Someone Else's Life (7 page)

Andy squeezes my hand, and we follow her in.

“Nice to see you, Rosie,” Dan, my genetic counselor says. “And you’ve brought a friend. Good.”

I introduce Andy, and he sits next to me, gripping my hand tightly. I’ve never seen him so nervous.

“Now, we’ve had your result back,” Dan begins. “And it’s
good news
, Rosie.” His face breaks into a wide smile. “You do
not
have the gene that causes Huntington’s!”

I exhale deeply. I hadn’t even realized I was holding my breath.

“Are you sure?” Andy asks anxiously.

“Positive. By analyzing the number of CAG repeats on her chromosome four—fifteen and seventeen—we can determine that Rosie has definitely
not
inherited the gene. If she had, one of her counts would be somewhere up around forty. Rosie is well below that. She’s completely unaffected.”

“Oh, God!” Andy grabs me in a tight hug. “Oh, thank God!”

I let him hug me, my body limp and numb in his arms.

Fifteen and seventeen … Mum’s were forty
-
five and nineteen
—
I don’t share either of them …

I knew. Of course I knew, but now … it’s real.

I don’t have Huntington’s. I never will have Huntington’s. Everything I dreaded and feared will never come true. It’ll never happen to me like it happened to Mum.

Because she wasn’t my mother.

Hot tears trickle down my cheeks.

“Hey.” Andy pulls back gently and wipes my eyes. “Are you okay?”

I nod and look away, swallowing hard.

“Rosie, this is fantastic!” Andy grins.

I force a tight smile.

Yep. Fantastic.

“It’s normal to experience a sense of shock,” Dan says gently. “With the relief can come a sense of disbelief, and even guilt. It’s perfectly normal, Rosie.”

I smile at him, the tears still streaming down my cheeks.

She was right. Sarah was right. There’s no going back. You either spend your life wondering, worrying, pretending … or you find out for sure.

And now I know.

For sure.

I stare at the little plastic wand, waiting for my fate to be decided—revealed, really. It’s already decided, after all. Positive or negative. This is just proof. Scientific confirmation of what already is—or isn’t.

Despite everything, I can’t help praying, can’t help hoping that somehow it’s all been a coincidence—a bad case of food poisoning, a belated growth spurt, a late period …

I squeeze my eyes shut,
wishing, hoping, praying
.

I hold my breath as I force one eyelid open.

My heart stops and I snap my eye shut again quickly, as if I’ll get a second chance …

I bite my lip and open my eyes.

But it’s still the same. Of course it is. Wishing can’t change it. This isn’t a magic wand—it can’t perform miracles.

Hot tears trickle down my cheeks and I bury my head in my hands.

I knew—of course I knew. But now I
know
. For sure. Completely and irrevocably and scientifically.

Positive
.

I’m pregnant.

My life is over.

Chapter Six

Negative
.

Not at risk
.

Not my mother
.

God, it’s true. It’s all true. Everything Sarah said. Though, as it turns out, she needn’t have told me after all—they didn’t compare our results, didn’t find out.

I close my eyes, my head reeling.

Negative
.

How can one word bring so much joy and so much despair?

“What’s it to be? Red? White? Rosé?” Andy grins, putting on a French accent as he surveys the wine bottles in his kitchen. “Rosé for Rosie?”

I smile weakly. “No, thank you.”

“No?” He frowns. “I know! Champagne! I think we’ve even got some flutes somewhere—this is a celebration, after all!”

He disappears through the doorway and I look away, out of the window. Black clouds gather menacingly over the fields, blotting out the sun.

I thought I’d be pleased to get the all-clear, that it would set me free … but instead I just feel … lost … It seems like whenever I finally get an answer to one question, a million others pop up right behind it: I don’t have the disease, I’m not Trudie’s daughter—
so who am I?
And who’s this girl, this Holly Woods, my real mother? Is she still around? Why did she run away?
Why did she abandon me?

“Okay … champagne and flutes!” Andy returns, proudly flourishing a bottle and two glasses. “Now all we need is cake!”

“No, really, I don’t want—”

“What have we got?” He opens a cupboard. “Swiss roll … flapjack …”

“Andy—”

“Battenberg! Do you like battenberg?”

“Andy, I’m fine! Really.”

“Really?” He turns. “Really.”

“
Really?
Because you’ve barely said two words since we left the clinic, Rosie.” He looks at me. “You don’t want to go out, you don’t want to celebrate …”

I look away.

He sighs. “I could understand it if the test were positive, but you’re acting like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders—and it’s negative! You’re healthy!” He sits down beside me. “Why aren’t you happy about it?”

I shift uncomfortably.

“And don’t say it’s that guilt bollocks the counselor was on about.” His tone softens and he covers my hand with his. “Rose, you’ve suffered enough—your mum would be thrilled that you’re in the clear.”

I pull my hand away. “You don’t understand.”

“No,” he sighs. “You’re right, I don’t.”

“Andy—”

“I
don’t
understand, because you never tell me anything!” He stands up, paces the room. “You just lock yourself away in your own little world and try to deal with everything by yourself. That’s why we broke up—because you couldn’t tell me,
wouldn’t
tell me, what was wrong!”

I stare at him, my cheeks burning, my eyes hot. I look away.

“I could’ve handled it, Rosie—I could’ve helped—I could help now, if you’d let me.”

I close my eyes.

He sighs. “I know it must be difficult—I know it’s a lot to take in …”

“It’s not,” I mutter.

“Of course it is.”

“It’s not a lot to take in, all right?” I glare at him. “Because I—I already knew.”

Andy frowns. “What do you mean?”

I look away.

“I don’t understand, Rose,” he says slowly. “I thought Huntington’s was hereditary?”

“Exactly! Exactly, it’s hereditary!”

He looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “You’ve lost me.”

“It’s hereditary!” I look at him, the pain prickling my eyes. “But you can’t inherit a disease from someone who’s not related to you—who isn’t even your
mother
!”

He stares at me.

“She wasn’t my mother, Andy—she wasn’t …” I trail off, close my eyes, my throat swelling painfully.

There’s a long silence. Then he takes a deep breath and reaches over, his hand warm and soft on mine.

“Okay,” he says gently. “I think it’s time to spill, don’t you?”

“Wow.” Andy sighs after I’ve told him everything. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” It feels good to finally let it all out. I feel … lighter. But exhausted.

“And Trudie never knew?”

I shake my head.

“Wow, Rose. I mean, God, I don’t know what to say …” He sighs. “How do you deal with something like—Have you told your nana?”

I shake my head. “I can’t, Andy. I’m all she’s got left—of Granddad, of Mum—how can I possibly tell her that it was all one big lie, all these years? That her real granddaughter died the day she was born? It would break her heart.” I swallow, the pain in my chest swelling. “It’s broken mine.”

“Rosie, it’s okay.”

“No. No, it’s not. You don’t know what it’s like, Andy. I’m stuck here, trapped in this life that’s not even mine with a grandmother I have to lie to,
no
friends,
no
qualifications,
no life
—there’s nothing left!” My voice cracks. “It’s all right for you, you’re buggering off around the world—you can escape!”

“Then come with me.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious—why not? You said it yourself, what’s keeping you here?” He looks at me. “We always wanted to travel, didn’t we? This is our second chance!”

I hesitate, and he squeezes my hand, his eyes softening. “Come with me, Rose. It wasn’t the same without you—I missed you the whole time. This was
our
dream, after all.
We
planned it,
we
dreamed of it and then
missed
it because of a stupid misunderstanding—so let’s go now!”

I look at him, the idea dancing enticingly in my mind—to just fly away with Andy, leave everything behind, pick up where we left off, but … it’s too much, too sudden.

“No strings,” he promises, reading my doubts. “I’ve missed you, Rosie. I’ve missed
you
—just being with you … hanging out, educating your taste in music.” He grins, those dimples making me falter. “Come on, Rose. It’s just what you need, it’ll take your mind off everything.”

“It will not!”

He looks up at the anger in my voice.

“You have no idea, do you? You think dashing off around the world will make me forget that my mother’s dead? That she wasn’t actually my mother?” I look at him. “How could I ever come back, Andy? To this mess of—of lies and deceit and, and …” I trail off and look out the window, but all I can see is my tearstained reflection and the dark clouds beyond. “It’s such a mess, it’s all such a mess, and I just … There’s nothing left, Andy. None of it’s real …” I close my eyes.

He sighs, rubs his brow.

“So, what now?”

I shrug. “I dunno.”

We sit in silence for a moment.

“Actually, I do,” I say eventually, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to find her.”

“Who?”

I swallow hard. “My real mother.”

“Hello? Mr. Woods? Hi!” I cross my fingers tightly. “Hi, I’m a friend of Holly’s, and—Sorry? Holly Woods? She doesn’t?” My heart sinks. “Sorry to bother you. Bye.”

I sigh heavily, dropping the receiver into its cradle and my head into my hands. There were thirty-five Woodses in the phone book. That was the last one.

“Tell me you’ve had better luck with the birth records?”

Andy shakes his head at the computer screen. “ ’Fraid not. According to this birth records site, no seventeen-year-old Holly Woods even existed in the year you were born.”

“What?” I look up. “That’s impossible! Maybe Sarah guessed her age wrong. Try the years either side.”

“I have,” Andy sighs. “I’ve tried five years either side. No Holly Woods.”

“None
at all
?”

He shakes his head.

“I don’t understand.” I frown. “That’s impossible. We know she was here—she was seventeen, she ran away, she had a baby …”

I drop the phone book and pick up my jacket. “Come on.”

Andy stares at me. “Where are we going?”

“To the one place we know she
has
been.”

The snow has all but melted as we drive into town, mounds that were once snowmen glinting in the fields and gardens as the afternoon sun struggles through the clouds.

“All set?” Andy asks as we pull into the car-park.

I take a deep breath and hug my clipboard. “All set.”

He squeezes my shoulder, and we head into the small country hospital, the stench of disinfectant stinging my nose as we follow the signs down the lino-lined corridor to a ward painted in pastel colors.

Maternity
.

Little goose bumps break out down my back. This is it. This is where it all happened. Thank God Sarah’s got this week off, so there’s no chance of bumping into her.

“Can I help you?” A cheerful-looking nurse approaches us.

I force a bright smile and clear my throat. “Hello, we’re students at Maybridge Sixth Form College, and we’re doing a project on the day we were born.” My tone is professional, polite, as I recite the rehearsed lines we devised in the car.

“I see.” She smiles. “How can I help you?”

“Well, I was born here,” I say confidently. “And I was just wondering if you could tell me how many …” My eyes flick to her name-badge.
Jamila Price
. “How many …”
Jamila …
“How …”

She raises her eyebrows.

“How many other babies were born on the same days we were,” Andy finishes for me. “And any information you can give us about them.”

“I’m sorry.” Jamila smiles apologetically. “We can’t give out that information. Patient confidentiality, you know.”

“Of course,” Andy says. “Thanks anyway.”

“What about you?” I ask desperately as she turns away. “Maybe I could just ask you some questions. Have you ever had to deal with mothers running away—abandoning their child?”

She stares at me. “I’m sorry—I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

“Come on, Rose,” Andy says quickly. “Let’s go.”

“But—what about teenagers with unwanted babies? Adoption?”

“I’m sorry.” She turns away.

“Come on.”
Andy grabs my arm and pulls me back through the door.

“Crap.” I kick the snow gloomily as we walk back to the car. “Utter crap. Fat lot of use that was.”

“Well, I don’t know what you expected, to be honest, Rose. They’re hardly going to say, ‘Oh yes, I remember that mother, here’s her name, address and telephone number,’ are they?”

“
She
might have.” I round on him. “
She
might have, because
she’s
the one who told Sarah about me!”

He stops walking.

“She was
there
, Andy—she
met
Holly. She might remember her, might be able to tell me—”

I turn back but he grabs my arm.

“She’s not going to tell you anything, Rosie—there are laws, you know?”

“I know,” I admit sulkily. “But—”

“And Sarah
broke
the law, Rose,” Andy continues, his voice a whisper. “She’ll get into a
lot
of trouble if anyone finds out—you have to be really careful about this.”

“I
am
being careful.” I hug the clipboard tightly. “But Andy, how else am I going to find my real mother?”

He sighs. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be found.”

I look at him.

“Think about it, Rosie. She was seventeen. Seventeen and pregnant and alone. She was going to give you up for adoption, she ran away, she probably even gave a fake name—there were no seventeen-year-old Holly Woodses, remember?”

I sigh heavily, digging my toe into the loose gravel. Andy’s right, the trail’s gone cold. It’s nearly eighteen years cold. All I have is a name, and if that’s fake … then I have nothing. My mother walked out of that hospital and just disappeared into thin air, leaving me behind—the only proof she ever existed.

She doesn’t even have a birth record.

I dig my foot deeper into the stones, losing my toes in the dirt and grit.

No sign of her, even five years either side.

I rewind my conversation with Sarah miserably in my head. She was
seventeen
, she was
here
—
the girl’s name was Holly Woods …

Suddenly my heart begins to race.

The girl …

I march back to the car. “We need to check the records again.”

“What? Rosie, wait—”

“The birth records,” I tell him, sprinting now. “We got the wrong year!”

“Rosie, we checked,” Andy argues. “Five years either side—there was no Holly Woods born at the right time to be your mother!”

“No.” I grin, my cheeks warm in the icy air. “Not my
mother
 …”

My fingers trip over themselves as I type into the database. I hold my breath, tapping my foot nervously as the computer scans the birth records.

A page of details pings up before me.

“Bingo,” I whisper, clicking the mouse.

Holly Marie Woods
, it reads.

Mother’s Maiden Name: Sinclare
.

Registration District: Maybridge
.

Date of Birth …

The fifth of January, the year I was born.

I stare at the record, hardly able to believe it. There she is in black and white.
Holly Woods
—the
baby’s
name, not the mother’s. Sarah must’ve misunderstood when I asked her—or I did. But here she is. The other baby.
Holly Woods
.

“This is morbid,” Andy mutters beside me. “This is so morbid, Rose. This girl died—Trudie’s baby died …”

I look at the screen, goose bumps prickling my arms.
Mum’s baby
. If she’d lived, she’d have had my mum—she’d have my life. But she died. I blink hard, imagining her tiny body, a tiny coffin. Sarah swapped us, and she died—and Mum never even knew. She died … and I lived in her place.

I stare at the record, guilt wrapping heavily around my shoulders.

The day I was born. My town. I could be looking at my own birth record, it’s so similar.

Suddenly, an icy shiver trickles down my spine.

This is my birth record
.

I stare at the page again, my eyes wide, the facts screaming out at me, clear as day. This isn’t some other girl, some stranger, even Trudie’s daughter …