Текст книги "Someone Else's Life"

Автор книги: Katie Dale

Соавторы: Katie Dale,Katie Dale
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though.”

“You were just trying to spare her feelings,”

reason.

“Well, yes,” Jack admits. “But how did you feel when

you learned the truth about your mother—that she wasn’t

dead after all, that she was alive on the other side of the

world?”

“I was angry,”

admit. “I was hurt that

hadn’t

known the truth. But then that was all mixed up with the

fear of Huntington’s—of inheriting the disease. It wasn’t

the same. Holly’s never known her mum, so she’s

probably more upset about you—she’s frightened of

losing her dad.”

“She’ll never lose me.”

“I know.” smile. “And deep down I’m sure she does

too. I’d already lost my mum when found out she wasn’t

my mother. In the end, though, it doesn’t affect how feel

about her. She’s still my mum, she always will be. But

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watching her die from Huntington’s

dreading it

happening to me

always thought I’d rather know the

truth—about everything. Then you can find way to deal

with it.”

“And now?”

“Now

don’t know.” sigh. “I mean, your life was

lot simpler before came along, huh? And as for Holly …”

Jack sighs. “It’s been

bit of

bombshell for

everyone.”

“Yes.” nod. “But for Holly it’s going to be worse. My

bombshell was finding out my dead mother wasn’t my

mother, that my real one was still out there, and that was

never going to inherit Huntington’s—Holly’s is that you’re

not her dad and she’s at risk from disease she’s probably

never even heard of. Would you want to know? Really?”

Jack considers for moment. “There’s definitely no

cure?”

“No,” sigh. “Not yet.”

He pauses. “And yet you wanted to know—you took

the test.”

nod.

“Why?”

“I suppose needed to know one way or the other—

so

could make informed choices …”

trail off. “My

mother …” My voice catches. “Trudie

said she might not

have had children if she’d known.”

Jack looks at me for long moment, his expression

unreadable, then stares into his cocoa. “Well,” he says

257

softly, stroking his thumb round the rim of the cup. “That

really would have been tragedy.”

look away, my cheeks hot, the lump in my throat

the size of watermelon.

Jack sighs. “I’ll tell Holly about Huntington’s. Take

her out for the day, just the two of us. It should come from

me.”

look up.

“She needs to know.” He nods. “You’re right, she

needs to make an informed choice.

can’t make this

decision for her, and won’t lie to her anymore.” He smiles

sadly out the window. “My little girl’s growing up.” He

looks at me. “Both of them are.”

258

Holly

“It’s gonna be okay,” Megan says for the millionth

time, pouring Ben

glass of milk while cook pancakes,

the butter swirling in the pan making my stomach turn.

“Remember, she’s the outsider here.” Megan

squeezes my shoulders. “You and your dad—you’re

rock, you’re solid. Okay?”

rock

swallow. The only rock I’m sure of is the

one lodged in my gut, growing every minute they’re alone

together.

Suddenly, footsteps pound up the steps outside and

freeze.

“Holly!” Dad cries, rushing through the back door

and grabbing me in hug that lifts me off my feet. “Holly-

berry, thank God!”

can’t breathe, he’s squeezing me so tight.

“I’m sorry left, Dad—”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m just so glad you’re home!”

close my eyes, the rock inside me beginning to

crumble as his familiar salty smell washes over me.

Home

“I’ll just go and shower,” Rosie says, squeezing past.

flinch at her touch, her voice.

259

“Don’t you want some brekkie first?” Dad asks.

“Holly makes the best pancakes.” He grins at me.

“Yummy pancakes!” Ben agrees, his mouth full, and

smile tightly.

Say no, say no

pray into the soft folds of Dad’s

jacket, clinging on tighter, holding my breath. Let it just be us

“Thanks, but I’m not really that hun—” Her stomach

growls loudly and Dad laughs, sending vibrations

trembling through me.

“I think your stomach disagrees.” He grins. “Come

on, pull up chair. It’s been long morning.”

My heart sinks as he slips out of my grasp, leaving

me cold suddenly, standing by the stove.

He pulls out chair for Rosie and smiles at me. “You

coming, Holls?”

hesitate, unwilling to join them, reluctant to leave

them alone.

“Wow!” Rosie says suddenly, taking

bite. “These

are amazing!” She grins at me.

look at her. Megan’s right. Remember how Rosie

must be feeling—her mother slammed the door in her

face, and she’s in

new place,

new country, meeting

new father

My father! slump into chair and stab pancake.

“Does your dad never cook you pancakes, Rosie?”

ask innocently. “Dad used to make them for breakfast for

me every day when was little.” slice piece off and pop

it in my mouth. “Did yours?”

260

Megan shoots me

look, but don’t care. chew

without tasting, waiting.

“Actually, no,” Rosie says quietly. “No, my dad died

the night was born.”

“Oh.” swallow, the pancake heavy as guilt in my

stomach. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

She smiles. “It’s okay. never knew him, and me and

Mum did just fine on our own—though she wasn’t much

of cook! She only made pancakes on Shrove Tuesday.”

“Shrove what?” ask.

“Shrove Tuesday, honey,” Dad replies. “It’s the day

before Lent—pancake day.”

“Oh.” frown. Some stupid British custom.

“Mum tried and tried to make pancakes, but they

always stuck to the pan—or the ceiling!” Rosie laughs. “So

in the end we had ice cream instead. Ice Cream Tuesday,

we called it, courtesy of Saint Ben and Saint Jerry.”

Dad laughs out loud, his mouth full.

“Now, that’s my kind of saint’s day,” Megan

chuckles, Ben giggling as she wipes syrup from his chin.

hack off another piece of pancake.

“She did make mean eggy-bread, though,” Rosie

continues.

frown. “What’s eggy-bread?”

She looks surprised. “Oh, it’s—it’s like um …”

“It’s bit like French toast, only savory.” Dad smiles.

“It’s delicious.”

“Oh,”

say, my pancake suddenly seeming very

ordinary. Again with the Britishness!

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“Maybe

could cook it for you sometime?” Rosie

offers.

Sometime? Sometime? How long is she planning on

staying?

take another bite, tasting nothing.

“So, how was the fish market, honey?” Megan asks,

sipping her tea.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Dad says. “I showed Rosie all the

different kinds of fish, but don’t think she appreciated

them—her nose got the better of her!”

“The stench!” she laughs. “I don’t know how you can

bear it!”

“You get used to it.” Megan smiles.

“Actually, kinda like it,” mumble.

“I was thinking.” Dad takes another pancake.

“Maybe we should take the boat out this morning—see if

we can catch anything ourselves?”

glance at Megan. “What about the restaurant?”

“Oh, I’m sure Pete can cope for one day—he’s

always on about wanting more responsibility.” Dad smiles.

spear another pancake. Great. Dad never takes

days off work. But now he makes an exception for

day

alone with Rosie—how cozy. It’s so unfair. How come she

gets to go traveling, to spend the day sailing with Dad—to

do whatever the hell she wants—while

have to go to

school—when we’re exactly the same age?

“And think the school will cope without you for

day—just this once.” Dad winks at me. “What d’you

reckon, Holly-berry? You up for it?”

262

look up, surprised, then hesitate, imagining sitting

in

boat with Rosie and Dad all day. think I’d actually

prefer to be at school.

“I’m not sure …,”

begin, reaching for the maple

syrup. “I’ve got swim meet this afternoon, and—”

“Come on, Holly, you love sailing. can’t go out on

my own—I’d be right Billy-no-mates.”

look up. On his own? “But thought—” glance at

Rosie.

“Megan and Ben have got playdate, and Rosie here

has got plans with her—her young man. Isn’t that right?”

Rosie nods, smiling as she chews.

“So, what do you say?” Dad grins at me. “Just the

two of us? Unless you’re ashamed to be seen out with your

old dad?”

smile at him, the mug of tea toasty in my hands.

“Okay.”

“That’s my girl.” Dad winks.

glance at Rosie, who looks quickly at her plate.

Okay, think, so maybe should give her chance.

take sip of my tea.

“So, tell me about your mom, Rosie,” venture, the

tea warm and sweet as it slides down my throat. “Besides

that she’s not the world’s greatest cook.”

She smiles. “World’s most dangerous cook, more

like. I’ve lost count of the number of explosions that came

from our kitchen. Once we even had to call the fire

brigade!” She laughs. “She was trying to cook potatoes in

her new pressure cooker—and it just exploded! We were

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scraping mashed potato off the ceiling for weeks!” She

grins. “But she made it into game—she pretended it was

snow, and we made little potato snowmen and drew faces

on the windows—pretty gross, really, but was only little

and loved it.” She smiles wistfully.

“She made everything fun like that. Like we never

had ordinary toast—it was always cut into animal shapes

or smiley faces. When it was really burned she’d cut it into

bats and pretend it was supposed to be black!”

smile despite myself. “What else? Tell me about

her.”

Rosie smiles, chewing thoughtfully. “Well, besides

the fact you’re the absolute spitting image of her …”

feel my cheeks grow warm.

“She used to be

children’s book illustrator—she

loved to paint, draw, sculpt—she adored creating stuff out

of nothing.”

think of my driftwood sculptures. So that’s where

get it from.

Rosie grins. “For my fifth birthday

desperately

wanted doll’s house—this fancy one I’d seen in the toy

shop, but it was really expensive. So Mum made me one.

gingerbread house. God, it was wonderful. It had fairy

lights all round the roof, and the driveway was made of

popping candy. It was magical.

loved it so much

couldn’t bear to eat it.”

smile, imagining it twinkling on the table.

264

“She used to dance when she was younger, too—

she once dreamed of becoming ballerina, my nana told

me.”

Nana? My heart flips. have nana too?

“She’d run, swim, dance, anything to release her

energy—it was boundless!”

My hearts beats loudly. So she was swimmer too.

“And her sense of humor!” Rosie laughs. “God, the

stitches I’ve suffered from her jokes and pranks—she was

hysterical. And her fashion sense

Inimitable.” She grins.

“Nobody could ever tell my mother what to wear.”

“She sounds wonderful,” muse dreamily.

“She was,” Rosie sighs. “She really was.”

My heart stops.

Did hear her right?

stare at her, my voice whisper. “Was?”

Rosie looks up at me, surprise turning to confusion,

then fear. She glances quickly at Dad.

“You mean she …”

falter, the words forming

hollowly on my lips. “She’s dead?”

Rosie looks away.

“My mom is dead?” feel sick, all my resurrected

dreams of my mother melting away like last year’s snow,

trampled to dirt. don’t have mother. still don’t have

mother. never will …

“Holly …” Dad squeezes my arm. “Sweetheart, I’m so

sorry. I—”

“How?” ask suddenly, turning to Rosie. “When?”

She hesitates, and looks at Dad.

265

“Holly,” he soothes. “Holly, really don’t think—”

“When?” persist, my voice mottled with tears. “She

was my mother. have the right to know.” look at Rosie.

“Well?”

“Last month,” she says quietly. “She died just before

Christmas.”

stare at her. So recently. She was alive last month.

There’s DVD in my room, Christmas present, still in its

cellophane, unwatched. She was alive when it was

bought—when it was wrapped, maybe. stare down at the

table, at nothing.

“How?” whisper.

Silence.

“How?”

demand. Rosie’s looking at Dad, fear

etched across her face. “I can’t—”

slam my fist on the table, making her jump. “Tell

me!”

“I can’t!

“Why not?” yell at her. “What difference does it

make? She’s still dead!”

“Holly—” Dad squeezes my hand as Ben begins to

whimper.

Rosie looks away. “You don’t understand—”

“Oh, understand, understand just fine.” spit the

words at her. “Your family died, so you thought you’d

come on over the Atlantic and take mine? You thought

you’d just waltz over here and pick up mom in New York

and

dad in New England and everything would be

hunky-dory?” lean closer. “Except it didn’t work like that,

266

did it? Your mom didn’t want you. She never did. She

slammed the door in your face—”

Rosie flinches.

“Holly!” Dad barks.

“So you thought you’d come here?”

continue.

“Third-time lucky? To my home, my family and take my dad?”

Megan cuddles Ben close as they leave the room.

“It’s not like that!” Rosie’s voice is surprisingly

strong, her eyes shining. “It’s not like that—I didn’t even

know you existed—I thought you’d died!”

“Well, wouldn’t that have been convenient?” say,

sneering.

“I thought you were dead,” she repeats, “and when

found out you weren’t,

wanted to just walk away.

never wanted to hurt you—”

“Then why did you?” yell at her. “There are plenty

of planes leaving every day—you could have left any time!

Why didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why? Because you’d found your dad, and that was

all that mattered to you? Screw everyone else—who cares

how many lives you ruin?”

“No!”

“Holly—” Dad takes my arm.

“Yes!” scream at her, shrugging him away. “Yes—

you’re selfish bitch!”

“No.” Rosie’s voice is quiet now, determined. Her

eyes meet mine. “You had to know.”

267

“Really?” My voice drips with sarcasm. “I just had to know that my dad’s not really my dad, that my whole life

is one big lie, except—oh, yeah—my mom’s still dead!”

glare at her. “I just couldn’t live without that knowledge

second longer, could I?”

“You had to know—”

“Rosie—” Dad warns.

“She has to know!” Her eyes are desperate, fraught.

“Know what?”

stare at him, icy dread trickling

slowly down my spine. “Dad? Know what?”

“Trudie died—” Rosie begins.

“Yeah, thanks, got that.”

“Of Huntington’s disease.” She looks at me, then

drops her eyes to the floor, screws them shut.

Dad sighs heavily.

“What?”

frown, staring at her, at Dad. Have

missed something? “Like

said, what difference does it

make?” look from one to the other insistently. “What the

hell is Hunting’s disease, anyway?”

“Huntington’s disease,” Rosie corrects me quietly,

her voice strained, her gaze glued to the floor. “It’s

terminal illness—a deterioration of the mind, the body …”

stare at her, mystified. So?

She looks at me, her eyes sad, regretful. “Holly, I’m

so sorry …”

don’t breathe. just watch her eyes well up with

pain and regret, my heart poised on knife edge.

“It’s hereditary.”

268

Rosie

My words slice through the room, sharp and swift

and brutal, leaving everyone deathly silent. Holly stares at

me numbly, but can’t meet her eyes.

“Holly—” Jack whispers. He takes her hand but she

doesn’t move.

stare at the floor, my cheeks burning. Now know

how Pandora felt.

“Sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay,” Jack

soothes, stroking her hand.

“How?” She looks at him with the same blank

expression. “It’s hereditary

I’m gonna die?”

“No,” Jack tells her, his eyes intense, his voice

breaking. “No, you’re not—it’s not even definite you’ve

inherited it—it’s just chance.”

She stares at him. “What chance?”

Jack hesitates, swallows. “Fifty percent. Right,

Rosie?” He looks at me.

nod absently. feel Holly’s eyes on me but can’t

look.

“That’s all, just fifty percent—you’re just as likely

not to have it. Okay, Holly-berry?” he says, his voice

infused with determined hope, with fear. “Okay?”

269

squeeze my eyes shut tight, remembering those

same words being said to me, feeling Holly’s pain as the

realization sinks in. was wrong—it’s not always best to

know the truth. Ignorance is bliss, isn’t that what they

say? And I’ve just shattered her ignorance, her bliss, her

life, with this one foul sledgehammer of truth.

Holly’s right. am selfish. If only could have left

well alone, walked away

scrape my chair back, shattering the silence.

“I’m sorry.”

stand up, my face hot as

stumble

toward the door. “I’m so sorry. I’ll get out of your way,

I’ll—”

“Rosie …” Jack’s voice is gentle but still stings.

“I’m so sorry.”

flee quickly through the door,

running as hit the steps, the raindrops spitting at my

face.

She had to know, tell myself, blinking hard, trying

to block out the image of her face—blanched with shock,

staring wide-eyed as ripped her world apart. She had to

know …

Didn’t she?

270

Holly

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 can’t.

Everything feels unreal, somehow—like I’m

watching myself from

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. stare at the illuminated screen.

Josh

God, Josh. My fiancé. The fiancé

was scared to

burden by telling him

was pregnant. Now I’ve got

terminal illness too.

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 …”

shake my head, tiny movement, all can manage.

“It’ll be okay, you’ll see …”

shake my head harder, cold sweat trickling down

my neck.

“It will, promise—you probably don’t even have

the disease—and even if you do—Holly!” lunge for the

271

sink, my knees buckling as 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 …,”

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.”

272

Rosie

The raindrops blur into my tears as

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. wish could just get in one and sail

far, far away

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

“What’re you doing out here? It’s raining!” He

hurries down the road toward me,

rucksack over each

shoulder. “Here, put this on.” He drops the bags onto the

sand and throws me

waterproof jacket. “Thought we

might need our stuff from the and B.” He grins. “As we’re

staying.”

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.” sigh, the words too familiar on my lips.

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

“I’m sorry, forgot it,” say, rubbing my face. “I was

with Jack, we went to the fish market.”

“Right.” He nods. “Well, next time leave

note or

something, will you? was worried.”

273

“I’m sorry!” turn on him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m

sorry– okay? Tears sting my eyes and 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?”

look at him, wave of hopelessness crashing over

me. “Holly knows,” 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,”

shake my head wretchedly. “You weren’t

there, Andy, you didn’t see her face …” 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!” insist. “I’ve ruined their lives, Andy!

could have walked away—I should have walked away.

This was huge mistake. have to go!” 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 cab,

say goodbye, then—”

“No.” 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.”

274

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.”

take deep breath, my throat swelling as gaze up

at the clapboard house, the restaurant with its wooden

sign creaking in the salty breeze

swallow hard. “It is.”

275

Holly

watch the raindrops sliding like tears down the

window as Megan pours me yet another cup of tea.

“So …” stare into the swirling depths of my mug.

“How long do have?”

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

might not even have—”

“How long?” look at him.

He glances at Megan, then sighs again. “I did bit of

research last night, and most of the Websites 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.”

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

starts?”

“I don’t know,” he admits. “It varies

think—it

depends …” He frowns. “You should talk to Rosie.”

look at him quickly.

He squeezes my hand. “She knows better than

anyone,” he says gently. “She was her mother’s caregiver.”

stare at him.

caregiver? I’m going to need

caregiver

“But sweetheart, we don’t even know you’ve got it,”

he says swiftly, reading my fear. “There’s

test you can

276

take, if you want to, to find out if you definitely have the

gene—”

“If want to? Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, some people don’t, they’d rather not know—

afraid positive result will affect their lives too much—”

“Well, duh—they’re gonna die!”

laugh,

short

sharp bitter sound.

“No,” Dad says gently. “Their life before the disease.

Their jobs, their careers, their marriages …”

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

“Well …” Dad hesitates. “From what

can gather

online, some people are scared their employers might

discriminate against them, or they’re afraid they’ll become

burden on their partners—”

“Josh would stand by me,”

tell him firmly. “He

loves me.”

“I’m sure he would.” Dad smiles, stroking my hand.

“But does he want children?”

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

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.”

277

“Tell me,”

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.”

close my eyes.

She wouldn’t have had children

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 bus!”

His words wash over me, my head spinning in

painful circles.

She wouldn’t have had children– shouldn’t have

children– shouldn’t have this child …

“He’s right, Holly,” Megan says. “Maybe it’s better

not to know.”

“I have to know!” 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 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!”

278

“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!”

explode. “I don’t need

anything from her—this is her fault!”

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.”

look away, 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,” 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

279

through this,” he promises, his voice cracking and

breaking my heart. “We will. You’ll see. Together we can

beat anything.”

cling to him like

child, desperately holding on,

trying to believe him.

“You okay, Holly?”

blink as Ben appears in the doorway, his eyes wide

with concern.

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.

pull Ben close, my heart aching as breathe him in, this

precious child—perhaps the only child I’ll ever hold this

way—the nearest I’ll ever get to child of my own

kiss

his hair, pulling him as close as possible, tears flooding my

eyes.

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

one

“Why didn’t you tell me, Daddy?”

“What?” he whispers.

“About Mom—Kitty,

mean.”

swallow painfully.

“Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He kisses my hair. “I

thought

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,” whisper, Ben warm and

heavy in my arms. “I mean—”

280

“You’re right.” Dad strokes my hair from my face,

looks at me. “I’m sorry, was wrong. You had

right to

know. I’ll never keep anything from you again, sweetheart.

promise.” He links his pinkie with mine like we used to

when was little. “No more secrets, okay?” He wipes tear

from my cheek. “From now on, we’ll tell each other

everything. Okay?”

look at him, his eyes so sad, and nod, fresh tears

spilling down my cheeks. squeeze my eyes shut, take

deep breath. “Daddy—”

knock at the back door stops my breath. Rosie

slowly creaks it open, 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

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,” 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,” say, my voice stronger now. “No, it’s okay.”

can’t believe what I’m doing, what I’m saying. can’t stand

281

her, can’t stand the thought of her in my house, my home,

but

but need to know more.

“You should stay.” swallow. “If you don’t mind

have some questions.”

She looks at me, 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 chair. “Where

should begin?”

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Rosie

We talk for hours, the shadows lengthening slowly

across the kitchen as Holly twirls her finger endlessly in

her hair, listening silently.

tell her about Mum: about life before and after her

onset; about the test, the different stages of counseling

went through, what it was like waiting for the result. 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 long and healthy life—that there’s no reason why

she can’t still do everything she’s ever wanted

But in her eyes 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.”

nod. “It’s lot to take in.”

She nods, her thoughts million miles away.

“How about 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.”

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“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? 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 might go out on my

bike for while—I could do with some air.”

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

with you?”

“I can leave,” 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 day. “My little girl …”

“I really am sorry,” 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 think it really helped.”

shake my head. “It’s the least

can do,

after

Anything 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.”

nod. That, at least, can do.

284

“And you can help me eat some soup!” Jack pushes

himself up from the table. “What flavor do you like?