Someone Else's Life (8 page)

These are my details: my name, my mother
.

I scroll down quickly, scanning, searching.

Mother’s Maiden Name: Sinclare
.

“That’s weird,” Andy says, reading over my shoulder. “Why would you give your child a different surname? Why Woods, not Sinclare?”

I shrug. “Maybe it was my father’s name?”

“I thought she was alone?”

“She could still have named me after him.”

“Or maybe she wanted to distance herself …,” Andy suggests carefully.

“From my real dad?” I frown.

“Yes …” Andy hesitates. “Or … from you.”

I stare at him.

“Rosie …” He sighs. “All I’m saying is … she was going to put you up for adoption. Perhaps it was just easier to call you something else. Maybe she wanted to be harder to find.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I say, my cheeks hot. “There could be a million reasons why she called me that—maybe she’s a movie buff? … Maybe she just liked the name! The point is,
we don’t know
, Andy. We can’t ever know, unless we find her.”

“How?” Andy asks. “We don’t even know her first name—it’s impossible!”

I stare miserably at the screen. All we’ve got is a surname.

And a town …

Quickly, I click on a new search. I type Sinclare into the database, and, instantly, a short list appears in front of me. A smile spreads over my face as I scan the screen. There’re only a few entries for thirty-five years ago … and only one in Maybridge!

“Bingo!”

Katharine Sinclare
.

My mother!

My heart pounding crazily, I grab the phone book again and flick through it clumsily.

I gasp. There’s only one Sinclare …

In Maybridge.

I stare at the page. I’ve found her. I’ve really found her …

Andy looks at me, his eyes serious.

“Now what?”

Now what?

I stare at myself in the mirror.

I pull off my baggy T-shirt and turn sideways, running my hand over my belly.

You can’t even tell, not really. I look normal—a couple of pounds heavier, maybe, but no one would know to look at me. They’d never guess …

I bite my lip.

I can’t have a baby
—how can I? It would ruin everything! I’ve got a life, a dream. A dream that
doesn’t
include becoming a single teenage mother …

I watch as a hot tear slides down my cheek.

I can’t do this. Not on my own. I’m too young—there are a thousand reasons …

I just can’t.

I take a deep breath.

It’s time to make a decision, choose my future.

I pull my top back on, shivering suddenly.

And no one would ever know.

Chapter Seven

The first lampposts are flickering on as we pull up a few doors down from the pebble-dashed semidetached house. I stare up at it, spellbound, Christmas lights twinkling around the windows, a flashing reindeer guarding the gravel drive.

I can’t believe how close she was all this time. I’ve driven past this house a million times—it’s on my way to school, for heaven’s sake!

“Rosie …” Andy hesitates. “I don’t think this is such a good idea.”

I turn. “What?”

“You can’t just waltz up to some stranger’s house and start making wild accusations.”

“They’re not wild accusations,” I protest. “She’s my mother!”

“She
might
be your mother,” Andy argues. “You don’t know, not for sure.”

“She
is
,” I insist. “Andy, it all fits—Holly Woods was her daughter, born the same day as me, when she was seventeen years old, and she lives in Maybridge—it’s her!”

Andy sighs.

I look away. “I know you think I’m crazy, but—”

“I don’t,” he says quietly. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I just think you
want
this too much.” He sighs. “You’re setting yourself up for a fall.”

“Well, maybe I am.” I unsnap my seat belt. “But that’s my decision.”

Andy puts his hand on mine.

“You’re right,” he says. “It is your decision. But please, think about it—”

“I
have
!” I pull my hand away.

“Have you?” Andy challenges. “Have you really thought about her? About Katharine? About Sarah?”

“Sod Sarah!” I snap. “This is all Sarah’s fault—she
did
it! She
lied
about it—to Mum, to everyone!”

“Yes, she lied,” Andy admits. “But does she really deserve to go to jail for it?”

I look at him.

“Because that’s what will happen, Rosie. Jail, because she tried to help three desperate people—a teenager too young to cope with being a mother, an abandoned baby, and a grieving widow, desperate for a child.” He looks at me. “Sarah put her neck on the line for
your
sake, not hers. And now you want to unravel it all?”

I look away.

“And what about Katharine?” Andy persists. “She ran away, Rose—she abandoned you—
eighteen years ago
. She’ll have a whole new life now—maybe even a family. How’s she gonna feel if you waltz up and claim to be her daughter?”

I close my eyes, my thoughts whirling painfully.

“I just … I just want to
see
her …” I sigh. “Get to know her. Give her the choice—the chance to know me …”

“But it won’t be her choice, Rosie,” Andy says gently. “It’ll be yours.”

I look at him.

“She made her choice,” he says. “She left.”

I look away.

“Rosie …”

“So, what? I should just give up? Give up when I’m this close?”

He looks away.

“Andy!” I stare at him. “But … but then why did you help me search for her? Why help me get this far?”

He sighs. “I just … I didn’t think you’d find her, Rosie—not this soon! This is all happening so quickly—just this morning you got your Huntington’s results and now …” He shakes his head. “I thought it’d take ages, that you’d have time to think it through. That you just needed to get this out of your system to be able to get on with your life.”

“Get on with my life?” I stare at him. “What life, Andy?”

He looks away.

“Great, Andy. That’s great. You’ll help me, fine—as long as I’m hitting brick walls, but as soon as I actually
find
something, find
her
, you suddenly back out? Thanks a lot!” I open the car door.

“Rosie …” Andy grabs my arm, but I wrench it away.

“Fine!” he snaps angrily. “Go—whatever! But you’d better know what you’re doing, Rosie, because if you don’t, you’re about to ruin a lot of people’s lives!”

I grit my teeth and slam the door behind me.

He doesn’t understand
, I tell myself as I march down the road.
It’s all right for him, with his normal life and normal family and future all planned out. But I don’t have that
—
I don’t have anything anymore, and I need to know, I need to …

I slow down as I approach the house. The front window is dark, the curtains drawn. A pizza-delivery leaflet sticks out of the letter-box.

I take a deep breath and lift the knocker. This is it.
This is her door …

Suddenly I hesitate, Andy’s words filling my head. Am I about to make the biggest mistake of my life …?

I swallow hard, the knocker icy cold in my hand.

Maybe … maybe I
should
take some time, think about this more. This is a big step—it’s
huge
—maybe I shouldn’t rush into it …

The wind whispers round my ears as I look up at the dark house.

Andy’s right, there’s no hurry. She’ll still be here. I can come back anytime, plan what I’ll say, what I’ll do—shit, what I’ll
wear
—I glance down at my scruffy jeans and sweater.

Do I really want to meet my mother looking like
this?

I take a last long look at the house, then sigh as I let the knocker go. It bangs gently as I turn to leave.

Immediately, a black barking shape hurls itself against the frosted glass. I jump back, my heart in my mouth as a light flicks on, exposing me in its yellow glare. The door opens and a woman peers out, gripping the dog’s collar as he strains toward me, her hair wrapped in a towel turban.

“Sorry, love,” she says. “Don’t worry—he’s all bark and no bite, this one. Can I help you?”

“I … I …” I stare at her. A dark tendril of wet hair escapes the turban and curls round her face. “Are you Katharine Sinclare?”

“Lord, no!” she laughs. “She hasn’t lived here for years!”

My heart plummets. I haven’t found her after all. And if she’s not here … I’ll never find her. The trail’s gone cold.

“But perhaps I can help you?” The woman smiles. “I’m her mum—Pam.”

I stare at her.
Her mum?
She’s
Katharine’s mother?
I blink.
My grandmother!

“Um, yes, yes please—I …” This is it. No going back. “I’m Rosie Kenning,” I say, my heart thumping. “I’m a student at Maybridge Sixth Form College, and I’m doing a school project—” The words are out in a rush before I can stop them.
What am I doing?
“But I … could come back—if it’s not a good time?”

“What?” She touches her turban, then laughs. “No, don’t be daft, come in, come in! Down, Toby! Come on in.” She ushers me inside. “Grab a pew and I’ll be back in just a mo.” Pam flicks the lounge light on and disappears down the corridor. A hair dryer blasts into action.

I step slowly into the room, my eyes everywhere, drinking it in like a museum: the strings of colorful Christmas cards hanging from every wall, looping round framed school photographs and children’s paintings; the heaving Christmas tree with its homemade decorations and lopsided angel; the flowery chintz sofa and the rocking chair covered with a patchwork throw … And everywhere, crammed onto the mantelpiece, the television, the windowsills, are crowds of trinkets: postcards and souvenirs and photos, medals and trophies and certificates—all clues about my mother, her life, my family …

“So, what’s your project about?” Pam calls as the hair dryer clicks off.

“Oh, it’s, er … a sort of ‘where are they now?’ piece,” I lie quickly, my eyes landing on a photo of two smiling schoolgirls.

“Oh yeah?”

I pick up the photo, and my heart skips a beat. Two little girls with gleaming black hair and bright smiles. One of them has to be Katharine.

“We’re supposed to pick someone who was a teenager when we were born, and—”

“So you chose Kitty.”

I turn as Pam enters behind me, running a brush through her thick dark hair.

“Well, I suppose that figures.” She smiles at the photograph in my hand. “After all, she’s the famous one.”

“And here’s Kitty in her first school play.” Pam turns the pages of a photo album. “Bitten by the bug right then and there, she was. You know, she fought off five other girls to play Mary in the nativity that year—including the rector’s daughter!—and then she went and lost her two front teeth, bless her!” She points to a photo of a little girl with a gappy grin and a tea towel on her head.

“And here she is in
Annie
, and
Joseph
, and as Sandy in
Grease
. Spent far too much time rehearsing and not enough revising for her GCSEs, if you ask me!” Pam chuckles. “Still, grades aren’t everything—she was straight off to London for the summer with the National Youth Theatre, and then snapped up by an acting agent!”

“Wow!”

“We were so proud.” Pam beams. “Didn’t get to see much of her, of course, she was so busy auditioning and filming and living the high life in London. Not that she even stayed there very long—she left just after Christmas!”

“How come?” I ask carefully.

“She was spotted! Again! Can you believe it?” Pam laughs. “We got a call at the end of January—she was off to Los Angeles.” Pam sighs. “Off to follow her dream.”

Or to forget her past
.

“She’s been starring in a sitcom over there.” Pam beams. “
For Richer, For Poorer
. Here.” She untucks a large photo from the back of the album and I gasp. Kitty’s black hair gleams beneath an Alice band, and her green eyes penetrate mine. Any doubts I had vanish in an instant.

She looks just like me.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Pam smiles. “And there’s her stage name, Kitty Clare. Washing away her sin my husband, Keith, says—Get it?
Sin
clare?”

I grin, excitement thrilling like a fever through my veins. “Do you have any contact details for her? It would be great to do an interview or something.”

“Of course,” Pam says, handing me the photo. “The address of the studios is on the back, and you’ll need a photo for your project. I’ve got plenty more.”

“Thank you.” I take the photo reverently.
My mother …

Suddenly, Toby springs to his feet, barking madly as a key turns in the front door.

“Gracious, is that the time? Doesn’t it fly?” Pam jumps up. “Sorry, love, that’ll be my other daughter, Jenny, and her boys—we’re off to the panto. It’s all go in this family, I’m afraid!”

“That’s fine. Thank you so much for your help.” I smile, getting to my feet.

“Mum! Are you ready?” A woman bustles in, swiping her long black hair from her face. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you had a visitor. Hello.” She smiles warmly.

“Hi.” I beam back.
My aunt!

Two little boys hurtle past her, lunging at each other with plastic swords.
And cousins!

“Boys—careful!” She grins apologetically. “Sorry! They’re a bit excited—we’re off to see
Peter Pan
.”

I beam as I edge past them.
A whole family!

“Sorry to rush you off like this,” Pam says, holding the front door for me. “Please do call round again if there’s anything else you need—it’s always lovely talking about my girls.”

She smiles at me, and suddenly I give her a spontaneous hug, breathing in the fruity scent of her shampoo as she hugs me back.

“You take care, now.” She beams. “And remember—anytime!”

“Goodbye!” I wave as she closes the door, hugging my jacket tighter, a warm feeling glowing inside me.

I’ve found her, I’ve actually found my mother! And Pam too, and Keith and Jenny and the boys—a whole other family!
My real family
. The wind whips against my cheeks, and my eyes water. My
mother
. Yes, she’s in L.A.—practically the other side of the world—but I’ve found her! I’ve actually found her!

Andy looks up as I open the car door. “Well?”

I falter, remembering his harsh words, his cynicism.

“It wasn’t her, was it?” He sighs, reaching over and brushing a tear from my eye.

I hesitate, can’t meet his gaze.

“Oh, Rose.” He pulls me into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, but you know, it’s probably for the best.”

Over his shoulder, my eyes are on the house. The front door opens and the family spills out onto the driveway, laughing and chattering happily.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Andy asks gently.

I shake my head. This is too fragile, too precious a moment to talk about right now. Especially with Andy. I can’t tell him, can’t let him ruin this—not now …

He starts the car, and I gaze into the rearview mirror as we drive away, watching the Sinclares laugh as they squash and squeeze into their car, Toby racing in excited circles around them, my head dancing with excitement, with possibilities.
My family … my grandmother … my mother …

“You don’t need her, you know?”

I turn, startled, as Andy’s hand squeezes mine.

“Just coz she gave birth to you, it doesn’t make her—”

“Let’s talk about something else, okay?” I interrupt quickly, pulling my hand away.

He looks at me, concerned.

“Please.” I swallow. “Tell me about your trip.”

“Okay …,” he says uncertainly. “Well, I’m starting out in the States. I’ve got family in New York and Washington, so I’m going to crash at theirs on the cheap.”

“Sounds good,” I reply absently.

“Yeah, my cousin’s a taxi driver—a bona fide New York cabbie—so he’s promised to show me the sights. Then my aunt’ll feed me up before I fly on to Chicago, San Francisco, then catch a Greyhound bus down to sunny L.A.”

“L.A.?” I turn.

“Yeah, I thought I’d do the whole showbiz thing—Mann’s Chinese Theater, Walk of Fame, Hollywood.”

Hollywood … 
Holly Woods
. I lean back against the headrest and smile.
That’s
why! What better name for the child of a starstruck seventeen-year-old?

“Then on to Southeast Asia—Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand …,” Andy continues, but I zone out, still buzzing with thoughts of my family—so close by! And my mother—in Los Angeles …

Finally we pull into Nana’s drive.

“Andy—”