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say.’
    ‘Oh. That,’ I said, making a face. ‘How long will you be gone this time?’
    ‘Only for three days. Don’t look so gloomy! You’ll be fine with Alice. I know how she spoils you when I’m away.’
    It was true. Alice did spoil me. We stayed up late, watched bad TV and ate too many sweets. On the good days. Mum wasn’t around enough to notice the bad ones. The ones when Alice
forgot to wash her hair, hardly spoke, and dinner was beans on toast that I’d have to make myself.
    I’d just finished my last pancake when I caught sight of the tip of a black tail sailing past the table behind Mum. In an instant, I knew it wasn’t Twitch, because she was on
Mum’s lap, sniffing her plate. I jumped up, knocking the table.
    ‘Midge, be careful!’ said Mum. ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘Thought I saw next-door’s cat,’ I blurted out. I ran for the back door, hearing the squeak of the cat flap, and looked through the window just in time to see a black blur
vanishing over the garden wall. Quickly, I unlocked the back door and ran to the gate, unlatching it and stepping into the alley that ran between our house and next door’s. At first, I
thought the cat was gone, but then I caught a small movement towards the front of the house. I crept out of the alley and into the street.
    Tabitha was sitting on next-door’s front wall, totally still except for her tail, which swished from side to side in a figure of eight. I approached and was about to speak when I saw what
she was looking at.
    On the other side of the road near the corner shop was a girl with long, blonde hair who had a notebook tucked under her arm. She wore a black leather jacket that I didn’t recognise, but I did know her . Relief rushed through me.
    ‘Alice!’ I called, waving. ‘Mum’s made pancakes – still some left!’
    Alice looked behind her, then back at me, but didn’t return my wave.
    ‘Alice!’ I shouted again.
    She continued to stare blankly in my direction. Weird. Mum said she’d waved at Alice, too, and she hadn’t seen her . . .
    I crossed the road and went towards her, not caring that I was still wearing my pyjamas and slippers. ‘Alice,’ I said again. ‘Are you all right?’
    She looked at me with a puzzled expression. There was something odd about her eyes. They looked different to normal, but I couldn’t figure out why. She appeared prettier somehow: her
cheeks and lips pinker and her hair glossier, with tiny plaits woven in here and there. I’d never seen her wear her hair like that before. I waited for her to answer, but instead she took out
a pen and wrote something in the notebook. She held it up to show me.
    I’m not Alice , it said.
    ‘Very funny. Why aren’t you talking? Do you have a sore throat?’
    Alice gave a strained smile and wrote something else.
    I don’t know who Alice is. You have the wrong person .
    I waited for her to laugh or wink, but she didn’t. I stared into her eyes and finally saw what was different about them: Alice’s eyes were blue, like mine. This girl’s were
bright green.
    I backed away from her, gasping as my foot slid off the kerb and into the road, almost tripping. The girl grabbed at my hand to steady me, but I brushed her off and got my balance, my skin
crawling where she’d touched me.
    A squirmy, knotted-up feeling had started in my tummy, the sort of feeling I’d had at my granddad’s funeral when I was just seven. Of not fully understanding what was going on, but
knowing it was something bad and that things would never be the same again.
    My gaze was fixed on her face. Everything about her was almost exactly like Alice. It was only the eyes that were really different, but it was enough to convince me. The girl
underlined something and held the notebook up again.
    I’m not Alice . She turned away from me and began to walk off. I watched her round the corner and vanish into the next street, now certain she wasn’t my sister.
    But if she wasn’t Alice