The Switch Up

by Katy Cannon

  “Alice… What’s the deal with your mum?”

  She looked away, but I could see she’d gone pale.

  “Mum … she died. About four years ago now.”

  I bit my lip. No wonder Alice didn’t want some other woman coming in and taking her mum’s place. It was bad enough my dad running off with another woman, but at least I still had them both.

  “I’m sorry.” That was what you said when someone told you something awful and sad, right? Mum was better at it than me. I’d watched her, taking someone’s hand, making sympathetic noises, saying all the right things. But I just felt awkward and wrong.

  Alice shook her head and sent me a slightly wobbly smile. “You needed to know anyway, before you meet Mabel. Now, send me that photo of you and your mum.”

  “Why?” I frowned, but did as she asked.

  Alice didn’t answer. Instead, a few swipes later, she held up her phone to show me the home screen, featuring me and Mum.

  “No one would think this wasn’t your phone now, right?” She peered at the photo again. “And I guess it could just about pass as me, as long as I’m wearing your clothes…”

  I looked at Alice, and at the photo again. “Maybe I can do something with your hair,” I suggested.

  She looked relieved. “That would help.” She picked up a strand of her long, dark hair. “I never know what to do with it.”

  “Online tutorials,” I told her. “I’ll send you some links. And in the meantime, tell me all about you. Or, rather, me, for the next few weeks.”

  It was time to get into character.

  The midnight clothes swap went without a hitch, even though I spent the whole time I was changing into Willa’s clothes reminding myself that this was crazy.

  We switched passports and hand luggage too. I held on to my phone and my laptop, but otherwise all my worldly possessions were suddenly Willa’s.

  And I had hers.

  There were no books in Willa’s carry-on bag, I realized quickly, although there were a few magazines and the headphones she’d been using with her tablet. I pulled those out and she held out her hand to take them. Using my cheap ear buds instead was a step too far for Willa.

  I smothered a giggle at the thought. Willa would be wearing my clothes, my underwear, living my life for the next three weeks – but somehow ear buds were the line we were drawing?

  Willa just shrugged when I mentioned it. “You can have many things, but not my Beats headphones.”

  It was fair enough. Willa’s over-ear, wireless headphones probably cost more than the entire contents of my rucksack.

  “Anything else you want from in here?” I asked in a whisper. I pulled out a make-up bag, and opened the zip. It was filled with the sort of expensive make-up I only ever saw on TV adverts. I wasn’t sure what Willa was going to make of my lip-gloss, powder and mascara-for-special-occasions make-up bag.

  Willa reached out for the brow kit at the top of the bag, then pulled her hand back and shook her head. “What about you? Anything you want to keep from your bag?”

  I bit my lip and, after a moment’s thought, reached out to retrieve my notebook and small pencil case. I might be pretending to be Willa, but I was still Alice really, and I got … unsettled if I didn’t have somewhere to write down all my thoughts and feelings.

  The counsellor I saw after Mum died had suggested the journaling, and three years later it was such a part of me I couldn’t imagine not doing it. I’d just have to be super careful that no one found it while I was in Italy. And maybe write in code or something. Or maybe just English would do, actually, since I was in a foreign country.

  A horrible thought occurred to me. “Your aunt does speak English, right?” How had I not thought of that before?

  Willa shrugged, as if to say ‘not my problem’. “I guess so. I don’t speak Italian, so she won’t be expecting you to.”

  That wasn’t quite the same thing. Oh well. I supposed I’d muddle through. Being immersed in a language was the best way to learn it, anyway. I had a knack for languages, my teachers said.

  “OK, time to fix your hair,” Willa said, and I tried not to groan.

  I’d spent years battling to make my hair do anything besides hang limply on either side of my head. Usually these days I just parted it on the right and hoped for the best.

  Apparently that wasn’t enough for Willa. Her hair was parted on the other side, with a sort of zigzag part, falling in loose waves over her shoulders. I was pretty sure mine would never look like that.

  “It doesn’t need to,” Willa said, when I expressed my concern. “Look, I’ll put it in a simple braid for you now, OK? Then you can watch some tutorials on your laptop when you get there for some more ideas.”

  “You realize your aunt probably doesn’t know or care how you wear your hair?” I pointed out, as she tugged the front of my hair into three sections and started braiding, taking in extra hair from the sides on each turn, as she weaved it round the front of my head, down behind my left ear. “I mean, it’s long and dark like yours. That’s probably enough, right?”

  “Who said I was doing this for my aunt?” Willa asked, as she tied off my braid below my left shoulder, then fiddled with the higher-up bits, tugging on parts of the plait to make it looser. “I just think it’ll look pretty this way. See?”

  She pulled a mirror out of her – my – bag, and held it up for me to examine the results. The plait looked like the sort of complicated style that took hours to create but Willa had managed it in no time and I had to admit, it did look pretty. I was certain I’d never be able to recreate it on my own, though.

  “It’s a Dutch braid,” Willa explained. “Looks more complicated than it is.”

  “I love it.” My hair had never looked so good. I looked like a different person.

  I looked like Willa.

  And suddenly I started to believe that maybe I could do this.

  Three hours later – 1 a.m. LA time, and 9 a.m. London – we landed at Heathrow, both of us exhausted from the lack of sleep but totally wired. Oonagh passed us over to yet another Unaccompanied Minors person, who ticked us off on his list as we introduced ourselves as each other. Willa’s name felt weird in my mouth, but Willa seemed to have no problem at all saying, “I’m Alice Wright.”

  Then it was time to go through passport control.

  My chest tightened as we joined a short queue, and the red leather jacket felt unfamiliar and too heavy on my shoulders. As I clutched Willa’s passport I realized my palm was slippery with sweat. This was our first real test.

  What’s the worst thing that could happen? My mum’s voice sounded in my head, the words she would always say when I was worried about something – school or friends or a choir concert or whatever.

  The worst thing that could happen this time was that we’d get caught out. We’d claim that we’d mixed up our passports by mistake (Willa had already thought of that on the plane) and switch back. Even if they didn’t believe us, we could probably pass it off as a prank on the UM person, like Willa had suggested. One way or another, I’d spend the summer in London after all.

  Now, what’s the best thing that could happen?

  Mum always wanted us to look for the good in the world. The excitement, the magic. The best things.

  The best thing that could happen was… I’d spend an amazing summer in Italy. I’d make new friends, learn a new language, see new places … visit that waterfall. Then hopefully by the time I headed back to the UK to meet Dad, Mabel would be a thing of the past.

  Besides, it was too late to turn back now. Forcing myself to smile, I handed over Willa’s passport and waited as the official scrutinized it.

  Was he taking too long? It felt like he was taking too long. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the truth from jumping out of my mouth.

  “Welcome back to the UK, Miss Andrews,” he said, handing me back the passport.

  I tried to take it without grabbing, then looked back as Willa collected my pass
port from the official at the next desk over. She looked strangely more like me with her hair parted differently. Then she threw me a grin that was pure Willa.

  We’d done it. Part one complete.

  Now we needed to convince Aunt Sofia and Mabel.

  “What does your suitcase look like?” Willa whispered in my ear as we approached the luggage carousel.

  “Navy blue with a light blue ribbon on the handle. Yours?”

  “Pink and lime green flowers.”

  “Of course.”

  It took real effort not to grab my navy suitcase when I saw it come down the conveyor belt. Instead, I nudged Willa. And when, a few minutes later, I saw a neon pink flowery case appear, I didn’t need her to tell me.

  “Right, shall we go find your relatives?” the UM guy asked us all.

  “Mabel’s not my relative,” Willa said, as me. “She’s my dad’s girlfriend.” Her tone made it very clear what she – or I – felt about that.

  Maybe it was for the best that we’d be in different countries. It was already getting confusing!

  The arrivals hall was packed with people meeting their loved ones, and drivers holding up signs. Our UM guide led us to a small ‘Information’ stand. Willa and I hung back as he prepared to address the people milling around it.

  Suddenly, I felt the panic rising inside me again as I realized that this was it. I was Willa now. My breathing got faster, and I couldn’t slow it down, and I clenched my fists tight – until the real Willa grabbed my hand.

  “Death or glory, right?” she whispered.

  “Think of the story,” I finished softly, letting out a longer breath at last. “You’ll message me as soon as you can?”

  “Before you even make it to Italy,” Willa promised. “Good luck being me!”

  “You too.”

  And then the UM guy was talking again, and there was no time to say anything more.

  “Right, can I ask that you all have your paperwork and ID ready as you come forwards to collect your Unaccompanied Minors?” he said, and there was a rustle of paper from the group.

  “Willa Andrews,” he said, and Willa gave me a small push forwards, as a youngish woman with dark hair and dark eyes approached the stand.

  “Hi, I’m Sofia Toscana, here to collect my niece Willa.” She handed over a form and an Italian passport and waited for the guy to check it.

  I glanced back at Willa, who gave me a quick thumbs up before ducking behind some other passengers.

  “OK.” The man handed back the passport and paperwork and gave Sofia a nod.

  I was up.

  “Hi, Aunt Sofia,” I said, a little nervously. I was glad Willa was hiding. Otherwise the similarity between her and her aunt might be too obvious to ignore. Half-aunt or not, she had Willa’s eyes, and the same hair too.

  “Willa!” Sofia burst into a broad, unsuspecting grin, and wrapped me up tight in her arms. “It’s so wonderful to meet you! I couldn’t believe it when your dad said you were fourteen already. You grew up!”

  I gave a cautious smile. “Well, that happens, I guess.”

  “And you look so like the photos I’ve seen of your mother!” She took my suitcase handle from me, and started wheeling it across the arrivals hall. I risked a glance back at Willa, and saw her standing stiff-backed as she was hugged by a tall blond woman.

  Mabel.

  I looked away again quickly before she spotted me watching, my heart racing.

  “Antonio has our bags over at the restaurant. We’ve a while before our flight home, so we thought we’d take you to brunch!”

  “Great!” I said, trying desperately to remember if Willa had ever mentioned an Antonio. “Um, is Antonio one of your foster children?” I guessed. “Wi—I mean, Dad mentioned that you had some other kids staying with you.”

  “That’s right! Antonio’s the eldest – you’ll meet his brother and sister when we get home. We were over here looking at UCL for Antonio for next year. He’s half English, you see, like me, and he wanted to consider a UK university. Look, there he is!” Sofia waved towards a chain restaurant ahead of us, and a tall, dark, utterly gorgeous guy a few years older than me stood up and waved back.

  Yeah, I was almost certain Willa hadn’t known about Antonio. Apparently when her dad mentioned the foster kids, he hadn’t told her that one of them was seventeen and gorgeous. No way Willa would have given up the chance to stay in Italy with him! Maybe my hopes of ticking ‘first crush’ off my Life To-Do List weren’t so crazy after all.

  I checked behind me one last time, but Willa and Mabel were already gone.

  My braid swished over my shoulder, and I tried on a Willa smile. Somehow, I felt like I really was a different person already.

  Maybe not being Alice for a while would be good for me. A chance to try on a new personality. A more confident and spontaneous one.

  A happier one, even.

  “Alice Wright?”

  As the man behind the desk called Alice’s name, I stopped watching her walk away with my aunt and tried to give my full attention to the role at hand. Even if a part of me was still thinking how like Dad Aunt Sofia looked. Just younger and lots prettier.

  Tucking my hair behind my ears like I’d watched Alice do every time she got nervous about our plan, I stepped forwards. I tried for Alice’s tentative smile, and hoped that her new step-mum-to-be wouldn’t notice the lack of freckles across my nose, or the darkness of my eyes.

  A blond woman, taller than me, with her hair in choppy waves to her shoulders, jerked forwards to give me an awkward hug.

  “Alice! It’s so great to meet you at last. Your dad has told me so much about you. I’m Mabel. Which you probably already guessed.” Her hug got even more awkward when I didn’t hug her back – but that was part of my role too, right? Hating my prospective Evil Step-mother.

  “Um, I thought we could take the Tube to my flat?” Mabel stepped back, her eyes darting from my face to my suitcase to over my shoulder where I’d seen the sign for the Underground. She flicked her hair nervously away from her face. Huh. Maybe she and Alice would have had more in common than Alice had thought. “Unless you want to eat here first? Are you hungry? Or do you just want to get home for a nap? To help with the jet lag? I mean, either’s fine by me. Whatever you want.”

  She even rambled like Alice. “Tube is fine,” I said, hoisting Alice’s rucksack on to my shoulder. It was a sensible, dark blue waterproof one, with tiny daisies on it. Very Alice. God only knew what she had in it, but it weighed a ton. I guessed I’d find out when I unpacked. Alice had checked every inch of my bag on the plane, but I’d only had a quick peek at hers. I hadn’t seen any hand weights, but maybe I’d missed them…

  Mabel took my suitcase for me, and we walked side by side towards the escalator down to the Underground. When I was travelling with my parents, we would get a cab to Euston station for our train home. It was kind of fun to be taking the Tube like a real Londoner.

  I wondered where Mabel lived. Was it anywhere near Oxford Street and all the good shops? Because I really needed to do something about Alice’s clothes, if the ones I was wearing were representative of what was in her suitcase. There hadn’t been time to switch anything from our main cases, which meant I only had Alice’s bras for the next three weeks, other than the one I was wearing. Too-small bras were not a good look, never mind the fashion don’ts I was sure the rest of her wardrobe held. Alice’s clothes suited Alice fine, I was sure. They just weren’t very me.

  Even if I was being Alice, that didn’t mean I couldn’t upgrade her fashion sense, just a little bit.

  “My flat’s up in North London,” Mabel said, as she bumped my – or Alice’s – case down a few steps. “But we can get the Tube pretty much straight from here, as long as you don’t mind a little bit of a walk at the other end.”

  “I’ve been basically sitting down for ten hours,” I pointed out. “A walk is fine.”

  “Great!” Mabel seemed overly pleased at my response.


  We negotiated the ticket barriers and the escalators easily enough. Mabel had already bought me an Oyster card and loaded it with credit. She’d put it in a cute card-holder with seashells on it.

  “Your dad told me you loved the seaside,” she said, as she handed it to me.

  “Right. Yeah.” Beaches were fine for sunbathing and stuff but I preferred cities. But Alice had said her dad was a marine biologist, I suddenly remembered. “Love the sea. Just like Dad.”

  Mabel’s nervous expression transformed to a warm smile. “He’s definitely a water person, isn’t he?”

  Oh God. She wanted to talk about her boyfriend with me.

  As the Tube train rattled to a stop at the platform, I realized I was going to have to take control of the dialogue.

  “Tell me about your flat,” I said quickly, as we took our seats. “Is it nice?”

  “I like it,” Mabel said, in the sort of way that told me I probably shouldn’t be expecting too much. Certainly not the four- and five-star hotel standard I’d got used to. “It’s not huge, but it’s got two bedrooms, so you’ll have your own room. And it’s above a florist’s shop, which I love. It means that the scent of the flowers wafts up in the mornings and makes everything smell sweet.” Her eyes widened suddenly. “Wait. You don’t have hay fever, do you? I don’t think your dad said…”

  Did Alice have hay fever? I had no idea. Maybe that was something we should cover in our profiles – allergies and medical issues. Along with, you know, everything else. But since I was the one who’d be living on top of a flower shop, it was just as well that I didn’t suffer from seasonal allergies.

  “No hay fever,” I assured her, and Mabel relaxed.

  “Oh good.” I wondered what she’d have done if I had. Moved house, maybe. She seemed so determined to make this visit perfect, I almost felt sorry for her. However hard she tried to impress me, it wouldn’t make any difference to her relationship with Alice’s dad, or Alice.

  Mabel reached into her handbag and pulled out a thick file full of leaflets and printouts. “Now, I didn’t know what you had planned for these next few weeks, or what you’ve already seen or done before in London, so I just brought everything.” She dumped the file on my lap with a wide smile. “Your dad told me that you like to plan ahead. And I know that coming to stay with me wasn’t in the plan – for any of us, really. But I think it could be a great opportunity for us to get to know each other, and I want to make things as easy for you as I can. It’s a long ride back to mine, so I thought we could get planning together on the way!”