Alice in Time

by Penelope Bush

‘OK,’ I say hesitantly. I’m not sure what’s expected of me.

  ‘I’m sorry you weren’t here, I expect you’d have liked to have seen her. I bet you’re glad you visited her yesterday. I know she was like a grandmother to you, but at least she’s not in pain any more.’

  I sit down on the sofa to take all this in. Why would I have visited Miss Maybrooke? The old me would have had to be carried into the nursing home, kicking and screaming, before she would have visited an old lady. This me is clearly a nicer person.

  I try and look suitably sad. And, to be honest, I am sad. I’m sad that the old me didn’t make friends with Miss Maybrooke and go and visit her, that the old me was too busy being angry with Mum and self-obsessed and selfish to actually go out and get a life.

  ‘I’ll go and make us some hot chocolate,’ says Mum.

  I’m relieved to be alone for a bit. My head is spinning. Where am I? Am I in a parallel universe? This is clearly my life, but it’s not the one I left behind. There’s a clock on the mantelpiece and it says eight-thirty. Time. It always seemed so constant and yet I’ve just travelled through it – twice. And now I don’t know where I am.

  I go out into the hall to hang my jacket up and I catch sight of myself in the hall mirror. Oh my God! It’s not even me! I’ve come back as a different person! When I’ve calmed down a bit and really looked at myself, I realise that it is me. Of course it’s me. Mum’s been calling me Alice, and she is my mum, so I am still me. I just didn’t recognise myself in the mirror because my hair is dead short! I run my hand through it. There are some longer bits framing my face but the top is sticking up like I’ve put gel in it and I swear it’s been dyed because it’s really blonde. I look ‘elfin’ and, at the moment, a bit like a startled rabbit caught in the headlights.

  The more I look at it, the more I like it. It suits me. I definitely look more sophisticated and older than the old me. It’s weird, though. The old me would never have dared have a hairstyle like this. It makes me wonder exactly what this new Alice is like. I mean, I like this style, but am I going to be able to carry it off? I certainly feel more confident than I used to, but am I as confident as this? It’s all very confusing.

  I check out the hair one more time and use a bit of mascara from the wand that’s lying on the shelf below the mirror. I look great and resolve to live up to this ‘new’ image if it kills me.

  Mum comes out of the kitchen carrying two mugs and I follow her back into the sitting room.

  ‘So, what happened?’ she says. ‘Was the party no good?’

  I nearly choke on my hot chocolate. What party? The only party I know about is Sasha’s, and why would I be going to that? Unless . . . Oh my God! Don’t say I’m part of the Handbag Brigade in this life!

  Mum’s looking at me expectantly.

  ‘I . . . um . . . changed my mind. Decided not to bother.’

  That’s when I see something glowing in the corner of the room. It’s a computer. In our sitting room! I go over to check it out.

  ‘Oh, I was just finishing off some work when I was called to the nursing home. I’ll switch it off if you don’t need it,’ says Mum.

  I hit one of the keys and the screensaver disappears. There’s a load of words on the screen but the ones that jump out at me are Key Stage 2. Are they introducing SATs into the nursing home? Then I spot a pile of exercise books beside the computer. The penny drops.

  ‘You’re a teacher!’ I say out loud before I can stop myself.

  Mum gives me a funny look. ‘Well, duh, it was your idea,’ she says in an exaggerated teenage voice which makes me laugh. ‘Where have you been for the last seven years?’

  This makes me laugh even more. I stop suddenly when I realise that there’s a slightly hysterical note in the laughter. I consider telling Mum where I’ve been, but decide against it. She’ll only think I’ve gone mad. As it is she’s staring at me through narrowed eyes.

  ‘Were there drugs at the party?’ she says. She’s trying to sound casual, but I can detect a hint of fear in her voice. I go over and give her a hug.

  ‘I didn’t go to the party, Mum, and I haven’t taken any drugs.’

  ‘Sorry, darling. It’s just that you have been acting strange ever since you got in.’

  I smile at her in what I hope is a reassuring way. I really have to get a grip. Act normal. Pretend everything is fine. In a way, this is harder than going back to being seven. I need to find out some stuff, like who I am now, and why Imogen isn’t here and why the house looks different and how Mum got to be a teacher, and whose party was I meant to be at, and . . . the list seems endless and I feel like my head’s about to explode.

  It feels weird sitting here drinking hot chocolate with Mum. The old me would never have done this – we’d have been arguing within minutes. I try and remember what it was exactly that we argued about. It makes me tired just thinking about it. I must have wasted so much energy on hating Mum. It’s so much better sitting here with her having a normal conversation. Except it isn’t normal, because I don’t know what to say. I lean back into the cushions and try to relax and enjoy the moment. The trouble is, I’ve got all these questions and I need to ask them without her thinking I’m mad.

  I look around the room. ‘Do you remember all that old, dark furniture that was here when we moved in?’

  ‘Oh, heavens, yes,’ says Mum. ‘Wasn’t it gloomy?’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘Well, if I remember rightly, you were a bit scared of it, so I plucked up the courage to tell Miss Maybrooke that it didn’t really suit us and it all went down to the auction house.’

  The mention of Miss Maybrooke has just made me remember something.

  ‘Oh no! Miss Maybrooke! The house! Are we going to have to move?’

  ‘What are you talking about? Why would we want to move?’

  ‘I just thought that maybe . . . with the house being hers and everything . . .’

  Mum’s giving me that look again. ‘Alice, I bought the house off her years ago. You remember? She gave us such a good deal . . .’

  ‘Oh yes . . . of course . . . I remember now. Silly me.’ I decide to change the subject quickly before she starts worrying about drugs again.

  ‘Mum?’ I’m wondering how to put this. ‘Can I talk to you about Dad?’

  ‘I hope you’re not regretting that you didn’t go to his wedding, because it’s a bit late now.’

  Ah, so in this life I refused to go to the wedding from hell. Thank God, I think, remembering the hideous ordeal of the pink dress and the sleazy pub.

  ‘No, no, I’m not regretting that.’

  ‘So, what do you want to discuss then?’

  Good question. I don’t really know. Luckily I don’t have to worry, because Mum fills me in anyway.

  ‘Look, Alice, I’ll be totally honest with you. The main reason I’ve insisted that you see your dad is really for Rory’s sake. I know, if you’d had your own way, you wouldn’t have had anything to do with him, but he is still your dad and I felt that Rory needed a male role model.’

  A picture of Dad in the pub showing Rory how to use the one-arm bandit springs to mind.

  ‘I’m not sure he’s the world’s best role model,’ I tell Mum.

  ‘Well, no – you’re probably right, but he is Rory’s dad, and that will never change. Still, I recognise that as you’re nearly fifteen you do have a right to make up your own mind and I won’t insist that you stay there any more if you’d rather not. But don’t write him off completely, because you might regret it one day. Just keep in touch, OK?’

  ‘I don’t understand how you can forgive him for what he did to us,’ I say. Dad walking out the door is still very fresh in my mind.

  ‘Who says I’ve forgiven him?’ says Mum. ‘The point is it was a long time ago and life goes on.’

  ‘Well, now Trish is pregnant he can make the same mistakes all over again,’ I tell her bitterly. I look over at her, expecting a reprimand for being rude about Dad,
but instead she’s gone all pale and drawn-looking.

  ‘What do you mean, Trish is pregnant? Are you sure? Who told you?’

  Uh-oh, I’ve gone and put my foot in it. And I’m not even sure that Trish is pregnant in this life.

  ‘I don’t know for certain. I just sort of heard – maybe that’s why they got married in such a hurry,’ I say, clutching at straws.

  ‘Well, I hope you’re wrong, for her sake,’ says Mum. Suddenly I’m bored with talking about Dad. I can’t see that any of it has anything to do with us any more.

  Then the phone rings.

  Chapter Three

  Mum answers it and says, ‘Yes, she’s right here,’ and passes it to me.

  ‘Who is it?’ I say frantically into the phone.

  ‘Lucy. Why isn’t your mobile on?’

  Lucy Clark? Why is she ringing me? I thought it might be Imogen. I can only just hear the voice at the other end. There’s a lot of noise in the background.

  ‘Sorry, the battery’s flat,’ I lie automatically. I don’t even know where it is.

  ‘Are you coming? We waited for you, but when you didn’t turn up we went on to the party.’

  This calls for some seriously quick thinking. I need some information.

  ‘The party . . .’ I say vaguely.

  ‘Sasha’s party, remember? Don’t tell me you forgot. It’s all she’s been talking about for weeks.’ Well, that sounds familiar, at least. ‘You have to come,’ Lucy continues. ‘It’s just warming up.’

  ‘Right. Um . . . have I been invited?’

  ‘What is wrong with you?’

  ‘Am I friends with Sasha?’ It comes out before I can stop it.

  ‘Are you going senile or something?’

  Great. Now she thinks I’m mad. Still, that could work to my advantage at the moment.

  ‘Just humour me for a minute, will you?’ I ask her.

  ‘I know it’s not like you’re bosom buddies or anything, but let’s face it – a party’s a party. And it’s not a bad one either, so get your arse down here, will you?’

  I’m just taking in the fact that I’m not one of the Handbag Brigade after all. Thank God for that!

  I can hear someone in the background saying, ‘Give me the phone’ and then another voice comes on. ‘Where have you been? Where are you?’ I think it’s Miranda Wilkes.

  ‘I’m in an alternative universe,’ I tell her.

  ‘Yeah, right, whatever – you have to get here right now. It’s a blast.’ Obviously she’s used to me sounding a bit crazy. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried by that.

  I desperately try to think of an excuse not to go. I mean, these are obviously my friends, but I feel like I need time to get used to that idea before I go swanning off to a party with them. I wonder if it’s the same party I ended up at last time I was fourteen and if it’s going to get invaded by gatecrashers.

  Then it occurs to me; if it’s Sasha’s party then Seth will be there! My heart instantly overrides my head. Besides, I tell myself, what better way to get used to your new life than to throw yourself in at the deep end?

  ‘Mum, can I go along to the party?’

  She immediately comes over all Mumsy. ‘How are you going to get there? You can’t walk there on your own at this time of night, and I can’t take you because I can’t leave Rory.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, it’s not far. I could cut through the park.’

  Wrong thing to say. ‘No, I’m sorry, Alice, but you can’t go now, on your own. Why didn’t you meet up with your friends like you were supposed to?’

  ‘Look, it’s no big deal! I can be there in ten minutes if I run,’ I plead. I really need to go – not only to see Seth but to find out what else is going on in this life of mine.

  ‘No, Alice,’ Mum says with a finality that I recognise.

  I put the phone back to my ear.

  ‘Miranda?’

  ‘No, it’s Lucy again. Are you coming?’

  ‘I can’t.The Gestapo won’t let me out on my own. It seems I have to be escorted everywhere like a seven-year-old,’ I say practically shouting the last bit.

  ‘Oh, bad luck,’ says Lucy, ‘mine’s exactly the same.’ A load of noise erupts in the background. ‘Got to go,’ she yells and hangs up.

  Tears of frustration are building up. I glare at Mum.

  ‘I can’t believe how unfair you are! Why can’t you get Mrs Archer back and then you can take me.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Alice,’ says Mum. ‘The poor woman has only just gone home.’

  ‘I don’t care. You are so mean,’ I tell her stomping to the door. ‘I hate you!’ I yell and run up the stairs.

  I can hear Mum saying ‘Alice?’ in an exasperated voice.

  I slam my bedroom door behind me. Whoa, what was that about? I’m behaving like a seven-year-old. Except I wasn’t even that brattish at seven. Obviously, old habits die hard. Deep down I know I was being unreasonable and I shouldn’t be taking it out on Mum. But I am disappointed about the party.

  I want to see Seth again.

  I’m staring at my bedroom. I can’t believe how great it looks. I’ve still got the big mahogany bed but it looks classy now that the walls have been painted a creamy white and the rest of the furniture is modern. It’s not obsessively tidy, but it’s nothing like the tip that my other room was. I definitely feel at home in here. It doesn’t feel like a guest bedroom any more, that’s for sure.

  I wander around a bit uncertainly, like I’m snooping through someone else’s property. I tell myself not to be silly. All these things are mine. I spot an MP3 player on the bedside table and when I flick through the index it’s got all my favourite songs on it, plus a few that I’m not familiar with.

  Above the desk is a big pinboard covered in photos. I spend a long time studying them. Most of them are of my friends. My ‘new’ friends. There’s one taken in this room of five girls having a sleepover. I reckon we’re about ten or eleven years old. I recognise Lucy and Miranda and there’s also Anna and Jade. Right in the middle is me, laughing madly at something. I really wish I’d been there.

  There’s no sign of either Sasha or Imogen. I look at all the other photos up there, school trips, birthdays, parties – no Imogen. It suddenly hits me. The decision I made the other day, when I was seven – not to be friends with her after all – this is the result! She’s gone from my life – this life. She hasn’t been a part of it. I feel quite weak at the thought and grasp the back of the chair. Then I spot her in the background of one of the photos taken on a school trip. She’s standing apart from us (we’re all making funny faces at the camera) and it’s a bit difficult to make out because she’s so small in the distance, but it’s definitely her. She’s not alone, though. There’s another girl with her, but she’s got her back to the camera and there’s no way I can tell who it is. I feel a slight jab of jealousy. Or is it regret? Whatever it is, it’s going to take a bit of getting used to.

  I study a picture of Mum and Rory which was taken on a day out somewhere. Mum looks relaxed and happy and Rory looks like Rory. I suddenly realise I’ve missed him.

  I slip across the landing into his room. He has a nightlight that glows in the corner because he’s afraid of the dark. He’s fast asleep. I’d like to say he looks beautiful and sweet lying there, but actually he’s all sweaty and he’s drooling on to the pillow. I still love him though.

  Rory’s bedroom looks exactly the same as it used to. I remember, in my old life, Mum offered to make my room better, but I think I went into a strop and said ‘What’s the point?’ I think she said something about cutting off my nose to spite my face, whatever that means.

  I’m about to go back to my room when I spot Rory’s school bag propped against a toy box. I rifle around inside and find his literacy book. I’m not really expecting to find what I’m looking for, but halfway through is a page headed, My Big Sister.

  My big sister is nice. Sometimes she looks after me and we have fun. She take
s me to the park and pushes me really high on the swings but she won’t let me go on the roundabout, she doesn’t like it. I like it best when she reads me a story. She helps me with my reading and she smells nice.

  I put the book back in the bag.There’s a lump in my throat. I think about the promise I made to Rory in the hospital just after he was born because I was ashamed to be the person he wrote about the first time. It looks like this Alice kept the promise.

  Chapter Four

  Lying on my bed, I’m still glowing from what Rory wrote about me and staring at the pictures on the wall of all my friends, when I hear the door creak open. I turn and smile, thinking that Mum has popped in to say goodnight. I’d better apologise to her for going off on one. But there’s no one there. I’m just scaring myself with thoughts of Miss Maybrooke’s ghost when I hear a little meow.

  ‘Sooty?’

  He responds to the name and jumps up on to the bed and starts to rub his face on my arm. I can’t believe it. Is this really Sooty? He’s much bigger and heavier. He looks like an eight-year-old cat so I suppose it must be him.

  I lie in the dark feeling Sooty’s purrs vibrating through me and I’m aware of another feeling in my chest. It’s so alien to the fourteen-year-old me that it takes me a while to work out what it is. It’s happiness. I feel happy.

  Maybe I’m not in a parallel universe. Maybe, when I fell off the roundabout I died and this is heaven. No, it can’t be, or I’d have a television in my bedroom. And my own computer. And bigger boobs. And a gorgeous boyfriend.

  And then it hits me. This isn’t a parallel universe at all. This is my life as it was, only now it’s better because of the things I did when I went back to being seven. I saved Sooty and I helped Mum by getting her help for her post-natal depression.

  The fact that I didn’t abandon Sasha to be friends with Imogen means that now I’ve got a whole heap of other friends and Sasha doesn’t hate me, or I wouldn’t have been going to her party. Did she really make my life hell because she never forgave me for what happened when we were seven?

  But it’s not only these things that have made a difference. The biggest difference is me. How come I wasn’t happy before? I could have been if I hadn’t been so busy feeling sorry for myself and hating Mum, when the divorce wasn’t even her fault in the first place.