Someone Else's Life (16 page)

Holly

The silence is deafening. I’m not sure I’m even breathing. I stare at her, this strange girl standing in my kitchen, wearing my clothes, hardly daring to move.

What?
I glance at Dad, who’s just staring at her, frozen to the spot. His
daughter?
My
sister? I have a sister?

Dad runs a hand through his hair, and suddenly I see her there, in his black hair, his green eyes. His
daughter
. My mind frantically tries to connect the dots … We share a birthday—an
eighteenth
birthday—oh, my God,
we’re twins!
Which means … we share a mother—a mother who’s alive—she’s
alive!
My heart thumps against my chest. After all these years,
my mom’s alive
—
she’s
in
New York
!

“Wow!” I gasp, breaking the silence, excitement bubbling inside me like champagne. I cross the room to get a better look at her, take her hands in mine—my sister—my twin! “Wow, wow, wow! This is … this is amazing!”

I beam at her but she just gazes at me uncertainly, then glances at Dad. Why didn’t he tell me? So many secrets—my mom, my
twin sister
! It’s like
The Parent Trap
!

“I don’t understand,” Dad mutters quietly, clearing his throat. “How … how … Katharine is your mother …?”

She nods. “I was born at St. Anne’s Hospital, Maybridge, the night of January the fifth, eighteen years ago,” she begins, speaking quickly but clearly—as though she’s rehearsed this. “I was premature—”

“Daddy—we’re twins!” I interrupt, laughing at his apparent confusion.

Rosie stares at me then, faltering midflow. She lets go of my hands and sinks into a chair, her face draining of color.

“I was born prematurely,” she continues, clearing her throat and staring at the table. “To Katharine Sinclare—”

“
We
were,” I correct her, smiling. She closes her eyes.

“And rushed to the Special Care Baby Unit.”

A cold chill shivers through me—oh, God, is she sick? Did they think she’d died—is that how we were separated? I watch her intently, twirling my finger in my hair.

“Then”—she takes a deep breath—“there was—there was a
mix
-
up
at the Unit,” she continues, glancing at me.

I hardly dare breathe.

“I was brought back to a different mother. Not Katharine.” She glances at Dad. “This other woman, Trudie, she brought me up—I thought all my life she was my mum.” She stares at the table. “But she wasn’t. Katharine was,” she states, hesitates. “And you are my father.”

Wow. Oh, my God. I watch as she struggles to control her emotions, my heart aching for her. I want to hug her, to let her know it’s okay, that we’ll accept and love her—my lost sister. But something in her eyes stops me.

Dad stares at her for a long moment. “But … twins …? Katharine didn’t have …”

She trembles as she shakes her head. “No, no, she didn’t …” She glances at me, looks away. Her boyfriend squeezes her shoulders.

I freeze, utterly lost now. I look from her to Dad, trying to make sense, to rewind the conversation in my head.

“There was a … another baby,” she says, her breath coming in starts. “The woman I was given to also gave birth to a daughter—a beautiful baby girl.” She smiles at me now, her eyes shining with tears. “And she … Katharine …” I stare at her as she swallows hard, looks away. “Like I said,” she whispers. “There was a mix-up.”

My heart stops. I swear, it just stops stone-cold dead. I stare at this girl, at my dad, this wild story whirling dizzily around my head.

“What are you saying?” I ask quietly.

She looks at me, her face pained. “Holly, I—I only just found out, I—”

“What are you
saying
?” I repeat, my voice harsh, brittle.

“Holly,” she whispers, taking my hand. “You and I—we were swapped at birth.”

The words rip through me like a knife as my hand grows limp in hers.

“I—I don’t understand …” I look at Dad, who’s just staring at her. “I—I don’t …” I run out of words.

She sighs. “I know—I’m sorry, I know this is a huge,
huge
shock, but—”

“What would make you think such a thing?” Dad interrupts, his face ashen.

She looks at him then, her eyes sad.

“I’m sorry, I know this is hard to believe—I didn’t believe it at first either—I couldn’t …” She hesitates and glances at me. “But then I had a—a test done, and it showed I wasn’t a genetic match with my mother. When I was born, Katharine was at the same hospital at the same time, and when I met her …” She pauses, smiles weakly. “Well, it was obvious.”

My chest tightens as I look at Dad, praying he’ll disagree—but recognition blossoms in his eyes. She looks like Mom—the mom I’ve never met—the mom he told me died. The mom who’s … who’s not my mom.

Rosie swallows. “But I didn’t know for certain—for definite—until I met you, Holly.”

I look up sharply.

“You’re so—you’re just …” She smiles. “You’re beautiful—”

I eye her warily.

“And you’re the spitting image of my mum, of Trudie.” She slides a photograph across the table.

I turn away, refusing to look, though every part of me itches to see—to know—to prove her wrong.

I watch, frozen, as Dad slowly picks up the photograph. He gasps, then stares at me, his jaw hanging open.

It can’t be true, it can’t
—

I snatch the photo from his hands, a shiver racing down my spine as I stare at it, unbelieving, horrified.

It’s me
—
it’s me, only older
 … The chestnut hair, the hazel eyes, the freckles—even the kinky ear …

“This is horseshit!” I reel backward, laughing loudly at the absurdity of it all, but then I look at this girl, so sad and sympathetic, and at Megan, so confused, and then I see my dad—my daddy—who’s staring at me like he’s never seen me before, and my laughter dies.

“Daddy, tell her!” I beg, my voice laced with panic now. “Tell her it’s not true—it’s ridiculous!”

“It’s impossible,” Dad says, his frown deepening. “It can’t be … and yet …”

“Get out!” I scream at her, wrenching open the back door. “Just
get out
!”

“Holly …,” Megan says gently.

“
Get out of my house!
” I yell, my whole body shaking. “Dad, tell her!”

“Please, let me explain—” she begs. “There’s more.”

“How dare you? How
dare
you! After we’ve given you somewhere to stay, given you food, a
birthday cake
—my
fricking birthday cake
!” Tears burn my eyes. “And my
clothes
! You’re even wearing my fricking
clothes
!”

I lunge at her and she tumbles to the floor as I tear at her sweatshirt—
my
sweatshirt—trying to yank it roughly over her head.

“Hey!” Her boyfriend tries to pull me off.

“Get off me!” I yell, kicking him so hard he falls. “This has
nothing
to do with you! This is my house! My
life
!”

“Holly!” Megan reaches for me.

“She can’t have it!” I scream, clinging to the sweatshirt, pulling, struggling, desperate to get it back.
“She can’t have my life!”

“Holly!” Dad bellows, lifting me roughly by my arm. “What the
hell
are you doing?”

Everyone’s staring at me like I’m some sort of freak show. I look at Dad helplessly, my heart breaking into a thousand jagged splinters.

“Tell her it’s not true,” I gasp. “Tell her she’s a liar—tell her to go away and leave us alone!” I beg. “Daddy, please!”

He looks at me, his face aged with lines I’ve never noticed before.

“No, Holly-berry,” he sighs, the familiar nickname breaking my heart. “I—I can’t …”

I stare at him for a long moment, the splinters turning to ice.

“Then she’s welcome to you.”

I turn my back on them all, slamming the kitchen door hard behind me.

Rosie

Shit. I look at Andy. He helps me up, rubbing his leg where Holly kicked him.

Well, that went well.

Jack is frozen, staring at the door Holly just slammed, the shudders still rippling through the room.

“Look,” Megan says quietly. “This has all been quite a shock, I think we just need some time …”

I nod. “I understand. I’m so sorry … it’s just—”

“Unbelievable …,” Jack murmurs, gazing out the window, frozen in time, in shock. “You’re Katharine’s daughter?” He turns, his eyes unreadable. “You’re really Kathy’s daughter?”

I look at him for a moment, uncertain suddenly, in spite of everything. Then I nod tentatively, my voice a whisper. “I’m
your
daughter.”

His eyes soften visibly for a moment; then he looks away.

I stare at the floor, aware of every heartbeat pounding in my chest, my head.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, sinking into a chair. “It’s just so …”

“Unbelievable,” I agree quietly.

“Sweetie.” Megan turns to me. “Have you … I mean, would you … consider …” She hesitates. “A test—or something … to confirm …?”

“Of course.” I nod quickly, my cheeks burning fiercely.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to imply …” She stumbles. “Just to be certain, to be sure—just because you and Holly were born the same night …”

“It’s fine.” I swallow. It’s not like I can tell them about Sarah, about the identity tags she switched … I think that would push them over the edge—more than I already have.

Somewhere overhead a plane hums through the sky. I wish I were on it.

I glance around the kitchen, my eyes flicking over anything, everything—anything to avoid looking at Jack or Megan—and my gaze snags on a framed photo by the sink. The same photo as in the bedroom—the happy family: Jack, Megan, Holly and Ben.

Suddenly the enormity of what I’ve done crashes down on me. I’ve ripped this whole family apart—not just Holly’s life, but Jack’s and Megan’s and even little Ben’s. And there’s absolutely no way to go back now, to undo it.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurt out. “This was never—I didn’t mean—I didn’t even
know
about Holly until last night. I thought the other baby died, and I … I just wanted to find my real parents …”

Jack nods slowly but doesn’t look up.

“Shhh, sweetie. It’s okay.” Megan pats my hand gently. “Do your par—do the people looking after you know you’re here now?”

I shake my head. “She thinks I’m traveling—I didn’t want her to worry …” I look at Jack, my throat tight. “But—but I had to tell you.” I look at the photo, my heart aching. “I had to tell you …”

Jack nods, still staring at the table.

“Because there’s more.”

He looks up, his face worn and weary. “More?”

Andy squeezes my shoulder.

“Perhaps whatever it is could wait, sweetie?” Megan says. “It’s a lot to deal with as it is.”

I shake my head, determined to get it all out and over with. Any delay will just cause more grief, more pain.

“No. No, I’m sorry,” I sigh. “I would never have come crashing into your life if it weren’t for this—if it weren’t important.”

Jack holds my gaze, his eyes tired, fearful. “I’m listening.”

I take a deep breath.

“Have you ever heard of Huntington’s disease?”

Holly

“Tell me you love me.”

Josh looks up, surprised, as his bedroom door slams against the wall.

“Tell me you love me!” I demand, standing over him, tears scorching my eyes, blurring my vision. “Tell me you love me, no matter what.”

“Of course I love you, baby.” Josh scrambles to his feet and pulls me close. “Hey, what’s going on? What’s the matter?”

He folds me into his arms, and I can’t speak, the tears pouring too fast now, my breath hot gasps against his shirt.

“Hey, baby girl, it’s okay, it’s all right.” He pulls me closer, tighter. “Shhh now. What happened? Is it your dad?”

My dad
. The sobs surge harder, swelling painfully in my throat.
He’s not
—
he’s not my dad!

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s all right.” Josh brushes away my tears, his eyes serious, sad. “He doesn’t approve, does he?”

“What?” I frown, confused. “No! No, it’s not that.” I swallow hard, stroke his cheek. “It’s not you.”

“Well … what, then?” Josh frowns. “Baby, whatever it is we can fix it, okay?” he soothes, his eyes deep in mine. “I love you.” He kisses me gently. “I’ll always love you.”

“Really?” I search his eyes.

“Of course.” He smiles, brushing my hair from my face.

“Even when I’m old and wrinkly?”

He grins. “Even when your boobs hit the floor and you leave a trail of drool behind your walker.”

“Eww!” I smile. “Promise?” I sniff.

He cups my face in his hands. “Holly Marie Woods, I will love you till my dying day.”

I stare at him, my insides twisting harder than ever.

Holly Marie Woods
 …

My eyes fill and I screw them shut, the tears streaming down my cheeks as my world collapses around me.

“Holly?” Josh panics. “What is it? Holly?”

That’s not even my name
.

Rosie

“Wow,” Jack says when I’ve finished. He rubs his brow as Megan strokes his back soothingly. “Wow.”

“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, lost for words now everything’s spilled out in the open. Andy looks at me with a small reassuring smile.

“So Holly …” Jack trails off. “There’s a chance she might
develop
this … this disease …?”

“There’s a fifty percent chance, yes.” I look away.

“But she’s so healthy … so beautiful …” He gazes at the picture by the sink. “My Holly-berry …”

I nod, my heart aching with guilt.

“Okay.” He swallows. “So what do we do if she has? Chemo? Therapy? Drugs?” He looks at me.

I shake my head miserably. “There’s research going on all the time, new developments, but at the moment …” I hesitate. “I’m sorry, there is no cure.”

“What?” Jack stares at me. “There must be—there has to be!” He slams his fist against the table, jumps from his chair. “I’ll sue!” he rages. “I’ll sue that bloody hospital—this is their fault!” He grabs the phone and my heart leaps in panic.

“I don’t think that’ll help anyone, Jack,” Megan soothes, resting her hand gently on his. “Besides, let’s do the DNA test first—make sure we’ve got our facts straight.”

Jack drops the phone and collapses at the table, head in his hands, clawing at his hair. “I can’t just … she can’t … she’s my daughter, my little girl …” He trails off, wiping his tears roughly. Megan slips her arm around him, kisses his shoulder.

I wish I’d never come here, wish I’d never found out, wish I’d never been born. This man is breaking into pieces before me and it’s all my fault. My chest tightens and all I want to do is run.

“But you know,” Andy says gently, warm by my side. “You know, there’s a fifty percent chance that Holly’s completely unaffected—that she’s perfectly healthy. Right, Rose?”

“Right.” I nod gratefully at him. “And even if she
has
inherited the gene, she’ll probably be perfectly fine for years—decades, even. It can start really late, Mum was in her …” I hesitate, remembering how Mum’s early symptoms were overlooked. “She wasn’t diagnosed till her fifties.”

Jack looks up, searching my eyes carefully. “Your mother …” He clears his throat. “You watched her die of this disease?”

An icy clamp closes over my heart as I think of Mum staggering around the prom, ranting at the neighbors, lying in her hospital bed … herself and yet so very, very far from herself.

I close my eyes, swallow, and nod. “Yes.”

Slowly, he places his large hand over mine. “Then
I’m
the one who’s sorry.”

I look at him then, this man whose life has just been shattered, his eyes filled with sadness and compassion—for me.
He’s
sorry for
me
. My throat swells as he squeezes my hand.

“I’m so sorry …,” I say again, the only words left in my vocabulary, as the tears flood up from nowhere.

Then, suddenly, I’m folded in his arms, breathing in the musky smell of his shirt, his hold tight, protective.

“It’s not your fault,” he soothes, stroking my hair. “Okay? It’s not anybody’s fault.”

I close my eyes, trying to convince myself he’s right, that I haven’t just single-handedly destroyed his life—
all
their lives. That this
was
the right thing to do, not just for me, but for Jack, for Holly … My gaze snags on the window and I freeze, stung with guilt, as Holly stares back at me, her eyes wide, pale as a ghost against the glass.