Another Me Read online

  ANOTHER ME

  CATHY MACPHAIL

  To Kathryn who suggested I write a ghost story

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Why I wrote Another Me

  Meet Cathy MacPhail

  Also by Cathy MacPhail

  Chapter One

  ‘Here comes Fay Delussey, always got her nose in a book!’

  I jumped when I heard my name, and bumped into my friends, Kaylie and Dawn, as they ran up to me. Dawn snatched the book from my hands.

  ‘What are you reading anyway? Must be good.’ Her face crumpled when she read the title on the spine. ‘All Quiet on the Western Front.’ She giggled. ‘Sounds so interesting . . . NOT!’

  As you can tell Dawn wasn’t much of a reader and she thought she was funny.

  ‘It’s about the First World War,’ I told her. ‘I’m trying to get it finished before I hand it back to the library. Don’t want to have to pay a fine for it being late.’

  Kaylie sighed. ‘Reading about a war. Honestly, Fay. Why don’t you read something good for a change . . .’ Her voice became a whisper. ‘Like Stephen King.’

  ‘Don’t like ghost stories,’ I reminded her, ‘or anything scary.’

  Dawn rolled her eyes. ‘We know ghost stories don’t happen in real life, Fay. That’s why we enjoy them. Whereas war—’ She pushed my book back at me as if it was contaminated. ‘Now that’s real, and that is scary.’

  I knew she was right, of course. Ghosts aren’t real. Ghost stories don’t happen. Not in real life. But they scare me anyway.

  ‘Better hurry if you’re going to the library.’ Kaylie gave me a push. ‘Or you’ll be late for drama.’

  ‘Does Daft Donald still want us to put on a play?’ I groaned at the thought of it. Donald Moffat was one of our English teachers and was always trying to get our class interested in play acting. That’s what made him so daft.

  Kaylie and Dawn groaned too. ‘Shakespeare.’ They said it through gritted teeth.

  ‘Shakespeare?’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘Is he off his chump?’ We all pretended to be sick in the corridor. ‘I hate Shakespeare. People talking funny and being mistaken for other people. Who’d ever believe that?’

  ‘At least we’ll get to dress up,’ Dawn said.

  ‘Unless he decides we’ve to play it in the nude.’ Kaylie shrieked at the thought of that and sent Dawn and I into another fit of the giggles.

  ‘Hope it’s Romeo and Juliet,’ Kaylie said. Her eyes moved beyond my shoulder. ‘And here comes Romeo.’

  I turned to look, though I knew exactly who she was talking about. Drew Fraser. Most of the girls in our year fancied him. Though not half as much as Drew fancied himself. I was not one of his admirers. I knew him too well. Always had done. He lived on the second floor of our high block of flats. Eleven floors below me, and beneath me in every way.

  I had grown up with Drew, been to every one of his birthday parties and he was always invited to mine. Our mums were friends from way back. I’ve found it’s very difficult to fancy someone when he’s bashed you with a fire engine (his third birthday), tried to stuff a chicken on your head (his fifth), and sunk his teeth into your arm and drawn blood (his sixth, if I remember correctly).

  He’s still a bit of a vampire even now. He loves reading about the occult, and any kind of psychic phenomena. He’s a weirdo if you ask me. If my friends could see his room, hung with skeletons and masks and monsters, they would think he was a weirdo too. Of course, seeing his room counted as a lifetime ambition for Kaylie and Dawn.

  However, it seemed mine was the minority view. Drew Fraser had grown from a knock-kneed boy into a weirdo who was tall and handsome. He was long and thin, with floppy dark hair and a lopsided grin. His green eyes sent most of the girls into orbit. He flashed them now in our direction.

  ‘Hello, girls.’ He threw the words at us as if he had scattered precious jewels among his harem. Then he swaggered past us. Dawn watched him with her mouth hanging open.

  ‘He is gorgeous, by the way,’ she said.

  I hurried off and left them both mooning after him.

  Actually, hurried is the wrong word. I was too busy reading to hurry. Too anxious to finish my book to even look where I was going. So I didn’t notice the someone I brushed against as I went into the library. I muttered an apology and was vaguely aware of a green sweater, just like mine, going out as I went in.

  Yet, in that second, something ice cold shivered down my spine, as if someone had just walked over my grave. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Someone walking over your grave?

  At the desk, Mrs Watt, the school librarian, was busy pinning up another poster. I had to tap the desk to make her turn round and notice me.

  ‘Hello, Fay. Did you forget something?’

  She must have noticed my puzzled frown. ‘I’ve only just come in,’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t you just leave?’ Her eyes moved to the door.

  I shook my head. ‘I came to return this book.’

  Her eyes were still on the door leading out of the library. ‘My goodness, I could have sworn that was you.’ She brushed the notion away with a toss of her head. ‘Oh well, they do say everyone has a double somewhere.’

  It was only as I was walking to the drama class that I remembered the girl I had bumped into and the green sweater just like mine. That was what had got Mrs Watt mixed up. She had seen the girl in the green sweater and thought it was me.

  That was the simple explanation.

  Wasn’t it?

  Chapter Two

  The school auditorium was buzzing. It seemed most of our year had stayed behind for the auditions. I spotted Kaylie and Dawn in the corner and waved.

  As soon as I was close enough they enveloped me in their arms, as if they hadn’t seen me for years.

  ‘Po-faced Monica thinks she’s going to get the lead part,’ Dawn whispered in my ear. My eyes shot across the room to where Monica Meldrum stood, holding court with her groupies. She tossed back her thick blonde hair and pouted. Monica wasn’t in our set ... or rather we weren’t in hers. We weren’t clever enough, or good looking enough. Of course, the main reason was that we didn’t hang on her every word.

  She glanced over and caught me looking at her. ‘You got a problem, Delussey?’ she sneered. She’d never do that if she could see herself. That sneer turned her pretty face into something hideous.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve got to look at you.’ That’s what I wanted to say, but I could never be bold enough to do that. Instead, I blushed. No matter how hard I tried I couldn’t stop myself.

  ‘Oh look, she’s going red,’ one of Monica’s lapdogs piped up. ‘She’s just so chuffed you actually spoke to her, Monica.’

  Just then Daft Donald, the drama teacher, stepped up on to the stage. He clapped his hands to get us all to shut up.
‘I’m delighted so many of you stayed for the auditions.’ He beamed a smile around the room. ‘All the other teachers said I was crazy to attempt Shakespeare, and I told them you would love to do it. And I was right, eh?’

  That’s why we called him daft. He hadn’t figured out the real reason was that if we were in his play we would be excused other classes. He rubbed his hands together enthusiastically. ‘So are we all ready to give Shakespeare a bash?’

  ‘Somebody should have bashed him long ago,’ a voice shouted from the back and we all laughed. All, except Donald.

  ‘I am going to help you appreciate the beauty of Shakespeare’s language – his passion for words.’

  ‘BORING!’ the same voice called, and the groan that went throughout the auditorium showed we were all in agreement.

  Donald ignored it. ‘We are going to do The Tragedy of Macbeth. Or . . . the “Scottish Play”, as they call it in the theatre.’

  Another communal groan.

  ‘There’s hardly any parts for girls in that, sir,’ an aspiring starlet at the front reminded him.

  ‘I realise that,’ Donald said, nodding his head like a toy dog in the back seat of a car. ‘So some of the girls will be taking men’s roles.’

  That nearly caused a riot.

  ‘Told you,’ I muttered to Dawn, ‘it’s going to be so unbelievable.’

  ‘Can we not do a different play, sir?’ one of the boys suggested. ‘What about Reservoir Dogs?’

  Donald knew he was losing what little enthusiasm we had. ‘You want blood and guts, boys. Well, there’s plenty of that in the “Scottish Play”. It’s wonderful. There’s fighting.’ He looked around the boys hopefully. ‘There’s passionate love and murder.’ His eyes turned on the girls. ‘There’s even a ghost.’

  ‘I hate ghosts,’ I whispered.

  ‘And there’s witchcraft. What more could you ask for?’ Everyone still looked bored. Daft Donald let out a long sigh. His voice changed. ‘We’re doing Macbeth whether you like it or not.’

  By this time hardly anyone was interested in his daft old play. When he clapped his hands for our attention, it took ages for anyone to listen.

  ‘We’re going to put on the play during Christmas week, for the entertainment of the whole school.’

  I nudged my friends. ‘The whole school will be delighted, I’m sure.’

  Donald carried on. ‘I’ll read out to whom I’ve allocated the main parts, and we’ll start rehearsals on Tuesday.’

  There was a murmur of protest. ‘Sir, what about the auditions?’

  Daft Donald sometimes wasn’t as soft as he looked. ‘I teach you, remember? I know what you’re all capable of. I have decided who is playing the parts. OK?’

  ‘That’s not fair, sir.’

  Donald gave a superior little smile. ‘This is not a democracy.’

  I turned to my friends. ‘Well, I’m definitely not playing a man.’

  ‘I wanted to dress up in a fancy frock,’ Dawn moaned.

  ‘Maybe we could be the three witches,’ said Kaylie and we all giggled.

  ‘Macbeth is going to be played by Andrew Fraser.’

  A sigh fluttered around the room, but no one was very surprised. Drew Fraser was always favourite to land the main part. No wonder half the boys hated him.

  ‘And, after careful consideration, the part of Lady Macbeth . . .’ There was an ever so slight hesitation. I glanced across at Monica, already preening herself for stardom. ‘. . . goes to Fay Delussey.’

  To say I was gobsmacked just isn’t strong enough. I hadn’t heard him properly, surely. Me? The main part?

  Dawn and Kaylie were jumping about and hugging me, but I couldn’t say a word. Monica’s face had gone red as a beetroot as she tried to look as if she didn’t care a bit, and failed.

  ‘But why me?’ I whispered to my friends. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Dawn thought she had the answer. ‘Sometimes, when I catch you looking out the window in class, there’s something about you. Strange. As if you were in another world. As if you weren’t quite right in the head . . . exactly like Lady Macbeth. She goes mad, doesn’t she?’

  I wasn’t sure for a moment if she was joking or serious. ‘Are you trying to be offensive? As if I “weren’t quite right in the head”?’ And she was supposed to be my friend. ‘Thank you very much,’ I said, but I was laughing. ‘Mad indeed!’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean totally mad ... I meant, just kinda daft looking.’

  ‘You’re digging yourself in deeper and deeper, Dawn!’ Kaylie said, clamping her hand across Dawn’s mouth. Now we were all giggling again.

  The other parts were finally allocated, and Dawn and Kaylie were to be two of the three witches. But, as for Monica, there was not a mention. And was she mad! When Donald was finished she couldn’t keep quiet any longer. ‘And what about me, sir, am I not going to be in this play at all?’

  Donald grinned at her. ‘Of course you are, Monica. I want you to be Fay’s understudy.’

  I was sure I saw Monica’s blonde hair stand on end. My understudy! She would go bananas about that. Monica glared over at me. I tried to smile back at her, but it just wouldn’t come. The look on her face was just too scary.

  ‘Me! An u-u-understudy!’ She stuttered out the words.

  Donald was nodding again. ‘Yes. There is a resemblance between you two girls, same colouring, same height. So I don’t want you in the play together. People could get mixed up. Especially people in this school, who are a bit thick anyway. You’ll be a wonderful understudy, Monica. You’ll get the lead in the next play, I promise.’

  Monica sucked in her cheeks and looked as if she was about to explode.

  We all left for home after that. My friends and I bustled out of the school, still laughing at the thought of poor old Monica being only an understudy.

  An icy mist had descended on the November afternoon and the smirr of rain seemed to seep deep into the bones.

  Suddenly, a furious Monica rushed up behind me.

  ‘Don’t look so smug, Delussey!’ She pulled me round to face her. ‘You know how you got that part, don’t you?’

  ‘Talent?’ I teased, pleased I had actually had the nerve to say it and not just think it.

  ‘Talent, nothing!’ she snapped. ‘Daft Donald feels sorry for you. Everybody knows about your mum and her boyfriend. Your mum and dad’ll be splitting up soon. That’s how you got the part!’

  I was so angry I wanted to lash out and slap her. I wanted to cry, but I wouldn’t, not in front of her. Monica looked so smug. Dawn and Kaylie pulled me away from her.

  ‘Don’t bother with her, Fay. She’s not worth the trouble.’

  Monica just couldn’t let it go. ‘I’ll get you for this, Delussey,’ she called after me. ‘I’m going to make you really sorry.’ There was a viciousness on her face that was really frightening. ‘I’ll get that part, you see if I don’t. One way or another.’

  Chapter Three

  As Dawn and Kaylie walked with me to the top of the long stairs that led down to my tower block, they kept trying to make me feel better about what Monica had said.

  ‘Don’t listen to her, Fay. She’s so full of hot air.’

  ‘But why did Donald give me the part?’ I kept asking them, knowing they couldn’t know the answer either. I hadn’t shone in any of his past productions, hadn’t had any part even near the lead. So why choose me to play Lady Macbeth? Did he just feel sorry for me?

  Neither Kaylie nor Dawn knew what to say. The story had been a bit of a scandal at the school not long ago. It seemed everyone had known long before Dad or I that my mother had a boyfriend. I’d seen her with him once, the man she worked with, sitting in a car and I hadn’t even realised there was anything suspicious about it. She was my mum after all. Mums didn’t have boyfriends. Not mums like mine.

  But she had. And when she’d finally confessed to Dad there had been arguments and discussions and for a while, a terrifying while, I was sure she was going to l
eave. But she didn’t. Instead, she had given him up. She had even changed her job. The arguments had stopped, but in their place an atmosphere as cold as the grave had settled on our flat. Dad didn’t trust her any more, and Mum never looked happy.

  No wonder I was always lost in a book. With my nose in a book I could forget for a while what was happening at home.

  When we reached the top of the stairs I said decisively, ‘I’m going to tell him tomorrow he can stuff his part. I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.’

  Kaylie was shocked. ‘Don’t be stupid. You can’t let Mucky Monica get that part. Especially not after what she said today.’

  Dawn agreed. ‘No way, Fay. Just think of the fun we’re going to have watching her face every day, having to be your understudy.’

  In the end, very reluctantly, I agreed. To make Monica suffer like that had to be worth something.

  As I left them and began the trek down the stairs the mist thickened into a fog, swirling round the dim lights that hung over the walls on either side of the stairs. Dad didn’t like me coming home this way. The stairs were long and narrow, with high walls on either side, with only the odd light dimly illuminating the path. Trees hung over the wall too, and even on a bright summer day the stairs were dark and dismal. But on a night like this, with the fog drifting in and out of the branches, they were worse than dismal. They were eerie. But it was a shortcut everyone used. If I didn’t come down these stairs the route home through streets and avenues would take at least another fifteen minutes.

  It was always busy.

  Except for today.

  Funny, I thought, that there was no one on the stairs today. It was true that most of the school had left earlier, but I had never known it to be so deserted.

  The fog, I supposed. More people taking the bus home, or finding the idea of the stairs too eerie in the dark afternoon.

  Even sounds were muffled in the fog. Hoots from cars, a distant fog horn sounding on the river, all had a strange weird sound.

  I was halfway down when I heard them.

  Footsteps clipping behind me. Someone coming down the steps at exactly my speed. I stopped for a second and the clipping stopped too. It made me smile. It was an echo, I realised. A muffled echo of my own steps.