Someone Else's Life (20 page)

Holly

I watch Rosie leave, hammering down the steps like thunder. Dad looks at me anxiously, his grip tight on my hand, waiting for me to react. But I can’t.

Everything feels unreal, somehow—like I’m watching myself from a distance, like I’ve left my body. Like I’m already dead.

Even the sharp buzz of my cell phone doesn’t make me jump. I stare at the illuminated screen.

Josh
.

God, Josh. My fiancé. The fiancé I was scared to burden by telling him I was pregnant. Now I’ve got a terminal illness too.

I stare at the phone as it shudders violently on the table. Megan glances at Dad, then silently reaches over and turns it off.

“Holly …,” Dad starts. “Holly-berry, talk to me …”

I shake my head, a tiny movement, all I can manage.

“It’ll be okay, you’ll see …”

I shake my head harder, cold sweat trickling down my neck.

“It will, I promise—you probably don’t even have the disease—and even if you do—Holly!” I lunge for the sink, my knees buckling as I heave my guts out over the dirty dishes.

“Shhh,” Dad soothes, his arms around me as he brushes my hair back from my face. “It’s all right, it’ll be okay …”

“How …,” I whimper, wiping my wrist across my mouth, my skin cold and clammy, my voice hoarse. “How did this happen …?”

He sighs heavily. “I don’t know, sweetheart.” He looks at me helplessly, his eyes the saddest I’ve ever seen them. “I have no idea.”

Rosie

The raindrops blur into my tears as I stare out blankly across the beach, at the wispy sea grass billowing in the wind, the boats bobbing up and down on the churning gray sea. I wish I could just get in one and sail far, far away …

“Rose? Rosie!” I turn at the sound of Andy’s voice.

“What’re you doing out here? It’s raining!” He hurries down the road toward me, a rucksack over each shoulder. “Here, put this on.” He drops the bags onto the sand and throws me a waterproof jacket. “Thought we might need our stuff from the B and B.” He grins. “As we’re staying.”

I close my eyes.

“So where’d you get to, early bird?” he asks. “I woke up at the crack of dawn and you’d disappeared!”

“I’m sorry.” I sigh, the words too familiar on my lips.

“Where were you?” he says. “I tried your phone …”

“I’m sorry, I forgot it,” I say, rubbing my face. “I was with Jack, we went to the fish market.”

“Right.” He nods. “Well, next time leave a note or something, will you? I was worried.”

“I’m sorry!”
I turn on him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—
okay?
” Tears sting my eyes and I look away, my breath shuddering in my chest.

“Rosie …” He wraps his arm gently round my shoulders. “Rosie, what’s the matter? What’s happened?”

I look at him, a wave of hopelessness crashing over me. “Holly knows,” I tell him miserably. “I told her about Mum—about Huntington’s. Jack asked me not to—he wanted to tell her himself—but oh, no, me and my stupid big mouth!”

“Hey,” Andy soothes. “Rosie, she was going to find out sometime. It doesn’t really matter how …”

“No,” I shake my head wretchedly. “You weren’t there, Andy, you didn’t see her face …” I close my eyes. “She’s just so … broken. And it’s all my fault!”

“No.” Andy says firmly. “No, Rosie, none of this is your fault.”

“Yes, it is!” I insist. “I’ve
ruined
their lives, Andy! I could have walked away—I
should
have walked away. This was a huge mistake. I have to go!” I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, standing up.

“Okay.” Andy stands. “Okay, we’ll go—we’ll go on down to my aunt in Washington, we just need to call a cab, say goodbye, then—”

“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t—I can’t go back in that house.”

“Rosie, you owe Jack that much. You can’t just disappear without telling him,” he says softly. “He’s your dad.”

I dig my shoes into the sand, thinking of the fish market, the café, the warmth of Jack’s arms as he hugged me close.
My dad
 …

“Just … say goodbye, and we’ll go, we’re out of here—we don’t ever have to come back, okay?” Andy searches my eyes. “If that’s really what you want.”

I take a deep breath, my throat swelling as I gaze up at the clapboard house, the restaurant with its wooden sign creaking in the salty breeze …

I swallow hard. “It is.”

Holly

I watch the raindrops sliding like tears down the window as Megan pours me yet another cup of tea.

“So …” I stare into the swirling depths of my mug. “How long do I have?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dad sighs. “It’s not like that—you might not even
have
—”

“How long?” I look at him.

He glances at Megan, then sighs again. “I did a bit of research last night, and most of the Websites I found said it usually doesn’t even start until middle age. Trudie didn’t even know she had it when Ro—” He stops himself, strokes my hand. “When you were born.”

I nod, considering. “Then how long till I die? Once it starts?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It varies I think—it depends …” He frowns. “You should talk to Rosie.”

I look at him quickly.

He squeezes my hand. “She knows better than anyone,” he says gently. “She was her mother’s caregiver.”

I stare at him. A caregiver? I’m going to need a
caregiver
?

“But sweetheart, we don’t even know you’ve got it,” he says swiftly, reading my fear. “There’s a test you can take, if you want to, to find out if you definitely have the gene—”

“If I
want
to? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, some people don’t, they’d rather not know—afraid a positive result will affect their lives too much—”

“Well, duh—they’re gonna die!” I laugh, a short sharp bitter sound.

“No,” Dad says gently. “Their life before the disease. Their jobs, their careers, their marriages …”

“Why?” I frown. “Why would it affect that?”

“Well …” Dad hesitates. “From what I can gather online, some people are scared their employers might discriminate against them, or they’re afraid they’ll become a burden on their partners—”

“Josh would stand by me,” I tell him firmly. “He loves me.”

“I’m sure he would.” Dad smiles, stroking my hand. “But does he want children?”

“Why?” I freeze. “What do you mean?”

“Sweetheart.” He swallows. “Some people … they decide—they’re afraid to have children …” He looks at me, his voice careful, his eyes sad. “I mean, it is hereditary …”

My hand goes limp in his, his words forming an icy fist around my heart.

This could get my baby too …

“Rosie said that Trudie—” He stops himself. “Sweetie—”

“What?” I interrupt. “What did Rosie say?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me,” I command, my voice wobbly. The authority of the terminally ill.

He shifts uncomfortably. “Rosie said that Trudie, if she’d known …” He sighs. “She might not have had children.”

I close my eyes.

She wouldn’t have had children … I would never have been born …

“But she was so glad she did,” Dad insists, squeezing my hand. “That’s an argument
against
having the test, if you look at it that way. Maybe it’s better to live your life, regardless of what may or may not happen in the future. Anyone could fall under a bus!”

His words wash over me, my head spinning in painful circles.

She wouldn’t have had children
—
I shouldn’t have children
—
I shouldn’t have this child …

“He’s right, Holly,” Megan says. “Maybe it’s better not to know.”

“I have to know!” I yell, my words louder, harsher than intended. “I have to—this is my life—my
future
 …”
My baby
 … My throat stings. “I might have this … 
disease
, and I don’t even know what it is—I’ve never even heard of it!”

“You’re right,” Megan says gently, glancing at Dad. “We don’t know anything about it, not really. But Rosie does.”

“I’m not talking to her, that selfish bitch!”

“I know it’s hard, but she knows what you’re going through,” Dad soothes. “She can help you.”

“I don’t need her help!” I explode. “I don’t need anything from her—this is her fault!” I screw my eyes closed, the pain unbearable. “If she hadn’t—if we hadn’t—”

“If you hadn’t been swapped at birth you’d have watched your mother die from Huntington’s, just like she did,” Dad says evenly. “You’d have wondered every day if you were going to inherit it, just like she did. And now you’d be in exactly the same position you’re in now. But you’d be all alone,” he says. “Like she was.”

I look away, a lump in my throat.

“None of this is her fault, Holly. Who can blame her for wanting to find her real parents? But when she met you she was willing to walk away and leave us all. She only stayed because she knows how awful it is to live not knowing. She’s been there, Holly. She’s been through it all, and she thought you had the right to know, to decide for yourself, to choose.”

To choose
.

Images of the Planned Parenthood clinic flash back to me.
To choose …

Trudie said she wouldn’t have had children …

“I’m scared,” I whisper, tears streaking my cheeks. “Daddy, I’m so scared.”

“I know.” Dad kisses my head fiercely, his stubble rough and scratchy as he holds me tight. “I know. Me too.” His tears slide into my hair, warm and wet. “We’ll get through this,” he promises, his voice cracking and breaking my heart. “We will. You’ll see. Together we can beat anything.”

I cling to him like a child, desperately holding on, trying to believe him.

“You okay, Holly?”

I blink as Ben appears in the doorway, his eyes wide with concern.

I nod quickly, biting my lip, unable to speak. He pads over and climbs onto my lap, his short arms looping my neck tightly as Dad hugs us both, holding us together. I pull Ben close, my heart aching as I breathe him in, this precious child—perhaps the only child I’ll ever hold this way—the nearest I’ll ever get to a child of my own … I kiss his hair, pulling him as close as possible, tears flooding my eyes.

I never knew my mother; now I’ll probably never be one
.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Daddy?”

“What?” he whispers.

“About Mom—Kitty, I mean.” I swallow painfully. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He kisses my hair. “I thought I could protect you—I thought … She left us, Holly-berry. She didn’t deserve you. She didn’t know what she was missing …”

“She was still my mom,” I whisper, Ben warm and heavy in my arms. “I mean—”

“You’re right.” Dad strokes my hair from my face, looks at me. “I’m sorry, I was wrong. You had a right to know. I’ll never keep anything from you again, sweetheart. I promise.” He links his pinkie with mine like we used to when I was little. “No more secrets, okay?” He wipes a tear from my cheek. “From now on, we’ll tell each other everything. Okay?”

I look at him, his eyes so sad, and I nod, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath. “Daddy—”

A knock at the back door stops my breath. Rosie slowly creaks it open, a large bag over her shoulder, Andy behind her.

“Sorry—I—didn’t mean to interrupt,” she stammers, her eyes glued nervously to mine. “I just—we just came to say …” She swallows. “We’ve called a taxi—we’re leaving.” The words tumble out quickly as she looks from Dad to me, her eyes filling. “I’m so sorry—I never meant to—” Her voice cracks as she blinks quickly. “I’m so sorry.” She moves to leave.

“Wait,” I say, my voice hoarse.

She stops, her hand on the doorknob.

“You don’t—you don’t have to go.”

She hesitates, her eyes flicking anxiously from me to Dad. She shakes her head. “I really should—”

“Maybe it’s for the best, Holly-berry,” Dad says, stroking my hair. “Just for now, give us some time.”

“No,” I say, my voice stronger now. “No, it’s okay.” I can’t believe what I’m doing, what I’m saying. I can’t stand her, can’t stand the thought of her in my house, my home, but … but I need to know more.

“You should stay.” I swallow. “If you don’t mind … I have some questions.”

She looks at me, a sad recognition in her eyes.

“Of course,” she says gently, sliding her bag to the floor. “Of course.”

“Maybe we should give you guys some space,” Megan suggests, lifting Ben gently from my arms and glancing meaningfully at Andy. “Some time alone together, to talk …”

“Good idea.” Dad smiles gratefully.

Andy looks at Rosie, who nods absently, her gaze glued to mine, searching my eyes.

“Yeah.” He nods, plunging his hands in his pockets and following Megan outside. “Yeah, good idea.”

The door closes behind them.

And then there were three.

“So,” Rosie sighs, sinking slowly into a chair. “Where should I begin?”

Rosie

We talk for hours, the shadows lengthening slowly across the kitchen as Holly twirls her finger endlessly in her hair, listening silently.

I tell her about Mum: about life before and after her onset; about the test, the different stages of counseling I went through, what it was like waiting for the result. I try to emphasize the positive—that it’s nowhere near certain she’s got the gene, that even if she does, she could still have a long and healthy life—that there’s no reason why she can’t still do everything she’s ever wanted …

But in her eyes I see it all: my own fear, my own hopelessness. In the end they’re just words. In the end it’s her life.

“Okay,” Holly says finally. “Okay, enough for now.”

I nod. “It’s a lot to take in.”

She nods, her thoughts a million miles away.

“How about I make us some nice hot soup?” Jack suggests brightly. “I don’t know about you girls, but I’m starving!” He turns to Holly. “What d’you think, Holls? I’ll even rustle up some crunchy croutons for you.” He ruffles her hair.

“What?” She looks up at him blankly. “Oh, not for me, thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Jack frowns. “Or are you just holding out for my famous fresh-baked rolls to dunk in it?”

She smiles weakly. “No.”

“Okay then, anything you like. Pasta? Chili? Burgers? I know!” He grins. “Fish and chips!”

Holly smiles faintly.

“Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.” She scrapes her chair back from the table. “I think I might go out on my bike for a while—I could do with some air.”

“Are you sure?” Jack asks anxiously. “Shall I come with you?”

“I can leave,” I add quickly. “You don’t have to go—”

“I’m fine, really,” Holly insists gently, her movements slow, steady. “You guys enjoy your soup.” She walks out the back door, closing it slowly behind her.

Jack sighs, his head sinking into his hands. He seems to have aged so much in just a day. “My little girl …”

“I really am sorry,” I say helplessly.

“It’s not your fault,” Jack tells me, looking up. “And thank you for talking to her.” He smiles weakly, his eyes tired. “It can’t have been easy going through all that again, but I think it really helped.”

I shake my head. “It’s the least I can do, after … Anything I can do to help, anything …”

“I’m not sure there’s much any of us really
can
do.” Jack sighs. “Apart from just being here for her, as long as it takes.”

I nod. That, at least, I can do.

“And you can help me eat some soup!” Jack pushes himself up from the table. “What flavor do you like? Tomato? Mushroom? Minestrone?”

“Anything as long as it’s hot.” I smile.

“Great. The same for Andy?”

Shit. Andy.