‘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 knew 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.
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.