Someone Else's Life (10 page)

The smile splits my face.

It’s a dream come true.
All
my dreams are finally coming true.

My stomach flutters suddenly and, despite myself, I reach into my bag, pulling out the well-thumbed ultrasound image that lives there, carried with me always.

I trace my finger over the tiny black-and-white form, remembering how scared I’d been when I’d had the scan, how unsure …

And now …

“Sweetheart?” I hide the picture quickly and turn to look up at him, so tall and dark and impossibly handsome. The man of my dreams.

“There you are.” He smiles, my insides melting like chocolate as he kisses me. “You ready for a brand-new year?”

“Absolutely.” I beam, sliding the photo secretly into my bag and pushing it behind me as I slip my hand into his, following him outside as the minutes tick by quickly, leaving the past far behind. Somewhere high above us a rocket explodes in the sky and everything sparkles.

I smile, the bad memories fading with the fireworks, replaced by bigger, brighter, better ones every moment.

“I can’t wait.”

Chapter Nine

I pull the blanket up to my chin and shift position on the sofa for the umpteenth time as a premature firework explodes somewhere above us, the lights from passing cars chasing across the room like searchlights, dancing over the books and glinting blindingly on the picture frames. I pull the blanket over my head and close my eyes.

I can’t sleep. Kitty’s face keeps dancing in front of me, taunting, tormenting. She feels so close now, so
real
. All the time at home she’d seemed so far away, so distant—a dream. And now here I am in her country—and I’ve lost her! She could be anywhere, and I’m here, on some sofa in the middle of New York—doing what? I sigh heavily. I don’t even know anymore.

“Can’t sleep?” Andy rolls to face me from his sleeping bag on the floor.

I shake my head. I couldn’t be more awake.

“Me neither. It must be jet lag, or anti–jet lag or something!” He smiles. “Come on, let’s go out.”

“Now?”

“Why not?” He grins, wriggling out of his sleeping bag. “It’s the city that never sleeps, remember?”

The park is even more beautiful by night, glowing with thousands of tiny lamps, but it does nothing to lift my mood.

What am I doing here?
A million miles from home, from everything familiar, lying to Andy, using
Mum’s
money. My heart twists. For what? I’ll never find Kitty, not now. This country’s so vast, so busy, so
full
—she could pass me on the street and I’d never even notice. Andy was right. It was stupid. It was a stupid idea to try to find her. I should never have come, never have left Nana, never lied to Andy …

And now I’ve got eight long empty months of traveling ahead of me when all I want to do is go home and curl up in my own bed.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Andy beams, misinterpreting my sigh as he gazes over at a gleaming ice rink surrounded by glowing stars, the skyscrapers soaring high above.

I watch, hypnotized, as the skaters whiz by, some laughing and giggling as they slip and slide perilously, others gliding lazily by without a care in the world. I envy them.

“Come on then, let’s get your skates on,” Andy says, grabbing my hand and heading over to the queue for skate hire.

“What?” I stare at him. “I can’t! I haven’t skated in ages, not since—”

“You don’t forget.” His eyes linger on mine, and my stomach flutters despite myself, remembering the last time we went ice-skating … our first date. I eye the shimmering surface uncertainly, my cheeks burning in the frosty air, as memories flood my head. Then he smiles that oh-so-familiar smile, his blue eyes sparkling as those dimples overcome all my doubts.

“Come on, Bambi.” He grins, his arm strong and warm around me as we step toward the slippery ice. “I won’t let you fall.”

On the rink it’s impossible to think about anything but staying upright—I cling to Andy as we slip and giggle round the ice till my bum’s bruised from falling, and our sides kill from laughing so much.

Suddenly Andy checks his watch and grabs my hand.

“Quick! We’ve got to hurry!”

“Hurry where?” I laugh. “It’s the city that never sleeps, remember!”

“You’ll see—come on!”

We’ve barely returned our skates before Andy’s dragging me through the streets, racing down block after block, until suddenly we round a corner, and I gasp.

I have
never
seen so many people. The ocean of bodies floods the streets, sprawling as far as I can see, crammed between the buildings, swaying together harmoniously as music blasts from loudspeakers, their blue
Happy New Year
top hats bobbing merrily as they dance, hug, cheer and squeal with excitement beneath the towering buildings ablaze with blinking billboards—twinkling and chasing and dazzling all different colors, shapes and pictures, beside the enormous glowing Broadway placards. The atmosphere is electric.

“Just in time.” Andy grins, checking his watch and weaving us deeper into the throng.

Suddenly the music stops and the whole crowd begins to chant: “Fifty-nine! Fifty-eight! Fifty-seven! Fifty-six!”

“We couldn’t miss the ball drop!” Andy laughs, pointing, as there, high above the brightest building, a glowing globe twinkles like a star, sparkling a million different colors and patterns as it slowly sinks toward an enormous ticking countdown.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
My skin tingles and my heart beats fast as I clutch Andy’s hand.

“Seven! Six!”
He squeezes my hand and grins at me.

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!”

The sky explodes in fireworks—bursting showers of blinding blue, red, green, gold—colorful confetti streaming down all around as the crowd goes crazy, the cheers deafening as everyone leaps up and down, hugging each other, and kissing to the strains of “Auld Lang Syne.”

“Happy New Year!”
A complete stranger grabs me in a bear hug and I laugh as a pink-haired woman lands a smacker on Andy’s cheek. He grins at me as the confetti rains between us.

Suddenly “New York, New York” bursts on, and I shriek as Andy grabs me and starts dancing, singing at the top of his lungs. I giggle as he twirls me round, giddy with the buzzing atmosphere, the infectious excitement, the hope.

“Happy New Year.” Andy grins, his breath warm on my face as he pulls me close, my skin tingling at his touch.

A brand
-
new year …

Suddenly all the strain and stress of the past year—with Mum, with Sarah and Kitty—seem far, far away. The other side of the world. Another life. I can find Kitty anytime, after all. There’s no hurry.

But here I am
now
, in incredible, vibrant, spine-tingling
New York City
, on the brink of a dazzling new year and a thrilling adventure. With Andy. Andy, who’s gazing at me the same way he used to so long ago.

“Happy New Year.” I beam into those familiar sparkling blue eyes.

And though we’re surrounded by a million rowdy strangers, in the busiest city in the country, on the loudest, craziest night of the year, suddenly we’re the only two people in the world.

The feeling lasts all week, as together we hurtle round the city, exploring everything it has to offer—we shop at Bloomingdale’s and walk across the Brooklyn Bridge; have breakfast outside Tiffany’s and dinner on Fifth Avenue; see
Wicked
on Broadway and the Knicks at Madison Square Garden; visit art museums and history museums and science museums, sending postcards from everywhere we go—until finally, on our last night in New York, there’s only one place we haven’t been.

My stomach flips as we travel up and up and up—until eventually the doors open and I race outside into the fresh night air, Andy a split second behind me. Then—just as I’m about to reach the edge—he grabs my waist and spins me round.

“I win!” he cries, one arm tight around me as he seizes the rail triumphantly.

“Cheat!”
I protest, breathless and giggling. Then my jaw drops. There it is, the whole of New York glittering below us, beautiful and boundless. I breathe it in, feeling dizzy and light-headed and on top of the world. It’s the perfect end to the perfect week, like all those movies that have ended here—
Sleepless in Seattle
and Nana’s favorite Cary Grant film,
An Affair to Remember
.

“I feel like Meg Ryan,” I whisper, staring down at it all, sparkling in the dark.

“Not Naomi Watts?” Andy asks, his eyes twinkling. “In
King Kong
?” He lifts me up as I shriek, my giggles piercing the night air.

“You great gorilla,” I tease, but he stops my mouth with the gentlest, softest kiss.

Somewhere a clock chimes.

“Happy birthday,” Andy whispers, his eyes dancing as he pulls out a black velvet box.

I stare at him, surprised. “It’s not till tomorrow, wally.”

“Ah.” He grins. “But at home it
is
tomorrow.”

I count the bells. Seven p.m. I smile. Midnight at home. He’s right.

Carefully I open the box, to reveal an exquisite garnet birthstone necklace I’d admired in a little boutique in the Village. I gasp. “Andy!”

“Happy birthday, Rosie.” He beams, pulling me closer and looping it deftly round my neck, his eyes shining. “I love you.” He strokes my face, looking deep into my eyes. “I never stopped loving you.”

I stare at him, my heart full, my insides glowing.

I can’t believe my life has changed so quickly—so dramatically. Just a couple of weeks ago everything seemed so bleak, so empty … yet here I am now, my future glittering with excitement, with promise, with Andy—my Andy—the only guy I’ve ever loved—on top of the world. Literally.

“I love you too,” I whisper. “I’ve always loved you.”

He kisses me again, his lips soft, his body warm against mine, my head spinning somewhere high in the stars above as finally we pick up where we left off on that night so long ago, in the city that never sleeps …

The Empire State Building winks back at me in the sunlight as I gaze out of our fiftieth-story hotel room window, the city buzzing and bustling far below, as perfect as I’ve always dreamed.

There’s so much magic here, so much history—the Empire State Building, the Brooklyn Bridge, the aching hole where the Twin Towers once stood. It’s incredible—this city with all its scars and heartache doesn’t dwell, doesn’t wallow, doesn’t sleep, even. It’s too busy thriving, rushing and bustling into the soaring hopes and excitement of the future, and I feel swept up in its spell—like a little girl again.

But I’m not.

I tilt my hand and the light twinkles on the ring as it winks back at me.

“Marry me,” he’d said, dropping to one knee right in the middle of Central Park, his eyes sparkling in the sunshine. “I love you. Marry me?”

I can barely believe it, even now. I grin down at the ring, glittering like a promise on my finger. A promise of love, of a future so bright that all the worries of my past fade away …

I close my eyes.

I wish you could see this, baby, I wish you were here now
—
I wish …

I take a deep breath and close my eyes tight, making a secret, silent wish as I blow out the candles.

I look down at the cake, the scent of wax drifting on the clearing smoke, hoping against hope that my wish will come true.

Happy birthday, Holly
.

Chapter Ten

I open my eyes, and for a moment have no idea where I am, or why I feel so incredibly, inexplicably happy. I try to remember what I was dreaming about as my eyes sweep around the unfamiliar bedroom, over the wide-screen TV and plush red carpet, to a huge window. Outside, the skyscrapers glitter in the morning sun, and the Empire State Building winks back at me.

Suddenly, I remember.

My face explodes in a smile, and quickly I roll over.

“Good morning.” Andy grins, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight, his blond hair crumpled sexily against his pillow. “How are you this morning?”

I beam at him. “I’m wonderful.”

“I agree,” he whispers, his eyes dancing as he brushes my hair from my face. “Completely and utterly.”

My heart flutters as his hand glides slowly down to my waist, and with one smooth movement he pulls me closer, my entire body tingling as his smooth skin meets mine.

“Happy birthday.” He kisses me gently, his mouth hot against mine, leaving me breathless. “So the hotel was a good idea?”

“The best.” I nuzzle closer. “Though I can’t say I got a very good night’s sleep.”

“No, me either,” Andy agrees, his fingers trailing up my back and tangling in my hair. “Strange, that.”

“Mmm. Maybe it was the pillows?”

He kisses my neck. “Or the mattress?”

“Or the linen?” I smooth my hands over his back.

“Hmm. Perhaps we should complain?”

“Oh, I’m not complaining.” I smile, hooking my leg over his.

“No?”

“Besides, maybe we haven’t given them a proper chance …”

“Excellent point.” He grins. “You think we need to do more research?”

I shrug. “It would only be fair …”

I squeal as he rolls me underneath him, onto the smoothest bed linen, the softest mattress and the fluffiest pillows I’ve ever felt.

Nope, it wasn’t a dream …

“Washington, here we come!” Andy grins, squeezing my hand as we head into the station, Casey a few steps ahead of us. “No more yellow cabs, no more Central Park, no more Empire State Building …”

“Aw …”
I pout.

“But,”
he says quickly, squeezing me tight, “in Washington they have the Lincoln Memorial, the Pentagon and the White House!”

“Wow!” I grin.

“
And
they have the Smithsonian—the largest museum complex in the world!”

“
Much
better!” I smile up at him. Actually, I couldn’t give a monkey’s where we go as long as we’re together. Just the two of us, back how we used to be. Better. I beam, thinking about the hotel. Me and Andy against the world, finally
traveling
the world—just as we always planned. I grin. I can’t think of a better way to spend my birthday.

Nana couldn’t believe I’d texted her from the top of the Empire State Building—“You should have gone on Valentine’s Day!” she chided when I called her this morning. “You might have met Cary Grant!”

I squeeze Andy’s hand. Who needs Cary Grant?

Andy winks. “So long, New York. No more silly statues and pitiful little buildings …”

“No more tiny breakfasts and early nights …,” I join in, grinning.

Andy laughs. “No more posters for tacky Broadway plays, no more smelly cabs—hey!” Andy yelps as Casey throws him over his shoulder and runs off round the station, Andy’s legs flailing in the air.

I laugh at the two of them goofing around, and my eyes flick over the poster—
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
—an awful version, by the looks of it. The guy playing Oberon looks like a drug addict, and the woman—

I freeze. It can’t be.

Kitty’s green eyes meet mine as I stare at her, unable to believe it … It’s her.
Here. In New York
 … My heart pounds as I scan the poster—the play’s been on all week and finishes tonight.
She’s been here all week …

And now we’re leaving …

“ ‘Starring
For Richer, For Poorer’s
Kitty Clare,’ ” Casey reads, shuddering. “Thank God Lola didn’t hear about this—she’s her favorite!” He grins, grabbing me in a hug. “Good to meet ya, Rosie.”

“Oh—yes—yes, you too.”

We wave goodbye and I follow Andy numbly toward the ticket barriers.

How
is this possible? How could this
happen?
I feel dizzy, sick.

“Andy …”

“Hmm?” he mumbles, checking the screens. “Platform three.”

“Andy.” I stop dead. “I—can’t do this. I can’t leave New York.”

He grins. “It’s been fantastic, hasn’t it?” He kisses my nose. “But wait till you see everywhere else!”

“No.” I pull on his hand, stopping him. “No, you don’t understand.…”

He frowns. “What?”

“Andy.” I look at him sadly. “I can’t come with you. Not now.”

“What?” He looks at me, his blue eyes filled with confusion. “But—why?”

I sigh. How can I tell him?

“Rosie, what is it?”

“I …” I take a deep breath, trying to find the words.

“Is it us?” he asks seriously, looking deep into my eyes. “It’s last night, isn’t it? We shouldn’t’ve—I shouldn’t’ve—it was too much, too soon. I’m so sorry, I—”

“No, no—it’s not that at all!” I kiss him quickly. “You’re amazing—last night was
amazing
.” I squeeze his hands. “So was this morning.”

“Then what is it?” Andy’s eyes flick to the clock. “Can’t we talk about this on the train? We haven’t got long, Rose.”

“I know, but—”

“The seven
-
oh
-
five Vermonter to Washington, D.C., is boarding at platform three”
a man announces over the intercom.

I look at Andy. “You’d better go.” I sigh, turning away.

“Rosie!” He grabs my handbag strap and it snaps, the contents spilling everywhere.

“Oh God, I’m sorry.” He starts gathering up my things.

“You’d better go,” I say again, scooping my bag up off the floor. “You’ll miss your train.”

“I’m not going without you.”

“I can’t, Andy—”

“Rose, no—you’re not doing this to me again.” He holds my gaze determinedly. “What
is
it? What’s wrong?
Tell me
.”

“It’s …” My eyes fall on the photo of Kitty, which has fallen out of my bag. I sigh, then hand it to him.

“I don’t understand,” he says. “Who’s Kitty Clare? An actress?”

I nod, swallowing painfully. “She’s Katharine Sinclare.”

“Katharine who?” Andy stares at me, then at the photo. “I don’t under—” His expression changes.

“It’s her, Andy, she’s here—”

“Don’t.” Andy interrupts, shakes his head. He stares at the photo, his features tense. “This … 
this
is why you came?” He looks at me hard. “Of course it is!” He turns away angrily. “God, how stupid am I?!”

I grab his hand. “You’re not stupid!”

“Yes I am!” He pulls his hand away roughly. “I thought you—I thought we …” His jaw tightens. “Never mind what I thought. I was wrong. Obviously.” He turns away.

“Andy, wait!”

“I’ve got a train to catch.”

“Andy!”

“Goodbye, Rosie. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Andy, please—”

He marches through the ticket barrier.

“Andy!”

I watch him slowly disappear into the crowd, my insides ripping in two—desperate to run after him, to be with him, to explain … but somehow frozen to the spot.

I have to do this
, I tell myself, blinking fiercely as I finally force myself to turn away, my chest tight.
It’s what I came here for
—
the reason I came with him in the first place
.

So why does it hurt so much?

It takes me ages to find the theater. It’s not on the main Broadway strip at all, but tucked down a little side street, opposite a McDonald’s. I cross my fingers and rush up to the box office, breathing a sigh of relief as I finally slide into my seat beside a group of teenagers. They chatter and giggle, passing around photos of Kitty, while a young couple in front share a program, their heads bent close together as they whisper and kiss.

My stomach tightens painfully and I look away, blinking quickly as the lights dim and the curtain begins to rise.

The first few scenes are a blur. I sit impatiently through courtly disputes and lovers’ squabbles, waiting for her to appear. And then, suddenly, there she is—a whirl of wispy chiffon, surrounded by glittering fairies—and everything else fades away.

It’s her. It’s really her. There, live onstage in front of me, just meters away. Kitty Clare—Katharine Sinclare—my
mother
—gliding around the stage, her dark hair gleaming in the spotlight, her melodious voice ringing round the auditorium. I watch, mesmerized, drinking in every precious moment, hooked on her every move, every word, every emotion—her tears, smiles, frowns—etching her into my mind.

Finally, the curtain drops, and still I can’t breathe. I push my way out of the theater, down the stairs, through the foyer and out into the rain, my rucksack bulky on my shoulders as I weave clumsily through the dark busy street, heading for the stage door. There’s a crowd gathered already, and I stand on tiptoe, craning my neck, trying to get a better view.

Suddenly, a thousand flashes go off as the stage door opens—and there she is!

A burly bodyguard holds an umbrella over her sleek black bob as, beaming, she waves at the crowd.

The girls go crazy, squealing and jumping and pushing, thrusting photos toward her, begging for autographs.

“Hello, everybody!” Kitty calls in a crisp English accent. “Thank you all so much for coming! I’ll miss you, New York!” She blows a kiss.

“We’ll miss you, Kitty!” a girl screams behind me. “Kitty, we love you!”

Kitty smiles and waves at her, catching my eye for just an instant. My heart stops. “Kitt—”

“Kitty!”
the crowd screams as she starts down the steps, everyone pushing and shoving, trying to get closer to her.

“Kitty!” I cry, watching her weave past, lost in the crowd.
“Kitty!”

She smiles and walks straight past me to a waiting limousine. “Thank you, thank you all!” she calls with a little wave. “And goodnight!”

“Kitty!” The crowd swarms toward the limousine.

“Kitty!”
I shout.
“No! Kitty, wait!”

The car door slams shut.

I push through the throng and grab the bodyguard’s sleeve. “Please!” I beg. “I need to talk to her! I’m—”

“Her biggest fan, yeah, I know,” he says, shrugging me off and climbing into the front seat.

“No! I’m … Hey!” Someone pulls me backward as the crowd surges forward.

“I’m—I’m her daughter …,” I mutter miserably as the car glides away, disappearing into the stream of traffic flowing into the night. I watch it helplessly, the rain falling in big wet heavy drops, until finally I’m the only one left.

I slump onto the curb.

I can’t believe I actually found her—she was close enough to
touch
—but now she’s gone. A stabbing pain hits my chest, and I hug my knees hard.

I lost her.

A taxi pulls up and beeps at me, but I shake my head.

Where would I go? I can’t go back to Casey’s, I can’t go to Washington with Andy.

Andy
 …

I close my eyes and the tears spill over, stinging my throat. Just hours ago I was on top of the world, so happy. But I threw it all away—on a fantasy, a dream. I stare miserably at the photograph of Kitty, spattered and smudged by the falling rain. I found her—her fame made her easy to find—but it’s made her impossible to reach too. I’ll never get near her. Not now. She’s gone.

The taxi beeps again and I shake my head harder, rubbing my eyes. It beeps again and I stand up, annoyed.

The taxi door opens and a guy steps out.

I glance at him briefly, then look back in disbelief as he walks toward me, hands deep in his pockets.

“Hey,” Andy says. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“She’s staying at the Ritz!” Lola turns in her seat. “I read it in
TV Extra!
This is so exciting!” she gushes. “Rosie, why didn’t you tell us your mom was Kitty Clare?”

I look at Andy, my head still reeling. He looks away.

Lola glances at Andy, then me, then turns and closes the partition.

We drive in silence for a while, the city lights sliding over the space between us.

“Andy, I—”

“Was any of it real?” He interrupts quietly, staring at his lap. “Was last night—has
anything
this week actually been real? Or was it all just … part of some plan, keeping me sweet, biding your time till you found her?”

“No!” I tell him urgently. “No, Andy, it was
all
real—all of it—it’s been the best week of my life!”

He doesn’t look up.

I hesitate. “I mean, yes, coming to America seemed like the perfect way to find Kitty, but everything that’s happened since …” I look at him earnestly, desperate to hold him, kiss him—
show
him. “Andy, it’s been more than I ever hoped for!”

He finally looks up, his eyes uncertain.

“She wasn’t even meant to be in New York—I thought she was in L.A., that I’d have ages to find the right time to tell you, to explain. But then I saw the poster and …” I trail off. “She’s my
mum
, Andy, and she was so close. If I hadn’t
tried
, if …” I sigh. “I’m so sorry.”

He nods silently.

“I thought you’d got on the train,” I say gently.

“I did,” he admits. “I was sitting there in the carriage by myself, consumed with déjà vu—I couldn’t believe you’d bailed on me
again
, hidden things from me,
lied
to me.”

I close my eyes.

He sighs. “And then I remembered why you did it last time. That you had a pretty good reason.”

I look at him. “Andy.”

“And while I’m not crazy about being used, or lied to, I am crazy about you, Rosie Kenning.” He squeezes my hand and my eyes fill. “And I want to be there for you—you can trust me, you know.”

I nod. “I know.”

He sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”