Someone Else's Life (12 page)

Suddenly it hits me, as hard and as painful as a punch to the stomach.

She ran away.
From me. That’s
why she gave me a different name. She didn’t want me—she never had—she was going to give me up for adoption … Andy was right, she made her choice. There was no mistake, no regret. Her voice rings painfully in my ears—
I don’t have a daughter!
She’d never wanted a baby, and now, as far as she’s concerned, she never had one.

A yellow shape looms up in front of me. A taxi. Casey. I struggle forward, gripping the wall for support as the driver approaches the hotel. But it’s not Casey. He walks straight past me, opening one of the hotel’s heavy glass doors as a couple hurries out, the woman’s high heels clacking noisily over the pavement. She turns, brushing her black bob out of her eyes as she slides into the car, and I shrink into the shadows as it pulls away, disappearing into the sea of traffic.

There she goes. My mother. Out of my life forever—just as she always wanted …

“Here you go!” Andy rushes back out. “Come on, it’s pissing it down.” He wraps my coat around me, hugging me close as the rain beats down harder, dodging pedestrians and puddles until finally we find Casey’s cab.

“Is she okay?” Lola whispers as I slump into the warm backseat.

“I think she’s in shock,” Andy says quietly, shutting the door. “It didn’t go so well.”

“Oh, no,” Lola sighs. “I’m so sorry. Here, Rosie, honey, take some of this.”

She passes a bottle through the partition and Andy wraps my fingers around it.

I tip it upward, the smooth liquid warm as it slides down my throat.

“Good girl.” Lola smiles, and Andy kisses my forehead.

“Okay.” Casey starts the engine. “Where to?”

“Rosie?” Andy asks gently, his voice a million miles away.

“Anywhere,” I mumble. “Anywhere but here.”

I lean my head against the cold window, my eyes heavy as I watch the raindrops streak across, changing color as they smudge their haphazard way down, down, blurring the world outside as we pull off, leaving the hotel, my mother, and all my hopes far, far behind. Forever.

Goodbye, Kitty Clare
.

I sigh.

Goodbye, Holly Woods
.

I watch the raindrops streak quickly across the window as the city lights stream past, trying to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach.

My fingers play with the ring, new and strange on my finger, weighing heavily on my conscience. I think of the photo nestled in my bag, of my new life, my new fiancé, my secret …

“Babe?” I turn to him, but he’s already asleep, his head lolling heavily against the seat.

I stroke his cheek. He looks so happy, so peaceful.

I glance again at the ring, gleaming on my finger, then kiss it tenderly.

Goodbye, Holly Woods
. I sigh.

Hello, future.

Chapter Twelve

I wake suddenly, startled and disorientated. Warm sunlight streams onto my face, and I’m curled under a blanket on the backseat of the empty taxi.

My neck aches as I stretch and struggle upright to look out of the window—at the ocean.
The ocean?
Where am I?!

Rap
-
rap
-
rap!

I turn to see Andy outside the opposite window, his arms filled with bags, a flower between his teeth. I reach over and open the door.

“Not quite a rose, I’m afraid, but the best I could find at short notice.” He grins, putting the bags down and presenting the flower to me. “Happy birthday.”

“What?” I smile, confused, stroking the delicate, velvety petals, my stomach growling as the rich aroma of coffee fills the cab.

“Happy birthday!” Andy repeats, reaching into a bag and handing me a steaming Styrofoam cup and a muffin. “I decided that yesterday wasn’t so great, as birthdays go …”

“No kidding,” I sigh.

“So,” he says. “Today we’re going to start again. Do it properly.”

“Hence the waking up in a cab in the middle of nowhere?” I smile, gazing out at the pale blue sea and soaring seagulls.

“Come on.” He grins, taking out his own coffee. “All the best birthdays begin by waking up in a cab in the middle of nowhere.” He winks. “Welcome to Plymouth!”

“Plymouth?”
I stare out the window. “How long have I been asleep?”

Andy laughs. “Plymouth, Massachusetts, New England. Though I am surprised you slept all night, especially in a car. You must’ve been shattered.”

“Yeah.” I take a sip of my coffee.
“Shattered.”

“I’m so sorry, Rose,” Andy says gently. “I never dreamed Kitty’d react like that.”

I sigh. “What doesn’t kill you, right?” I smile weakly.

“Right.” He sighs. “She’s the one who’s missing out, okay?”

I look up at him, my throat swelling. “Thanks.” I take another deep breath. “I just want to forget about it, really.”

“Of course,” he says. “And that’s what today’s all about. A fresh start. Casey and Lola have buggered off sightseeing for the morning, so it’s just us, I’m afraid—you, me, the beach and the sea.” He grins.

I beam. “Perfect.”

“Almost,” he says, pulling a candle from his pocket and sticking it into my muffin.

I smile as he lights it, the warmth of the flame spreading through me, chasing away the shadows of yesterday, of the past eighteen years.

“Make a wish.” He grins, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and blow.

New England is the perfect antidote to New York. Peaceful and sleepy, with its quaint little picket fences lining the gardens of the pretty white clapboard houses, it feels like it’s tucked away from the world and all its worries and problems. Mum would’ve loved it.

We spend the morning wandering lazily round Plymouth. I buy some postcards and call Nana; then we meet Casey and Lola and drive right along to the farthest tip of the Cape, to Provincetown. The tiny town is practically shut up for the winter—letters that once spelled
OPEN
now rearranged to
NOPE
in the shop windows, while others cheerfully proclaim
SEE YOU IN
APRIL!
; streets and restaurants that are probably crammed with tourists in the summer, now reclaimed by the laid-back locals: the fishermen with their enormous Christmas tree built from lobster pots, the families digging for clams along the empty shore. It’s perfect.

After a delicious seafood lunch, Andy and I finally wave goodbye to Casey and Lola and book into a gorgeous little B&B. We unpack, shower, and then wander slowly down to the boardwalk pier, the Pilgrim Monument spearing the clear blue sky behind us, the huge black-and-white faces of fishermen’s wives staring out from the wharf walls as little brightly colored boats bob up and down beside us, the waves splashing wildly below. For the first time in ages I feel like I can really breathe.

“Surprise!” Andy announces as we reach a shiny white boat with
Wesley’s
painted on the side.

“Sorry?”

“This is your birthday surprise—I organized it this morning!”

I raise my eyebrows. “A boat?”

“A boat
trip
,” Andy corrects, helping me aboard. “But not just any boat trip—now, take a seat and keep your eyes peeled.”

“For what?”

“It’s a surprise, just—watch the waves.”

We ride for what seems like hours, salty spray peppering my lips as the wind tugs wildly at my hair, the glittering waves glinting blindingly as I stare out at the distant horizon—blue sea merging into blue sky. The sun beams down on my face, sea air filling my lungs as the steady rise and fall of the boat lulls me with its lazy rhythm, my thoughts drifting with the seagulls reeling high overhead—wings outstretched, surrendered to the wind like great white kites.

Mum bought me a kite for my sixth birthday. It was beautiful. Snowy white with a long tail of ribbons. She held the string, and I ran and ran as fast as I could, but it kept dropping to a clumsy heap on the ground. When I got tired Mum took over, holding it high above her head and running and running until, all at once, a sudden wonderful gust of wind took the kite soaring high, high into the sky, so I had to squint to see it.

“Hold on, Rosie!” Mum had called. “Hold tight!”

And I did, gripping the string with all my might as the kite danced high up above, gleaming bright white against the blue sky, its ribbons sparkling in the sunlight as it flew, soaring and dipping like a bird, forever pulling at the string in my hand—higher, higher—tugging to get free.

Then I let go. The string snapped from my grip and was gone. Mum raced after it, but it was too fast, soaring up, up and away, higher than the trees. She scooped me up in a hug and told me it was all right, she’d buy me another one. But I didn’t want another one. That was my kite, and it was free. I’d let it go. It’d wanted so much to be free that I just couldn’t hold on, couldn’t hold it down. I smiled as I watched it whirl away—above the trees, above the birds, above the clouds, sparkling into the heavens, dancing free.

It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

“Hey!” Andy nudges me, and I open my eyes. “You’re meant to be watching!”

“Watching for
what
?” I laugh. “Give me a clue! The pier, the beach? We’re almost back!”

“No—we can’t be!” Andy says, panicking. “We haven’t seen them!” He rushes round to the other side of the boat.

“Seen who?” I ask, following him.

“The whales! We’re meant to see whales!” He leans over the rail and strains his eyes.

I look too. Nothing but sparkling water. “Whales?”

“It’s supposed to be a
whale
-
watching trip
!” Andy moans. “If we don’t see any whales, it’s just—it’s just a boat!” He slumps against the rail as the boat slows to a stop, glowering at the empty waves. “Some surprise, huh?”

I laugh at his mournful expression.

“It was wonderful.” I squeeze his hand as we clamber down the gangplank back to dry land. “Thank you.” I kiss him. “For everything. For today, for this … for everything yesterday …”

“You’re welcome,” Andy says gently, his hand warm in mine as we wander back along the jetty. “I’m just sorry how it turned out.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “Well, maybe it’s for the best.”

He looks at me. “Really?”

I shrug. “Now at least I know who she is—where she is—and I told her who I am.” I swallow. “That’s all I wanted.”

Andy frowns.

“I mean, of course it would have been great if she’d wanted to get to know me, to have some kind of relationship,” I admit, slipping my shoes off as we step onto the beach. “But it’s clear that’s not what she wants—what she ever wanted. And I have to respect that. That’s her choice.” I sigh again, the sand freezing beneath my bare toes. “Besides.” I smile. “I’ve already had the best mother in the world, so Kitty would never have compared anyway, despite all her glitz and glamor. So”—I take a deep breath—“it’s for the best. Now at least I know.”

“Really?” Andy squeezes my hand. “You’re still glad you found her? Despite everything?”

“Yes.” I nod. “I just—I couldn’t spend my whole life wondering what if, you know? It’s like the Huntington’s—I could have dealt with having it, but no one could tell me if I had it or not. I had to watch Mum suffering, wondering if the same thing was going to happen to me, but not
knowing
.” I sigh. “But now …” I fill my lungs with the fresh, cool, salty air. “Now I
can
move on. I’m eighteen years old, after all—it’s about time!” I smile. “Time to be my own person, live my own life—make my own mistakes.”

I look up at him. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Andy.”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I should have told you,” I argue. “Secrets just … they always seem to make things worse, don’t they?”

Andy nods.

“So. No more secrets, no more lies,” I promise. “I’m old enough to handle the truth—about anything.”

Andy nods. “No more secrets.”

I squeeze his hand as I glance behind us, back at the jetty, the beach, and the long trail of clear footprints leading to where we’re standing now.
My footprints
, I realize with a smile.
My path
.

“So,” Andy says finally. “What now?”

I take a deep breath.
What now …?

That’s the million-dollar question. A big fat dizzying future lies in front of me, with a million paths to choose, decisions to make, dreams to follow …

But not tonight. I smile. Not tonight.

“Food!” I grin. “I’m starving!”

“Excellent!” Andy grins, linking his arm with mine. “I know just the place …”

“Fish and chips!” I laugh as we stop before a huge wooden sign:
WOODY’S PLAICE
. “We’re having fish and chips?”

“Just the place … get it?” Andy grins. “Just the
plaice
 …”

I groan and cuff him round the head. “You need a new joke book, mister.”

“What do you mean?” he protests. “It’s my own material!”

“I wouldn’t admit that!”

A bell jangles as Andy pushes the door open, and it’s like stepping into a ship’s cabin. We’re surrounded by nautical curios: weird and wonderful fishing equipment, gleaming compasses, nets and telescopes hang from the rafters; coral curls with driftwood on the walls; and a beautiful carved mermaid masthead guards the old-fashioned till. It should look tacky, but it doesn’t—it’s like an Aladdin’s cave of treasures, illuminated by flickering lamplight and filled with the warm vinegary smell of crispy batter.

We order fish and chips and gaze out across the bay.

“It’s beautiful,” I sigh, popping the last chip into my mouth and watching the sun sink slowly beneath the sparkling pink waves. “Everything today was beautiful. Thank you, Andy.”

“You’re welcome.” He smiles, his eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Happy birthday—again.”

“Whoa, it’s somebody’s birthday?” A dark-haired man stops as he passes our table. “Why didn’t you say so? I would’ve put a candle in your cod!” He grins. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you.” I smile.

“English, too! Always a pleasure to meet people from back home. I’m Jack—I own this place, for my sins. Did you enjoy your meal?”

“It was perfect,” I tell him. “Just like home.”

“Praise indeed!” He bows low. “I thought New England could do with some proper Old English cuisine—especially since they’ve stolen all our place names!”

I laugh.

“So, what do you fancy for pud? I can recommend the chocolate cake, or we’ve got an amazing homemade apple crumble.”

“Oh, I couldn’t eat another bite.” I laugh. “I’m stuffed!”

“Come on, Rosie, you’ve got to have some cake,” Andy protests. “It’s your eighteenth!”

“Wow! Then
double
congratulations! Oh, and here you are in the States, where you can’t drink—legally, I mean.” Jack winks. “Bummer! Well, many happy returns, Rosie.” He starts to collect our plates, then stops. “But actually … Listen, I’ve got an idea,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with your dessert.”

He rushes off with our plates and I giggle as he disappears into the kitchen.

“Can you believe him?” I smile at Andy. “We didn’t even order any dessert!”

“Yeah …,” Andy says distractedly.

“What’s wrong? Aw, did you want the homemade apple crumble?” I grin, ruffling his hair.

“What? No, no it’s not that.” He stares at the table.

I look at him. “Andy?”

“Rosie …” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s just …” He hesitates, leans forward. “Listen, you know what you were saying earlier, about the truth and secrets, and how you said you were glad you’d found Kitty even though it didn’t work out—because you finally knew the truth?”

“Yes …,” I say carefully.

“And we agreed … no more secrets, right?”

I nod nervously.

“Well.” Andy takes a big breath. “Don’t get mad, but when I went back into the hotel toilets to get your coat, Kitty came in …”

“What?” My stomach tightens.

“She didn’t see me—she was on her mobile.” Andy pauses and looks at me. “She was calling the operator and demanding to be connected to a Jack Woods.”

I look at him.
Jack Woods? As in Holly Woods?

Andy holds my gaze. “A Jack Woods in Provincetown.”

I stare at him, my skin prickling, Kitty’s words ringing loudly in my ears:
Did Jack send you?

“Well—I called the operator too,” Andy continues quickly, taking my hands in his. “Rosie, this is the only address for a Jack Woods in Provincetown. This restaurant.”

I stare at the menu. “Woody’s …”

Andy nods.

And he’s English
.

Suddenly the lights go out, plunging us into darkness. I grip Andy’s hand, startled.

“What the …?”

“Happy birthday to you!”
the waitresses sing, parading out from the kitchen.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Ro
-
sie …”