Someone Else's Life (23 page)

Holly

The front door slams downstairs and I hold my breath, listening carefully.

Silence.

I creep out of the bathroom and pad silently to the top of the stairs.

Still nothing.

Slowly, oh-so-carefully, I tiptoe to Rosie’s door and gently push it open.

It’s empty.

Feeling like a fugitive in my own house, I step cautiously inside and close the door behind me.

My eyes flick quickly around the room, skimming over the furniture I’ve seen a million times, to Rosie’s toiletries on the desk, her bag on the bed, a note on her pillow …

I bite my lip, my heart deafening in my ears as I cross to the bed. This is wrong, so wrong, but I can’t stop myself.

I scowl at the page, her loopy handwriting, her signature.

Rosie xxxx

Outside, a car door slams, making me jump. I cross to the window to see the stretch limo pull smoothly away from the curb and disappear down the street, Kitty and Rosie tucked smugly inside.

My vision blurs and the paper crumples in my fist, opening my stinging wounds. I stuff it in my pocket and grab Rosie’s bag, new fire raging through my veins as I tear it open, yanking at its contents and strewing them over the bed. Clothes tumble out, books and hair clips … there must be something—she must have
something
I can use against her … I pick up a notebook, leafing swiftly through its pages for anything, anything at all—and a photograph slips out. Eagerly, I grab it—

Kitty smiles back at me like a knife through my heart.

I stare at her, her eyes bright and gleaming, and suddenly I scream, tearing at the photograph, ripping it into long jagged strips, clawing at her perfect face, that smug smile!

You didn’t want me!
I tear the photo again, my blood blazing.
You never wanted me
—
so why now? Why her?!

I tear again and again, furiously, fiercely, slashing and shredding every last trace of her, the pieces scattering over the bed like ashes.

I grab at Rosie’s clothes, eager for more destruction, more relief—then something small and pink tumbles out of a pocket. I pick it up. An address book.

“What are you doing?”

I spin around quickly, sliding the book into my back pocket.

Andy is standing in the doorway, tucking his shirt into his jeans.

“What are you doing in here?” he says warily. “Where’s Rosie?”

“Out,” I tell him defiantly. “She went out. More
bonding time
,” I add bitterly.

He frowns. “That’s impossible, she—we were …” His eyes drop to the bed, all her things scattered wildly over it. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Holly—that’s Rosie’s stuff!”

“So what?” I yell, my remorse melting away as my anger boils. “So what? This is
my
house.” I gesture around wildly. “This is
my stuff
! She’s taken everything from me—why shouldn’t I have something of hers?” I grab Rosie’s things—clothes, shoes, books—and hurl them around the room.

“Stop it!” Andy snatches at them. “Holly, stop!” He catches my arm, and I wince. He looks down, then stares at me, shocked. I pull quickly away, yanking my sleeves down over my weeping cuts and folding my arms.

Andy just stands there, staring at me. His eyes fall on the shredded picture and he brushes the pieces apart, recognition in his eyes.

“What?” I challenge, his pity scorching my cheeks. “
What?
She was mine—she was my mom. Why
shouldn’t
I?”

I feel his gaze on me like a spotlight burning as I snatch handfuls of the scraps and dump them into the trash can. When I turn back I am surprised that they’re all gone. I look at Andy, his cupped hands full of paper.

I wipe at my eyes and sniff. “Well?” I demand.

To my surprise he moves slowly toward the trash can and drops the paper in. Then he takes something from his own bag.

A cigarette lighter.

I look at him, startled. He smiles and raises his eyebrows.

“Ever thought about cremation?”

Rosie

With a flick of her wrist, Kitty lights her cigarette, the flame dancing for a second before vanishing as she drops the lighter back into her clutch bag. She closes her eyes, sighing blissfully as she exhales, and I watch the thin plume of smoke curl like a ribbon toward the ceiling of the car, thinking of Trudie and her cigarette holder.

“God, I’m sorry!” Kitty cries stubbing it out quickly. “I’ve been trying to quit, but there are moments when I’m stressed—or nervous …”

“It’s fine, really,” I protest.

“No,” she says, flicking the cigarette out the window. “It’s a disgusting habit, I’ve been meaning to quit for years.”

“Really, it’s not like I’ve never … I tried it once,” I say clumsily, my cheeks growing hot.

“Did you?” she asks, her green eyes wide. “Tell me.”

I shrug. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”

“Please,” she says, her fingers soft and cool on my knee, her eyes insistent. “There’s so much I don’t know, so much I’ve missed.”

I stare at my lap, my cheeks on fire. “It was just at school.” I shrug. “Some of the girls were passing it round and … you know …”

“You didn’t like it?” she asks.

I screw up my nose. “It tasted of … ashtrays and bad breath.”

She laughs, a tinkling sound, and beams at me. “Very smart. I can see you didn’t get your brains from me. I’d rather have got lung cancer than be thought uncool.”

She smiles, but inside I’m back in high school gazing at the popular kids, feeling geeky and awkward. Kitty’s assistant, Janine, catches my eye and looks quickly away, hugging the large bag on her lap.

“What about guys?” Kitty’s eyes gleam. “Look at you—you’re gorgeous. I bet you’ve had guys falling for you left, right and center, right?”

“Not really,” I say, feeling even more uncomfortable and square. “There’s just Andy.”

“Right—the guy you were with at the hotel? He’s cute.” She grins. “Andy …”

I nod silently, staring at my feet. Andy, who I’ve left—again. Who I’ve broken my promise to.

Janine clears her throat.

“What else?” Kitty asks brightly. “Did you have any pets, growing up? I bet you’re a cat person, aren’t you? I
always
wanted a cat as a child, but Mum fell for this great big soppy dog—” She looks at me quickly. “Oh, no, you’re gonna tell me you love dogs now, aren’t you?”

I shrug. “I dunno, we never had any pets.”

“Oh, right …” She falters. “What about hobbies?”

“Not really.”

“Sports?”

I shake my head.

She bites her lip, the sparkle fading from her eyes. “Right …”

The car drifts into silence, and I stare out the window, gazing at the tree-lined avenues and clapboard houses as they rush past. Then I see Kitty’s reflection in the glass, and my heart aches. I have so much to say, so many questions—but how to ask them of this confident, glamorous woman? She’s supposed to be my mother, but besides our genes we’re nothing alike. We may be sitting two feet away from each other, but we’re worlds apart.

Outside, people point and stare at the limo as we pass, and I remember the trip to Brighton with Trudie and Sarah, how much fun we had in our pink limousine, our wacky clothes, how hard we laughed …

I pick at a hole in my jeans and look around the luxurious car, afraid to touch anything, wishing I’d had a chance to shower, to change into something more suitable—wishing I had anything suitable to change into.

Wishing I had my mum.

Trudie.

Holly

The fire burns swiftly in the metal can, the bright flames licking the small pile of paper into powdery ash.

“Feel better?” Andy asks.

I shrug. But a small part of my pain has subsided, floating away through the window with the disappearing smoke.

He nods, slides down from the window ledge and crosses to the door. “Well,” he says, picking up his bag. “Have a nice life.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask, surprised.

He pauses in the doorway. “It’s for the best.”

“Where will you go?”

He shrugs. “Back to the B and B for now, then … I dunno.” He sighs. “We were supposed to be in Washington by now.”

“Washington?” I look at him, considering. I take a breath and hop down from the sill. “Let’s go.”

“What?” He looks at me, startled.

“Washington,” I say. “Let’s go. Now.”

He watches me for a moment, a smile playing on his lips, trying to decide if I’m serious.

I am. Deadly.

“No.” He shakes his head eventually. “You can’t just leave—”

“I can.”

“Well, I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I can’t just leave
Ro
—”

“Why?
Why not?
What’s so special about her?” I demand, the familiar heat returning to my cheeks. “Weren’t you supposed to be spending the day together?”

“We are. We will—”

“
Andy
, she’s gone for the
whole day
. I saw her! She’s gone to Boston.”

He stares at me.
“What?”

I nod.

“To
Boston?
What the hell? No, she wouldn’t—she
promised
—”

I shrug.

Andy’s eyes are wide, incredulous. He shakes his head. “She just
left
?”

I nod.

“Bloody hell!
Bloody
Rosie!—After she
promised
 … We were going to see the whales …”

I look at him surprised. “Whales?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “If there actually are any round here—we saw bugger all last time.”

I stare at him. Whale watching? In
January?

“You didn’t see
any
?” I ask, trying to keep a straight face.

He shakes his head. “Nope.
Wesley’s Whale
-
Spotter
, my arse.”

“Oh, no—you didn’t go with them?” I laugh. “They’re notorious—total rip-off!”

“Tell me about it,” Andy groans.

“You wanna just hop on the ferry to Boston,” I tell him, the lies spilling out before I can stop them. “You’ll go straight across the Cape, see
hundreds
of whales.”

Andy stares at me. “
Hundreds?
Really?”

“Uh-huh,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What, now?” He looks at me.

“Why not?” I look at him for a long moment, my heart thumping.

Rosie’s not the only one who can go swanning off to Boston
—
not the only one who can take things that don’t belong to her …

“Unless of course you’d rather sit around here twiddling your thumbs waiting until she bothers to come back?” I suggest.
“Again.”

He looks at me, then drops his bag on the floor.

“Let’s go.”

Rosie

“Look up,” Kitty instructs, and I do as I’m told, the bright lights making my eyes water. She strokes the mascara wand over my lashes, and I try not to blink. We’re in the changing rooms at Chanel—
Chanel!
—and I’m completely paranoid I’m going to damage something expensive and get kicked out any moment, but Kitty seems right at home. She’s picked out a dozen designer outfits for me to try on and has insisted on doing my makeup—she must have a ton of it stashed in that massive Gucci bag.

“There!” She smiles. “All done.”

I stand up and turn to face the full-length mirror.

“Oh, Rosie,” she gasps, her hand cool on my bare shoulder. “You’re beautiful.”

“Stunning.” Janine beams. “And I know just the shoes you need …” She winks at Kitty and disappears behind the black velvet curtain.

I stare at the girl standing before me, struggling to recognize myself. My lips are a weird purpley-blue color to match my dress, which feels too tight round my ribs; my nose has all but disappeared beneath concealer and powder, while my eyes have become huge green saucers, surrounded by thick black eyeliner and glittering eye shadow. I seriously wouldn’t recognize myself. I look like a … I look like someone out of … Then it hits me.

I look like Kitty.

My cheeks flush as I compare our reflections in the mirror.

That’s
what this makeover has been about—the manicure and pedicure we had done together, the makeup, the new clothes … all transforming me into the daughter she wants me to be. Glamorous, sophisticated, groomed.

Kitty Clare’s daughter.

“I love that color on you.” She smiles, stroking my dress. It ripples like water beneath her touch, and goose bumps prickle on my skin. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

I stare at myself. This isn’t me. None of this is—it’s weird, it’s … I swallow, pulling at the material, trying to cover myself up, struggling to breathe.

“Rosie?” Kitty’s cool hand lands on my shoulder. Her eyes search mine. “Are you okay?”

I nod furiously, look away.

“Don’t you like the dress? I think it’s beautiful.”

“It is!” I insist. “It’s great. The dress, the makeup—it’s … fabulous!” I gush, risking another glance at my reflection and swallowing hard. “What a makeover, huh?”

Kitty looks at me for a moment, then pulls over a stool.

“Look, I’ve got a confession to make.” She sighs, sitting down and looking me in the eye. She takes a deep breath. “I’m a bit out of my depth here …”

I stare at her—
she’s
out of her depth?

“Give me a movie director or big-shot producer and I’m laughing.” She smiles. “I’ve been there, done that. I know how to paint on a grin and turn on the charm. But you … you’re my
daughter
.” She takes my hands shyly. “My daughter,” she whispers. “You’re a part of me—but more. You’re your own person—your own beautiful person, and”—her eyes swim with tears—“and I don’t know you at all.”

Her eyes search mine, sorrowful, anxious, and something inside me flips over.

Kitty Clare, super-sophisticated movie star, is as nervous as I am.

“And I’m sorry,” she continues. “I’m so sorry for all the years I’ve missed—for not knowing what to
say
or how to act around you—for only having one day now and making a total mess of it …” She snatches a ragged breath. “And I know it’s too late—too late for me to be a mother to you …” she trails off, her eyes shining. “But Rosie, I’d really like us to be friends.”

She clasps my hands tightly.

“Are you okay?” she asks gently, her eyes deep in mine. “Has your life been okay?”

I nod, my throat dry.

“And you and—and Jack,” she continues. “You get on okay?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “He’s great.”

“I’m so glad.” She beams. “I knew he’d be a good father.”

I look at her then, realize.

“Kitty … Jack didn’t—he didn’t bring me up,” I say. “We only just met a few days ago—I found him after I met you.”

“What?” She stares at me, stunned. “I don’t understand …”

“It’s—it’s what I was trying to tell you in New York. There was a mix-up at the hospital …” I look at her. “I was swapped at birth.”

Kitty’s jaw drops.

“I only came to the States a week ago to try to find you—my real mother.”

She stares at me, white as a sheet, emotion flickering over her features. “I can’t believe it … I …” She struggles for words. “That’s why your accent … your hair … your
name
 …” She looks at me, eyes wide. “I just thought that Jack had changed your …” She shakes her head incredulously.
“Swapped?”

I nod.

“So who … Jack has another daughter?” She frowns. “I mean—”

“Yes, Holly. My mum’s—
Trudie’s
—real daughter. He brought her up instead of me, while I grew up with a different family, in England.”

“Oh, Rosie—darling!” She holds me close, her heart racing. “I … I had no idea! And your … the people who brought you up … they didn’t
know
?” She pulls back.

I shake my head, look away.

“I never knew my dad,” I say, my voice dry and throaty. “He died just before I was born.”

“Oh, Rosie!”

“But my mum—Trudie—” I smile, warmth flooding through me. “She was wonderful.”

Kitty smiles faintly. “Good,” she says softly. “I’m really glad. She must be so proud.”

“I hope so.” I smile tightly, swallowing hard. “She—she died, just before Christmas.”

“Oh, God!” Kitty’s hand flies to her mouth. “What happened, was she ill?”

“Yes.” I nod. “She had Huntington’s disease.”

I can see it doesn’t mean much to her, but now isn’t the time to explain.

Kitty sighs, her eyes deep green pools. “What you must have gone through … And all that time …” She shakes her head. “You know, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you, wondered how you were, if you were happy …”

I pick at a thread on the dress.

“You probably find that hard to believe.” She sighs. “I wouldn’t blame you. God knows what people have told you—what Jack’s told you—and I know it’s no excuse … but I was just a child myself when I had you—younger than you are now. And I was so scared. I hadn’t the first idea what to do. I tried to hide my pregnancy, didn’t tell anyone, not even my mum—I was terrified.” She bites her lip.

“She was already worried about my future, thought I was stuffing up my GCSEs—she’d been on me like a ton of bricks all year. She’d even sent me to Granny’s for the whole of the Easter holidays, thought banishing me to a desolate seaside town would convince me to knuckle down and revise. But instead I met Jack.” I look up as she smiles.

“With him I wasn’t a screw-up, a let-down. With him I could forget all my problems, be anyone I liked …” Her eyes dance wistfully. “And he was so sweet. He made me laugh, made me feel special.”

She sighs. “Then it was back home to reality. I knew I’d failed my GCSEs as soon as I took them—and now with a baby on the way …” Her face crumples like a child’s and suddenly I see the seventeen-year-old in her, the terror, the fragility. “My life was over. My parents were going to kill me—I’d made such a mess. I was so scared … I couldn’t tell them …” She chews a manicured nail anxiously.

“Then, like a miracle, I got accepted into the National Youth Theatre—and my parents were suddenly so proud!” She shakes her head incredulously. “You should’ve seen Mum—it was all she could talk about.”

I smile, remembering the way Pam had glowed as she spoke about Kitty and her glamorous career.

“So then I
really
couldn’t tell her!” Kitty’s voice cracks. “So I moved to London, where it was easier to just not think about the baby, to throw myself into rehearsals, performances, the show—then I got an agent and had more auditions, rehearsals, filming, performing … until finally, at twenty weeks, I couldn’t hide it anymore …” She closes her eyes, her lip trembling.

“My agent was furious, said she’d had a complaint from a casting director, that I’d been utterly unprofessional by not telling her, that she couldn’t represent me anymore. Then I was totally screwed!” Kitty laughs bitterly, tears shimmering in her eyes. “I had no agent, no job, no money coming in, too late for an abortion—not that I would have—I couldn’t … I couldn’t go home, couldn’t tell my parents … Luckily they were still paying my rent, so I made excuses not to see them, got a job in a call center, worked all hours trying to save up money for the baby—for you.” Her watery gaze meets mine and my throat swells.

“Then around Christmas, I realized … I just couldn’t cope anymore. My flatmates had left for the holidays—one had even landed a TV job in L.A. I was all by myself for Christmas and New Year and it was utterly horrible … And I knew it would be even harder once I had a baby to look after. So I made a decision—a New Year’s resolution. It was time to go home, finally face the music, tell my parents—whatever the consequences. I couldn’t do this alone.”

She swallows hard, her eyes frightened.

“But then—I don’t know if it was the stress, or the train journey, or what—but my waters broke on the way home!” she cries. “I panicked—it was too soon, I wasn’t due yet! An ambulance took me to hospital, but I was scared silly. I didn’t know what to do, I needed my Mum …

“But then I realized—if I could just keep quiet for a few more hours … my parents needed never know … I could put you up for adoption—that would be the best thing all round. I wasn’t fit to be a mother, and you’d have a much better life, go to someone who really wanted a baby, couldn’t have one of their own.”

I look away, thinking of Trudie, of Sarah.

“I was terrified. I was having a baby and I was alone. I couldn’t call Mum, not now I’d made my decision, I couldn’t call my friends—anyone who knew my family … So finally I called Jack. Funny, kind, caring Jack, whose number I’d kept, who lived miles away, who I’d only known for two weeks and who I totally expected to tell me to get stuffed. Who told me he was on his way before I’d even put the phone down …” She smiles weakly.

“But for hours he didn’t come. I gave birth, had to give my baby a name for her bracelet, then she was rushed away to a special unit while the nurses cleaned me up. Then I started to panic all over again. I thought Jack had changed his mind, gotten cold feet and left me all on my own after all. I couldn’t cope—couldn’t be a mother—couldn’t deal with it all, so I—I ran away …” She looks away, shame painting her cheeks scarlet.

“And then, suddenly, there he was, driving up the road. Jack, my knight in shining armor. I couldn’t believe it. He promised he’d look after us both, that we’d be a family. But I … I just couldn’t. I tried, I really did—we registered the birth together, visited you in hospital—but I was so scared of ruining your life the way I’d wrecked my own. You were already ill—premature—and I felt it was my fault, my punishment. I didn’t deserve you …” She swallows. “So when Jack went to bring you home, I left. I told my parents I’d got a job in L.A., got on a plane and arranged to sleep on my friend’s floor.”

She shakes her head wretchedly. “I had to go—had to get away. You have to believe me, Rosie, I was no good for you—I was a mess—I’m
still
a mess …” She sighs miserably. “But don’t ever think that I didn’t love you, that I don’t think about you—feel horrible for what I did. I’ve had to live with it every day of my life, eating me up inside, never able to tell anyone.”

“What about Luke?” I whisper. “You’re engaged.”

“Oh, we’re not engaged, Rosie, not really—Luke’s gay! It’s all a sham, a career move—my whole life’s one big charade! It may look glamorous—the bright lights, the makeup, but it’s all an act, Rosie. Nothing’s real.
You’re
the only thing that’s ever been real. You and … and Jack …” She trails off. “I couldn’t believe it when I got his letter all those years later. That he’d followed me to the States …” She gazes wistfully out the window.

“But it was too late,” she continues, her eyes clouding over. “It was too late. He was married, and I couldn’t risk wrecking that for him by crashing back into your lives—however much I wanted to. Too many years had passed and I was still so ashamed of leaving you, so frightened you’d reject me … I couldn’t even open the letters that followed—it was too painful, seeing the photos, hearing about all the things I’d missed. You guys were obviously doing so well without me—you looked so healthy, so happy …” She squeezes her eyes shut.

“I had no idea …” Kitty groans. “No
idea
—that that wasn’t you at all—that you were on the other side of the world!” She looks at me, pain-stricken. “You’re my
daughter
and I had no idea that they’d given me a completely different baby!” Black tears trickle down her cheeks. “What kind of a person does that make me? What kind of a
mother
?” She shakes her head miserably as she crumples on her stool. “Oh, Rosie, can you ever forgive me?”

I look at her, dressed to the nines, her lips painted an unnatural scarlet, her cheeks streaked with mascara, and tears flood my eyes as I think about what it must’ve been like to be so alone, so scared, so young.

I take a deep breath, then nod.

Immediately, she engulfs me in a tight hug, her ribs shaking with sobs.

Over her shoulder, I see Janine smiling at our reflections through a gap in the curtains.

“Reunited at last!” she sighs, dabbing at her eyes. “Mother and daughter.”

I smile through my tears, a warm feeling growing inside me.

Mother and daughter
. At last.