for, really. To pass on my condolences. Oh, that’s probably not the right word – my sympathy. You know what I mean. Savannah really is very distressed; she’s been asking me if she can visit, but I don’t suppose …’
Laura thinks of Alice, lying in the wheeled bed with the white coverlet in the Intensive Care Unit, the tangle of wires and the jumble of monitors bleeping and pulsing, the nurses gliding soundlessly in to change a drip, check on blood pressure, administer meds. She doesn’t want anyone to see her daughter like that; a shell of a person, broken, lost.
Then again, perhaps Jenny Hunter and her daughter should see just what they’ve done.
‘I’ll ask about visitors,’ she says. ‘I’ll ask.’
16
Alice
‘Hello there, I’m Mr Williams, the neurosurgeon who operated on you a few days ago. How are you? I hear you’re doing very well, very well indeed; I’m hoping that you’ll be back with us shortly. Now, I’m just going to go through the reactive tests again, so if you can feel anything, please let me know.’
The Caterpillar looks at me for a few moments in silence. ‘Well,’ it says at last, languidly. ‘Who are you?’
I open my mouth to answer, and then falter. It feels like a trick question.
‘I kn
ew who I was when I got up this morning,’ I say, uncertainly. ‘But I’ve changed a few times since then …’
‘What do you mean by that?’ the Caterpillar demands. ‘Explain yourself!’
‘I can’t,’ I argue. ‘Because I’m not myself! I can’t remember things as I used to.’
‘Remember what things?’ the Caterpillar asks.
My mind reaches out for a wisp of memory; but there’s nothing there at all.
Saturday
I put on the blue dress, arranged the net petticoat underneath so the skirt flared out, vintage style, then tied on the white apron. I used crimpers to sizzle my mouse-brown hair into tiny, perfect waves and tied in a thin blue ribbon.
I looked in the mirror and saw a girl I barely recognized. She looked different from the Alice who’d played this part almost two years ago; she was older, wiser, warier. Life had not worked out the way she’d imagined, and I could see a sadness in her eyes and wished it wasn’t there.
I twirled in front of the mirror and my dress swished pleasingly. The sticky-out skirt made my waist look tiny and the fitted top showed off curves that definitely hadn’t been there two years ago. The stripy tights gave the whole thing a kind of cool, anime twist and I was wearing black Mary-Jane shoes with a little heel; I’d customized them by sticking on red felt hearts and ribbon bows. I’d spent an hour trying to get my eyeliner just right, testing out different versions of barely-there smudgy eye shadow. I’d borrowed Mum’s mascara but didn’t dare try it for fear of poking myself in the eye and ending up looking bloodshot and pathetic.
I smiled as brightly as I could, chasing away the sadness. Tonight, just maybe, I could peel away the last eighteen months, start over. Dressed as Alice, I felt stronger – more like my eleven-year-old self, the girl who had owned the makeshift stage at George Street Primary and wowed the audience into a standing ovation. OK, not all by myself, maybe, but I had definitely been a part of it.
I had loved that feeling; there was nothing else like it in the world. I’d felt brave, beautiful, invincible – and maybe I could feel that way again.
I remembered, just after the play, reading the sequel to Alice in Wonderland; it was called Through the Looking-Glass. In that book, Alice didn’t fall down a rabbit hole; she pushed through the mirror above her sitting room mantelpiece and got back to Wonderland that way.
I pressed a palm against the cold, shiny mirror glass now, but it didn’t give way. I guess that would have been way too easy, but I couldn’t help wishing I could step through the glass into a world where everything was subtly different; a world where I had friends.
Instead, I had no option but to do it the hard way.
A sleepover at Savvy’s house. It was like being offered a plate of cakes, each one with an ‘eat me’ label attached, and having to choose. I had no way of knowing if the cake I picked would make me taller or smaller, brighter or cooler or maybe just freakishly weird. If only I could stay calm, hit lucky and pick the right one.
I wasn’t kidding myself; there would only be one right choice, and it was more than possible that I’d mess up and end up worse off than ever.
Still, I figured it was worth the risk.
Right now, I had nothing to lose. So what if the whole night turned out to be a nightmare? So what if Savvy planned to have a laugh at my expense; if Lainey failed to stop her? It didn’t matter, because it would be no worse, no different from what I was already living with. I’d survive.
And if I managed to say the right things, do the right things, make the right impression? Well, my life would change forever. I didn’t trust Savvy Hunter and a part of me was scared of her, but still, I knew that she was my way out of obscurity. I was kind of in awe of her.
I gave a little wave to the girl in the mirror, and she waved back, smiling, as if she knew something I didn’t.
I pulled on a duffel coat because the weather was still cold for March, and picked up my holdall, carefully packed with pyjamas, sleeping bag and a Tupperware box of jam tarts I’d made that morning with cute pastry hearts on top. Gran had showed me how to make them when I was really little, and they were the one thing I knew I could get right. I didn’t know if Savvy would think they were cool or childish; I’d just have to hope for the best.
‘Have fun, sweetie,’ Mum said as I came downstairs. ‘Remember, if there’s any problem, or you want to come home early …’
‘I’ll be fine,’ I insisted. ‘Don’t fuss.’
‘Well. You know where we are. Do you have your mobile?’
‘Yes, Mum.’
Dad was giving me a lift to Savvy’s. He didn’t talk much as we drove across town; just told me it was nice to see me going out again, seeing friends.
‘This Savvy lives on the posh side of town, doesn’t she?’ he remarked as we turned off the main road and drove towards Laburnum Avenue. ‘Big houses.’
Dad was right; the streets here were wide and tree-lined, the houses tall red-brick Victorian semis with fancy bay windows. It didn’t surprise me – I’d heard the rumours at school about her living in a posh house. And Savvy had looks and charm and popularity, so why not money too?
I asked Dad to stop on the corner so that I could walk the last little way to number 118 and he didn’t frown or argue like Mum might have done. Perhaps he knew I needed that last couple of minutes alone to gather my thoughts and my courage.
I had left Alice Beech behind. I walked along the street, my heels clicking against the pavement, my crimped hair lifting a little in the breeze, candyfloss light. With every step I felt stronger, braver; a fizz of excitement ran through me.
What was the worst that could happen? That they hadn’t dressed up, that it was all a prank designed to make me look silly? I could handle that. I thought I could handle most things. I wanted to make Savvy glad she’d invited me. I wanted to have fun, and if that wasn’t possible, I would pretend, act my way through.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Dad indicate and turn the car, driving away with a little toot of the horn. I half raised my hand to wave, then opened the gate of number 118 and walked along the path, passing rows of graceful red tulips. The front door was painted a glossy royal blue and had a stained glass window and an old-fashioned letterbox made of shiny brass.
I pressed the doorbell, took a deep breath and prepared myself to fall down the rabbit hole.
17
Ardenley General Hospital, Wednesday
Mrs Hunter is half hidden behind the biggest bouquet of flowers imaginable. Her daughter Savvy is carrying grapes, chocolate, a teen magazine; she looks scared – a million miles from the cool, confident girl who rules Year Eight at St Elizabeth’s. Her eyeliner is perfect, her glittery eyeshadow unsmudged, but still, her eyes look pink from crying.
‘Goodness,’ Laura Beech says. ‘What amazing flowers! Are they for Alice?’
‘We thought she might like them,’ Mrs Hunter says. ‘Brighten the place up!’
‘Well, yes,’ Laura agrees, taking the flowers and looking around for a nurse. Flowers are not allowed in Alice’s ICU room – it is all monitors and screens and smooth, scrubbable surfaces – but a helpful ward assistant takes the flowers, finds a vase and makes a nice display in the visitors’ waiting area.
‘I brought these,’ Savvy says, holding out her own offerings. ‘So she doesn’t get bored. And you always bring grapes to people in hospital, don’t you?’
‘I’m sure she’ll love them, when she wakes up,’ Laura agrees.
‘She’s still unconscious?’ Savvy checks. ‘Does that mean … well, will she be all right, when she wakes up? Will she be, you know, normal?’
Laura feels the breath catch in her throat. This is a question she hasn’t dared to ask, hasn’t even dared to think. But the doctors would have mentioned it, surely, if they felt that Alice might wake up somehow damaged. Not normal. The question tries to lodge itself in Laura’s mind, but she brushes it away impatiently and smiles brightly.
‘Yes, she’ll be fin
e, absolutely fine, don’t worry.’
Savvy nods, reassured. ‘And will she lose her memory? I’ve seen things on TV where people in a coma wake up and can’t remember anything. Do you think that might happen?’
Mrs Hunter frowns. ‘Savannah, that’s enough; we’re here to visit and be supportive, not to interrogate!’
Laura lets her gaze drift away to the window of Alice’s room. Inside, her daughter lies still and silent; a girl frozen in time. Laura knows the questions are natural, inevitable, and she tries to answer truthfully.
‘We don’t know yet, Savannah,’ she says. ‘Right now we’re so focused on waiting for her to wake up that we haven’t thought very far beyond that. There’s no reason to suppose Alice will have memory loss, or any other problems, but it’s certainly possible. It was kind of you to come, Savannah; we’re hoping that having one of her friends talk to her could help to bring Alice back to us.’
‘So she’ll be able to hear me?’ Savvy asks. ‘I can talk to her?’
‘I’m pretty sure she’ll be able to hear you,’ Laura says. ‘You can just chat away as normal; that’s what I do. The doctors say it might help. Shall we go in?’
She ushers Savvy into the room and gestures towards the chair at the bedside. Savvy perches on the edge of it, looking terrified.
‘Alice?’ Laura says, stroking her daughter’s pale cheek. ‘Your friend is here – Savannah. She’s been so worried about you, but hopefully now she can see that you’re definitely on the mend. I’ll leave you two girls together, shall I?’
Savvy watches Alice’s mum retreat, hears her asking Mrs Hunter if she’d like a coffee. The two of them move out of earshot, out of sight, and Savvy leans forward, her lower lip trembling, and forces herself to look at Alice.
‘Can you hear me, Alice?’ she asks. ‘Can you, or are they just pretending, just kidding themselves? Because you don’t look like you’re asleep, Alice. You look really sick, and all those wire things … those machines … it’s scary. I hope you get better. I hope you do wake up, because I have seen on TV and in the papers about people who stay in a coma for years and years, and never, ever wake up. I couldn’t stand it if that happened to you, Alice.’
Looking Glass Girl Page 5
