Another Me by Cathy MacPhail Page A

in a second. ‘Why? Because I’m late for school? Because I cut my hair? Does that mean I’m potty?’
    She sighed. ‘You know it’s more than that. It’s your behaviour lately. A few of the teachers have commented on it.’
    I wanted to go quickly. Before she started on about my home life, my mum’s boyfriend. Was that all they ever thought about? I straightened up and smiled. ‘You’ll see, Mrs Williams. I’ll be OK from now on. I promise. Can I go now, please?’
    She saw there was no holding me. ‘You know if you ever need me, I’ll be here. OK, Fay?’
    â€˜OK.’ I agreed at once. Then I was out of that office and racing down the corridor to my class.
    In spite of all the jibes – and there were plenty, especially from Monica – I forgot about my hair. I felt so much better. I had solved it. I had made myself look different. Now, no one would ever get us mixed up again.
    However, I still had my mother to face.
    She went white when she saw me. ‘Fay. Your lovely hair.’ Her eyes filled up with tears. ‘Why did you do that?’
    I told her. What was the point of lying to my mum? I told her that this other one had been on the stairs today and that it was beginning to really frighten me.
    â€˜She was the reason you asked if you had a sister?’
    I nodded, and she smiled. ‘I can assure you, you haven’t got a clone either, Fay. They don’t exist. I know you find it hard to believe but there will be a perfectly logical explanation. Mistaken identity. Or someone who looks like you is playing a cruel practical joke.’
    â€˜That’s what Dad said.’
    Her face fell. ‘So, he was told the whole story first, I suppose?’
    There was a time, I thought, when they would have confided in each other. We were a threesome. Now itseemed we each lived in our own separate worlds.
    Suddenly, she seemed to brighten. ‘Well, I will tell you this, young lady. You’re not going back to school looking like that.’
    Now I brightened. ‘Ever again?’ I asked hopefully.
    She was grinning as she lifted the phone and began to dial. ‘I’m going to call my pal, Stella. The hairdresser. Remember her?’
    Stella, who owned her own shop in town, wore too much make-up, smoked too much, and smelled of too many different perfumes. I liked her.
    â€˜How could I forget Stella?’
    Mum was about to say something else when the phone was answered. She shook her finger at me to keep quiet. ‘Is that you, Stella? Hi, it’s Rona. I know, I’ve not seen you for ages. Well, I’m phoning for a favour. You remember my daughter, Fay?’ There was a pause. Stella obviously remembered. ‘Could I possibly bring her over to your house tonight? She really needs a major makeover with her hair.’

Chapter Fifteen
    It didn’t look a bit like me staring back from the mirror.
    Stella stood beside Mum, her arms folded, surveying her handiwork with satisfaction.
    â€˜Would you believe the difference it makes!’ she said. ‘You look so grown up, Fay.’
    I could hardly believe it myself. The clumps and tufts had been cut away and my hair had been layered into the back of my head, and the top was spikey and tousled.
    Mum was delighted too. ‘It looks so modern. It makes you look . . .’ She searched around for the right word. ‘Elfin.’
    I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but I knew it was a compliment. When Stella’s daughter arrived home with her boyfriend she raved about my hair too.
    As we sat around Stella’s kitchen table drinking tea and chatting, I kept sneaking quick glances at myself inthe mirror, as delighted as everyone else.
    How I loved that night. Mum and Stella and her daughter and me. Laughing and talking and having fun.
    â€˜A real girls’ night!’ Stella said, ignoring her daughter’s poor boyfriend in the other room.
    A