Body Swap

by Sylvia McNicoll

  Copyright © Sylvia McNicoll, 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purpose of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  All characters in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover image: istock.com/Vertyr

  Printer: Webcom

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  McNicoll, Sylvia, 1954-, author

  Body swap / Sylvia McNicoll.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-4597-4090-7 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-4597-4091-4 (PDF).--

  ISBN 978-1-4597-4092-1 (EPUB)

  I. Title.

  PS8575.N52B63 2018 jC813’.54 C2017-907854-2

  C2017-907855-0

  1 2 3 4 5 22 21 20 19 18

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country, and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit and the Ontario Media Development Corporation, and the Government of Canada.

  Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credits in subsequent editions.

  — J. Kirk Howard, President

  The publisher is not responsible for websites or their content unless they are owned by the publisher.

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  VISIT US AT

  dundurn.com

  @dundurnpress

  dundurnpress

  dundurnpress

  Dundurn

  3 Church Street, Suite 500

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada

  M5E 1M2

  For my readers, always, and especially for my nine grands: Hunter, William, Jadzia, Violet, Desmond, Fletcher, Finley, Scarlett, and Ophelia, who make the privilege of growing old so much greater

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1 - The Accident

  Chapter 2 - The Swap

  Chapter 3 - Hallie

  Chapter 4 - Susan

  Chapter 5 - Hallie

  Chapter 6 - Susan

  Chapter 7 - Hallie

  Chapter 8 - Susan

  Chapter 9 - Hallie

  Chapter 10 - Susan

  Chapter 11 - Hallie

  Chapter 12 - Susan

  Chapter 13 - Hallie

  Chapter 14 - Susan

  Chapter 15 - Hallie

  Chapter 16 - Susan

  Chapter 17 - Hallie

  Chapter 18 - Susan

  Chapter 19 - Hallie

  Chapter 20 - Susan

  Chapter 21 - Hallie

  Chapter 22 - Susan

  Chapter 23 - Hallie

  Chapter 24 - Susan

  Chapter 25 - Hallie

  Chapter 26 - Susan

  Chapter 27 - Hallie

  Chapter 28 - Susan

  Chapter 29 - Hallie

  Chapter 30 - Susan

  Chapter 31 - Hallie

  Chapter 32 - Hallie

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER 1

  The Accident

  “THAT CELLPHONE WILL KILL YOU!” a raspy voice warns. It comes from someone standing in front of me on the bus. Someone who smells like dirty socks and stale coffee. A male voice that sounds very definite about phone fatalities.

  I ignore him. What’s happening on my little screen is way more important.

  Megan is texting me about Chael Caruso, the boy whose name is written in big loops all over the inside cover of my journal, together with mine, of course. Chael loves Hallie. Mrs. Chael Prince-Caruso, Hallie and Chael forever. That one’s in a heart with an arrow through it.

  And today, we’re finally going to begin our forever.

  A cane knocks hard into my knee. “Ow!” Does the old guy plan to beat me to death with that thing? He coughs a loud fake ahem, ahem.

  Seniors’ day at the mall. Why do they have to have it during our Christmas break? The stuffy warm bus heats up all the body odours into a boiled-broccoli-and-wet-dog potpourri. Makes me hot and irritable. I ignore him and lean toward my best friend, Abby, who is sitting on a window seat facing forward.

  On the right side of her face, Abby’s hair angles to a pale blue arrow; the left is shaved close, making her look like a techno angel. She alone understands the importance of what’s happening on my phone right now and raises one blond eyebrow in a question mark.

  I continue typing.

  Did you ask Chael if he likes me? I press send. The answer to that text could potentially cheer me back up. Chael (pronounced Kale, yet nothing like the vegetable) has coffee-coloured eyes and smooth maple skin. A smile that’s as wide as a soccer field. He’s centre forward for our junior team, same position I play on the girls’ team. Our babies could be soccer stars. I sigh.

  When I finally lift my eyes from the screen, I see the crepey blue-veined hand that grips the hook of the cane that hit me. Above the knuckles, blue, loopy letters spell Carpe Diem. My eyes raise higher to his face. Watery grey eyes stare back at me, expecting something. What? With the light from the window, his hair glows a bright silver.

  Abby gives me a hard stare, too. “Hallie!” She punches my shoulder.

  “What?”

  “Give him your seat!”

  I don’t get it. There are thirty other places available; I don’t know why he wants this particular one on the front bench facing the centre aisle. Giving it up will mean I can’t talk to Abby as easily because she’s wedged in beside a lady with a walker. That woman smells like lily of the valley; the sweetness of it squeezes at my throat. Dirty socks and lilies, what a combo. Gahh!

  “If only I had a car,” I grumble to Abby as I rise from the bench and try to shuffle around the old guy.

  “And could drive.” Abby grins, a braces-dazzling grin.

  “I drive the truck on Uncle Bill’s farm.”

  “And your licence then.”

  “My birthday’s in April. Fast as I can get it, we will be out of here.” My phone interrupts with a belch, which is how it signals incoming texts and calls. Megan! I check to see what she’s answered. Her words will be crucial to who the father of my babies will be, and I want seven, just like the Von Trapps in The Sound of Music. Strange maybe, but that’s our family’s favourite Christmas movie.

  This could be the best Christmas present ever. A cool boyfriend. Holding hands, kissing at our lockers. Smiling, happy. High school sweethearts, we’ll tell our seven kids later.

  I sigh again. The bus lurches forward and I tumble against the man who stabs my foot with his cane this time.

  “Ow!” I call out and glare.

  “See what I mean …” he says, the tiniest bit of a smile lifting up his thin lips, “about cellphones?”

  “It’s your cane that’s a lethal weapon!” I grumble and read the screen as I scootch into the seat behind Abby. “Oh, yay! Yesss! ” Leaning forward, I tell Abby, “Megan says Chael likes me!”

  “Told ya!”

  “But he called me thunder thighs at indoor soccer the other day.” I shake my head at the message on the tiny screen.

  “You’re such a gre
at kicker. He’s probably talking about the power in your thigh muscles …”

  “Nah, I think he means I’m fat.”

  “You may have fat but you are not fat,” Abby continues, “just pleasantly round.”

  I grab my face with my free hand. It’s shaped like a soccer ball, no cheekbones poking through at all. And I’ve conditioned my hair into gentle curls, but they soften my jawline, make me look pudgy. And I’m short — if my legs were longer, they’d look leaner.

  Like Abby’s. I glance over at her skinny-jeaned legs. No thunder happening there. She has great bones anyway, a strong chin and cheekbones. I grip my forehead. “Oh no!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Just above my eyebrows, my fingers find one of those hard bumps. I push down on it and it hurts. “A zit!”

  “Never mind. We’re here.”

  The bus begins to pull into the right lane.

  Suddenly, the driver leans on her horn and brakes.

  One of those new Hurricane SUVs shoots around the bus. It’s as red and shiny as a polished apple. I smile at it. Such a cool car! “Someday, I’m going to drive one of those,” I tell Abby.

  “Me too. We’ll race them.”

  I grin and shrug. “Probably need to save till we’re a hundred.”

  The bus slows to the stop. I stand up before Lily of the Valley can move her walker, but not fast enough to beat the guy with the cane. He blocks me and takes forever to shuffle forward.

  Another belch comes from my cellphone. I look at the screen: Chael and Hardeep are hanging out at the food court. “Oh my gosh. What am I going to do? He’s here too!” I touch the zit on my forehead. It seems to have doubled in size.

  “Leave it alone! You’re making it worse.” Abby motions as if to slap my hand down, but the woman with the walker stands between us.

  Down the stairs I go behind the guy with silver hair moving ever so s-l-o-w-l-y. I text as my feet go down. What exactly did Chael say about me?

  In the middle of the steps, the old dude stops to pull on a red woollen hat, but I don’t notice till I bump into him.

  He turns and frowns at me. “You are going to miss out on so much of life if you don’t put that thing away.”

  “Sorr-eeee.” If only he would move. Quicker. Come on! I want to push him out of the way. I’m missing out on so much of life ’cause of him! Could have texted a Harry Potter novel by now. I finally press send. I need to catch up with Chael.

  Or do I? Do I want him to see me like this? With this pumpkin in the middle of my forehead? Another belch and the old man turns to give me a look.

  “It’s not me, it’s my phone,” I tell him and read the latest text.

  Chael says you’re funny.

  Finally, we’re off the bus. As I stumble forward, I key into my phone: Funny ha ha or funny weird?

  Abby follows close behind and bumps against me. “Move it, Hallie, if you want to see Chael before he leaves.”

  But maybe I don’t. I’m funny. Is he just messing with me? His eyes do always look at me like they’re laughing.

  We climb through the snowbank edging the parking lot, and my sneakers get buried instantly. This will be the first white Christmas we’ve had in a long time, but it’s still fairly warm and I’m in winter-boot denial. I lift my feet out of the sticky white and we continue toward the mall.

  Squish, squish, my sneakers slog along. “Can we stop at the drug mart? I wouldn’t mind picking up some concealer for this.” I point to my forehead.

  Abby rolls her eyes. “Then we’ll miss them for sure.”

  A burp sounds again.

  “Look at it later.” Abby keeps going.

  But my fingers itch; I can’t help myself, I have to see what Megan has to say. Dropping back, I lift the phone closer to my face.

  “Hallie!” Abby calls.

  I start to run as I read. Chael’s leaving Doughnut Time. Where are you?

  “Hallie! Hallie!” Abby calls.

  I run without looking up. We can still make it. We’ll skip the cosmetics department.

  Abby’s voice turns strangely high-pitched. “Watch out!”

  Whomp! A hard force explodes into me.

  Time slows down as I get hurled into the air. My cellphone flies from my hand, and I watch it cartwheel through the air, then crash on the ice and shatter into pieces right next to the red Hurricane that hit me.

  Then I slam onto the iced pavement headfirst. A coconut cracks and pain splinters into a million scalding-white lights somewhere behind my eyes.

  Hot, hot, my head feels like it’s on fire with white pain. Then cooler, cooler, shivering … I’m cold. I lie still as, bit by bit, my body and mind shake loose of each other.

  I hear Abby crying, loud at first. “Hallie, no! Hallie! Someone call 911.” But her voice becomes more and more distant.

  I can hear myself breathing. In … out … in. Something warm drips from my head, and it feels like the last drops of syrup letting go from the bottom of a bottle.

  I see Abby’s black-and-yellow shoes near my face; behind her legs, the dented red bumper.

  My breathing slows to a last gasp; it doesn’t seem neces­sary anymore. Instead, I feel myself lifting, floating, a helium balloon suddenly dancing and free. Below me I see my body sprawled on the snow, a white boxy ER truck, and a woman on a stretcher. Faded yellowy hair and a pale, white wrinkled face with a blue tinge. She was the driver? A hot bitter thought scalds me. She’s too old to be driving. My vision fills with a liquid black.

  CHAPTER 2

  The Swap

  MUSIC TINKLES BRIGHT AND CHEERFUL as I open my eyes. A breeze blows soft and warm against my skin, no winter bite to it. I scramble to my feet to find I’m wearing flip-flops instead of sneakers, shorts instead of jeans, and my favourite yellow happy-face T-shirt. No winter jacket. Oh no, did I miss Christmas?

  Screams pierce the air. But they’re energetic and happy. Not sudden and horrified — the kind of reaction you’d get to, say, an accident in a parking lot. Maybe it was all a dream.

  I smell hot dogs and popcorn and inhale deeply. Mmm! There’s also a hint of sweetness — cotton candy? Yes, that’s it. Carnival smells! It has to be. I smile. Travelling carnivals are my favourite, the coloured lights, the happy children and hand-holding lovers, all the junky foods, the music and screams, and the swirling, dizzying rides, especially the roller coaster. I look around for one but instead see a carousel in front of me. White unicorns with blue flowers on their bridles gallop up and down. I blink and see an assortment of people riding them: an overweight man in a suit, a spindly looking granny, and a teenaged girl. Sitting in the chariots behind them, a mom holds her baby, a couple lean against each other. Not as many kids as you would expect. They all smile but look distant. As they go around, I swear I can see the sunlight coming through them. Mirrors cover the centre of the carousel, but the people are not reflected in them.

  Maybe this is a dream.

  Where’s the roller coaster? I wonder as I walk around to the mad teacup ride. It’s empty and stopped, so I figure I’ll try that instead.

  The operator appears from out of nowhere, grinning. “Step right up!” He offers me his hand, palm up.

  “Um, where do I buy a ticket?” I ask, looking him in the eyes.

  “You already bought it.” He pushes back long brown bangs from his eyes, which are bright blue and sparkle like a brook. Young eyes in weathered skin. Laughing, laughing. Who does he remind me of? He winks as he grabs my hand and leads me to a large yellow cup. No one else sits in any of the other of the teacups, so I expect him to wait till the ride draws more people.

  Only he never does. The cups jerk to a start, swirling around each other.

  As the cups circle faster and faster, I begin to see people in them, my uncle Leo, our last mayor, and is that Gord Downie? Why are they all here? The light shines through them, too.

  It comes to me finally. They’re all dead. The thought makes me queasy and I look down at my arm. It�
�s looking a bit, well, transparent.

  The ride stops abruptly.

  “Where are my manners? You don’t like teacup parties, you like adrenalin thrills,” the operator says.

  How would he know? But something does seem very familiar about him. That something floats loose in my mind as I reach for it. Not the way he looks but more the glint in his eyes, his mannerisms. He holds out his hand and I see it in a flash. The tattoo.

  Carpe Diem! “You’re the guy from the bus! But that’s impossible! You’re too young.”

  “You got me dead to rights. Heh-heh! The name’s Eli.”

  “Oh my God, you’re a shape-shifter.”

  “You had it right the first time.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What you said.” He waits for a moment.

  I think that over. Then it hits me. Oh my God. My face grows hot. Eli means he is God.

  Even though I haven’t said anything, he nods and smiles. Then he tugs my hand. “Follow me.”

  I resist for a moment. Plant my feet, refuse to move. I should wake up any moment.

  “Come on. You want to continue on your journey, don’t you?” He pulls harder.

  My feet stutter along the pavement as I try to slow us down. “Where’s Abby?” I ask. “My best friend,” I add, as though I need to explain. But he would know that, wouldn’t he?

  “She didn’t step in front of an SUV.”

  My feet continue moving forward but my stomach wants to heave.

  “I warned you not to keep staring at that itty-bitty screen. Told you that you’d miss out on life.”

  We approach a huge wooden roller coaster. I’ve never seen one made out of wood. Is it safe?

  My eyes follow the rails of the ride. There’s one hill and another. The final one rises high up into the clouds and disappears. “This has to be some kind of nightmare.”

  “More like a good dream. A very long one. You like roller coasters, don’t you? Step aboard.” He flings open a wooden gate.

  “I … I don’t feel like it. I can’t go on alone.” I look around for someone to help me.

  “Well, if you just wait a moment, someone will be along shortly to join you.” He looks to the side of me expectantly.