Текст книги "Someone Else's Life"

Автор книги: Katie Dale

Соавторы: Katie Dale,Katie Dale
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Chapter Three

My eyes fly open as someone hammers violently

against my skull.

Aaah! What? Shit! Oww!

clutch my head and squint around tentatively,

trying to focus.

What is that?

Suddenly, the door bursts open and slams against

the wall.

Owwwoohhhhh– shit!

“Andy!” clutch the duvet against me as my head

implodes. “What are you

How …?”

“I knocked. About five times. Your coffee’s getting

cold.”

“But—but what are you doing here?!”

“I live here.” He dumps pile of stuff in the corner

and wrenches the curtains back, harsh daylight burning

my eyes as

shrink beneath the duvet.

blue duvet.

Andy’s duvet. Andy’s bed. Shit! glance down quickly at my crumpled top and jeans—at least that’s something.

mug bangs down next to my head. Ow

“Coffee.”

“Um. Thanks,” mumble, peeking out.

“Thank Mum. She made it.”

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“I will.”

He stands there for

moment, tall and shadowy

against the bright window. can’t see his face.

“Listen, Andy, I—”

rasp, then clear my throat.

“What am I—I mean, how …?”

“You don’t remember?” he asks incredulously. “You

don’t remember last night?”

“I—” hesitate, then shake my head helplessly.

He looks at me for moment, then sighs heavily and

crouches down next to the bed. He brushes hair from my

face.

“You were very drunk,” he says gently.

can believe it. can barely focus, and my whole

body aches like hell. Especially my head.

“You don’t remember anything?” he asks, his eyes

searching mine. Those eyes. Those blue, blue eyes.

“Did—” begin, the duvet warm around my body.

“Yes?”

“Did …?” look into his eyes. “Did we …?”

The softness in his face disappears. “No,” he says.

“We didn’t.”

He stands up briskly and checks his watch.

“Shit—Gran’ll kill me. Look, drink your coffee and

I’ll meet you in the car.” He tosses me my mobile. “You’ve

had about eight missed calls.”

The phone blinks at me accusingly. Nana close my

eyes, flooded with guilt.

“I told her I’d drop you off on the way.”

look up. “The way?”

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“To church. It’s Christmas Day.” He gestures at the

pile of opened presents he brought in—a stack of travel

books, camera, and large backpack.

“Going on holiday?” venture.

“No—my gap year—any more questions?” he snaps.

look up, surprised. His gap year?

“You’ve got five minutes.”

He slams the door, and my skull splinters.

What happened?

My eyes wander round the room, over the old Arctic

Monkeys poster and his beloved Wii, past the basketball

laundry-hoop and up his snaking CD collection to the

photo montage I’d helped him Blu-Tack round the mirror

over his sink. Not much has changed, really. Not in the

eighteen months since was last here.

pull the duvet over my face, the musky scent of

Andy’s aftershave tickling my nose, and suddenly

remember kissing him last night, the smell of his skin, his

hair, as he held me close, the taste of his lips so familiar, so right against mine. My head spins as

close my eyes,

intoxicated. God, I’ve missed him Andy. Andy’s room,

Andy’s bed. Snug and warm and comfortable, just as

remember.

Not that we’d ever

we’d never—Not that we

hadn’t wanted to, just

didn’t want it to be just some

clumsy fumble after school, listening for the front door

and scrambling back into my uniform if anyone came

home. It had to be special. Perfect. And we’d planned the

perfect occasion.

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After my GCSE exams, the school arranged prom,

great formal farewell before we headed out into the big

wide world: some of us going straight into jobs or

apprenticeships; some, like me, destined for glorious six-

week summer holiday—six whole wonderful weeks that

Andy and were going to spend discovering Europe with

our Eurail passes—before

finally joined him at

Maybridge Sixth Form College to knuckle down to my

levels for two years before heading on to uni.

That’s what got me through my exams, to tell the

truth. All those long dismal hours of revision, the

arguments with Mum over anything and everything, just

knowing could look forward to this amazing adventure,

to the prom the night before—a magical evening when I’d

wear my ball gown and dance with Andy, and then

well,

his parents were away for the weekend

And it was everything could have wished for. Gone

were the desks that regimented the exams, and instead

lazy disco ball sent glittery stars spinning round the

school hall as we swayed to the band, our secret lighting

us from inside and sparkling in our eyes.

We left early.

Andy’s house was dark and empty as we tiptoed

upstairs in the moonlight, my senses on overdrive, aware

of every touch, every sound, my heart beating madly as we

stepped into his bedroom. Suddenly he flicked

switch,

and gasped as hundred tiny fairy-lights flickered to life,

twinkling over the mirror, looping around the window,

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and circling his bed, which was scattered with rose petals.

It was beautiful. Perfect.

He turned to me, his eyes sparkling, and kissed me,

long, lingering kiss that sent shivers down my spine and

my head spinning into orbit as we fell onto the bed.

kissed him harder, enjoying the weight of his body on

mine as his fingers slid down my back, my waist, my hip,

and finally gasped as they slipped inside my knickers,

smooth and warm and so, so gentle.

He began to tug them down, down

but suddenly

grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“I’m sorry,”

gasped, struggling for breath, “I’m

sorry.”

“Hey.” He smiled, kissing me. “Shh, don’t be.” He

brushed hair from my forehead, his eyes deep in mine.

“You call the shots. Okay?”

nodded, and we struggled up into

sitting

position.

pulled my dress back down and hugged my

knees, my cheeks blazing.

What now?

Andy leapt up. “Some chocolates, Mademoiselle?”

he asked in

French accent, grabbing

pretty box from

his bedside table and presenting it with

flourish.

“Decadently dark, dreamily creamy, finest Belgian

chocolates, fresh from the expert chocolatiers of, um,

Tesco’s.”

“Magnifique,” giggled, watching him as he tore off

the wrapping, his cheeks glowing in the soft light, his

35

blond hair deliciously ruffled next to his crumpled shirt.

He was so gorgeous, so sexy, so Andy.

“Voilà!” he announced, opening the box. “Now,

would Mademoiselle care for truffle delight?

caramel

sensation? Or perhaps that most controversial of

delicacies, strawberry creme?”

tiny, puzzled smile flickered over his face as took

the whole box from his hands and pushed it aside.

“You’re wonderful,” told him.

He smiled. “You too.”

Then

kissed him, deep and meaningfully, my

fingers traveling down to his shirt buttons.

“Rosie.” Andy broke away suddenly, his eyes

searching mine. “Rose, you don’t have to—”

placed finger over his lips, and smiled.

“I want to.”

climbed onto his lap and kissed him again,

undoing one button after another, tugging the shirt free

from his warm, smooth, firm body, lifting my arms as he

pulled my dress up over my head and dropped it in lilac

pool on the floor, shivering as his fingers trailed gently

down my bare back. Finally, his eyes found mine.

“You are so, so beautiful,” he told me, kissing me. “I

love you.” He stroked my face. “But are you sure—”

kissed him in answer, placing his hand on my

breast, then reaching for his buckle. He didn’t need telling

twice. He pulled me to him, the warmth of his skin against

mine making me shiver uncontrollably, his kisses hot and

breathy as

pulled him ever closer, wanting him so

36

desperately. His hands were everywhere—my hair, my

back, my breasts, my legs—then suddenly, he stopped.

“Did you hear that?”

“No,” panted, pulling him closer.

He kissed me, then stopped again. “Listen.”

There was faint humming sound from my bag. My

mobile.

“Ignore it,” whispered, my fingers tangling in his

hair. “They’ll leave message.”

“But it’s the middle of the night—it could be

important—”

The ringing stopped.

“See?” smiled. “Can’t have been that important.”

“I suppose not.” Andy grinned, rolling me

underneath him as shrieked happily. “Now, where were

we?” His mouth found mine.

Suddenly the humming started again.

Andy looked at me.

“Okay,” groaned, fumbling for my phone.

It glowed green in the darkness: Bex

“Typical.”

grinned, flicking it off. “Wanting

progress report, no doubt.”

“Well, we’d better give you something to tell her,

then,” Andy growled, nibbling at my neck and making me

giggle.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of the house phone made

us both jump.

“What the …” Andy frowned, checking his watch.

“It’s one o’clock in the morning!”

37

“Ignore it,”

pleaded, kissing his ear. “No one’s

here.”

He kissed me absently, still listening to the phone.

“I’d better go.”

“Andy …” Another kiss.

“I’ll be right back,

promise.” He smiled, gently

disentangling himself from my arms. “Okay?”

pouted, and he kissed my lips. “Okay?”

“Okay.” smiled. “But hurry!”

The ringing stopped, and lay there, listening, but

couldn’t hear anything.

picked up Andy’s shirt, which

was still warm, still filled with that same delicious Andy

smell, and pulled it on, draping myself seductively on the

bed just as he returned.

“Well?” purred. “What do you think …?”

Andy handed me the phone. “It’s for you.”

“For me?”

“Bex.” He rolled his eyes.

“No. Way. She rang your house?”

scrambled up

from the bed to take the handset. “Bex, this’d better be

good …”

“Rosie—finally! called your mobile five times!”

“Sorry, didn’t hear it—I was busy …” grinned at

Andy. “What’s so important?”

“It’s your mum,” Bex said. “She’s here.”

“Shit!” sighed crossly. “Does she want me to come

home? Well, tough, I’m sixteen years old, and I’ll do what

I—”

38

“No, Rosie,” Bex interrupted, her voice urgent.

“She’s had an accident.”

jump at the sound of Andy’s car horn. Shit.

wrench the covers off and jump out of bed—too quickly.

The room spins, and

grab on to the sink for support,

shutting my eyes and praying not to throw up. wait for

second.

Nothing. Gingerly, open an eye and am greeted by

sullen, ashen-faced reflection. stare.

Gone is the rosy-cheeked schoolgirl who last looked

in this mirror. The girl with all the friends and the

amazing boyfriend, the girl looking forward to carefree

summer of traveling—to the rest of her life. She

disappeared eighteen months ago.

My eyes flick to the photos surrounding the mirror,

searching for her, but though dozens of smiling faces

beam back at me, there’s no one know. stare at them.

Gone are the photos we’d tacked up of our school friends,

our dates, our memories—replaced with strangers: out

clubbing, on holidays, in the park—Andy grinning and

laughing with people I’ve never even met, having the time

of his life. Having

life. Going traveling

remember, my

heart sinking.

But not with me

My chest aches. Suddenly he feels

million miles

away. was wrong. Things have changed. We’ve changed.

Everything changed that night. The last night was here.

But he kissed me last night

remind myself

desperately– that must mean something?

39

My eyes dart frantically over the photos, desperate

to find

picture of me, of us—a party,

date—

something—some sign that he’s thought about me in all

this time, that he’s missed me as much as I’ve missed him.

Suddenly my heart stops, my eyes frozen on picture of

Andy, his arms wrapped tightly around girl, grinning at

the camera as she kisses him tenderly.

pretty blond girl.

pluck the photo from the wall, my fingers

trembling as

stare at their interlocked fingers, their

matching UEFA football shirts, the stadium behind them

where the Euro championships were held two summers

ago

Something hits me in the chest. Hard.

Two summers ago Just after we broke up. The

summer we were going to go traveling

The summer he went without me …

can’t breathe. My chest tightens as all the pain of

his leaving floods back—the burning insecurity that

wasn’t good enough, that I’d never been good enough, that

he’d finally got tired of waiting for me to be ready—or

worse, that now he’d seen me naked he didn’t want me

after all.

“You don’t want me.” My voice echoes suddenly in

my ears, my cheeks blazing as remember him pushing

me away last night, my lips stinging with rejection. “You

never did.”

40

run the tap, splashing the gushing water on my

burning face, tears stinging my eyes as all my hopes of us

getting back together dissolve to nothing.

So that is what happened. That’s why he was so keen to stop when the phone rang that night, that’s why he went traveling without me. He’d gone off me. Gone off

in search of someone new. And he found her …

wrench my eyes open, searching the photos for

more pictures of her, of other girls, other girlfriends—

How many have there been?

scour the snaps—parties,

people, places—then, suddenly,

familiar face grins out,

and instantly the rest of last night comes rushing painfully

back.

Kyle

the

party

kissing

Andy

kissing

Kyle

Kyle sneering

his mocking impression of Mum

jolt like electricity hits me without warning.

Mum

Sarah’s words scream back at me as the room

begins to sway.

Trudie was not your mother

clutch the edge of the sink, my stomach lurching as

the nightmare flashes back, starker, more painful, more

terrifyingly real in the cold light of day.

Trudie was not she was never my mother …

And she never told me. How

how could she keep

something like that

secret, after everything we’d been

through with the disease?

Especially when she found out about the disease …

41

The room spins, and plunge my face down, down

into the icy water, trying to drown the questions, the pain,

the images flooding my head

After Bex called that night,

took

taxi straight

back to school—if Mum was angry about me staying at

Andy’s, he’d be the last person she’d want to see—but by

the time got there she’d gone.

Mum’d turned up at the prom looking for me, Bex

said. Apparently she’d forgotten I’d told her was staying

at Bex’s, then, when wasn’t at school, she’d gone mental.

She’d stormed into the school hall, tottering around in her

favorite heels and nightdress in front of everyone,

searching for me, screaming at the top of her lungs. Bex

tried to explain, tried calling me, but of course hadn’t

answered my mobile

Then Mum’d headed back to the car. The teachers

tried to stop her, said she was in no state to drive, but

Mum just shoved them out of the way.

Then she walked into tree, fell over and broke her

ankle. One of the teachers took her to hospital, and it was

there that they noticed that she wasn’t drunk. That there

was something else wrong, really wrong, with her. And

her life changed forever.

And so did mine.

Andy’s bedroom door flies open.

“I have got better things to do on Christmas Day

than wait around for you, you know?” he snaps.

“I bet,” say, dropping the photo at his feet.

He stares at it, surprised.

42

“Rosie,

It’s not what you think.”

“Whatever.” look away.

“That was just fling– ages ago—”

“About eighteen months ago, in fact.”

“Rosie …” He falters. “She’s not

We’re not

It

didn’t mean anything.”

“Whatever.” swallow, try to move past him.

“Rose—” He grabs my arm, his touch like ice.

“Let me go.”

“Rosie, I—”

“Andy—”

“What did you expect me to do?”

stop short, my breath stuck in my throat.

“What did you expect me to do, Rose? Just wait

around for eighteen months on the off chance that you

might finally call? That we might get back together?”

My throat is paralyzed.

“Tell me, Rosie, what was supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” mumble helplessly. “I thought you

loved me.”

“I did,” Andy says sadly. “But you shut me out.” He

snaps his fingers. “Just like that! didn’t know why, you

wouldn’t tell me, wouldn’t even answer your phone the

fifty times

called to find out why you weren’t at the

station like we’d arranged.

was standing there on the

platform like an idiot, Rosie—I almost missed my train!”

“But you didn’t,” say quietly. “You left.”

“Yes, left. was hurt, was angry, and I’d used all

my savings on

Eurail ticket that was about to go to

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waste. You wouldn’t tell me why you wouldn’t come,

didn’t give me reason to stay, you just sent me text—a

text—saying sorry, you couldn’t come anymore. No

explanation, nothing!”

look away.

“It’s pretty shitty way to dump someone, Rose.”

stare at him. “I wasn’t dumping you! just

had

lot to deal with. couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t talk to me about it? Couldn’t tell me?”

“I couldn’t!” protest. “Not then.”

“Why?” he explodes. “What could be so terrible that

you couldn’t tell me?”

struggle to breathe, even now it’s impossible to

find words to describe the horrible uncertainty and

confusion and terror of that awful, life-changing day when

Mum was finally diagnosed.

He sighs. “As if don’t know.”

“What?”

He looks away. “It was pretty obvious, Rose. The

timing

what happened

or didn’t …” He shuffles his

feet, his cheeks coloring. “I’m sorry if

did something

wrong, if pushed you into nearly doing something you

didn’t want to …”

stare at him, stunned.

He looks at me, his eyes pained. “But you could’ve

just talked to me, you know? was happy to wait.”

“What? No!” protest, my own cheeks burning. He

thinks I dumped him because of that night? “No—no, it wasn’t …” take

deep breath, trying to get my words

44

straight. “Andy, it wasn’t you, anything to do with you. It

was Mum—”

“Then why couldn’t you tell me that? Why couldn’t

you call?”

“I was at the hospital, my phone was off, couldn’t.”

“You could’ve if you’d tried, Rose. You could’ve

called me, could’ve explained, could’ve let me know what

was going on so didn’t keep hoping …”

stare at him, speechless.

“Every city, every station—in Rome, in Athens,

Barcelona—I prayed you’d changed your mind, that you’d

be there waiting to explain, to join me for the rest of our

trip, the adventure we’d planned for so long.” He shrugs.

“But you didn’t come. You didn’t come, and it became

obvious you never would.” He sighs. “I got tired of waiting

for you.”

“But you didn’t wait very long, did you?” gesture to

the photo. “What?

few weeks? You couldn’t have loved

me that much.”

He falters.

“I was waiting for you,” tell him. “I couldn’t believe you’d gone without me. All summer was waiting for you

to call, to come and see me when you got back. needed

you.” swallow hard. “But you never did.”

He looks away. “I thought

thought you’d

dumped me.”

“And thought you’d dumped me,” say sadly. “But

didn’t jump into bed with the next guy who came along!”

“She wasn’t—”

45

“And how dare you, how dare you try to tell me who

can and can’t be with now?!”

“What?”

“You’re such

hypocrite, Andy. Here you are with

another girl immediately after we break up, and yet now, year and

half later, you go mental when I’m with

someone else!”

“That’s not what happened!”

“What?” ask incredulously. “You practically ripped

Kyle off me!”

“Well, yes—but only because was worried about

you!”

“Worried about me? Is that why you snogged me

too?”

“Actually, you snogged me,” Andy reminds me.

“Yeah? Well

was drunk!”

retort bitterly, my

cheeks burning.

“Exactly!”

“What?”

“Rose

you were off your head. You didn’t know

what you were doing, and

after last time …” He

swallows. “I’m sorry. It should never have happened. It

was mistake.”

mistake My heart crumples as look away, my

gaze snagging on

picture right at the edge of the

montage, almost hidden behind the others. It’s me. Me and

Andy. Our first date. We’d gone ice-skating, followed by

fish and chips, of all things, sitting out under the stars with our newspaper wrappers. stare at the photo. Our cheeks

46

are flushed, our eyes bright with laughter. We look so

happy. close my eyes against the tears.

“Rosie,” Andy sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? was

just trying to look out for you last night—I didn’t want you

to do anything you’d regret.”

swallow hard.

“But you’re right, if you want to go out with Kyle,

with anyone …” He sighs. “That’s your business.”

screw my eyes up tighter. There’s only you. There’s

only ever been you …

“I know you’ve had

rough time lately, with your

mum and everything …,” he says gently. “But really wish

you’d told me about her. would’ve understood, Rose.

would’ve been there for you.”

My throat swells with regret. If only I’d called him

that day– explained. He’s right. What was he supposed to think? What did expect him to do? This is all my fault– if I’d only told him the truth, things might’ve been so

different …

“But understand why you didn’t,” he admits. “It’s

bit embarrassing, isn’t it?”

look up sharply.

“I just mean it can’t have been easy,” he says

quickly. “Giving up Sixth Form to look after your alcoholic

mother.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

“Rosie.” He hesitates. “I know you tried to keep it

quiet, but we all saw her, okay? Staggering down the

street, slurring and spilling things everywhere …”

47

stare at him, dumbfounded, an icy numbness

gripping my insides. An image of Kyle’s stupid tottering

walk floats through my mind.

He sighs. “I know she couldn’t help it, it was an

addiction, but look what she put you through. Missing

your levels, your friends—eighteen months of your life!”

“What?! No!”

interrupt, my cheeks hot. “Andy,

Mum was not an alcoholic!”

“Rose, come on—”

“I can’t believe—How could you!”

stare at him

incredulously. “I mean, Kyle’s one thing, but you how could you think she

You knew Mum. You knew her!”

push past him and thunder down the stairs.

“Rosie!” He races after me. “Rosie, I’m sorry!”

fling open the front door.

“Rosie, wait—” He catches my arm. “I’m sorry,

know she was your mum—you loved her—I didn’t

mean—”

“You don’t know anything!” yell, wrenching away

from him, rage pounding in my ears. “She wasn’t an

alcoholic!”

He sighs, sadly, pityingly. “Rose …”

“She had Huntington’s disease okay? That’s why couldn’t just hop on

train, that’s why dropped out of

Sixth Form. She wasn’t an alcoholic—it wasn’t her fault—

she had Huntington’s!”

My heart racing, run out the door, sprinting down

the street, tears streaming down my face.

48

can’t go back—I can’t ever go back to how things

were. Andy doesn’t want me—he feels sorry for me. He

feels sorry for me because he thought my mum was an

alcoholic That night, that awful, horrible night her life changed forever, mine effectively ended.

And now she’s gone. She’s gone, and I’m left with

nothing—no friends, no life, no future—

And she wasn’t even my mother!

My heart racing,

sprint into the garden, my

stomach churning as lunge for the flower bed.

“Oh, sweetie.” Melissa appears beside me, brushing

my hair back from my forehead. “Was it the punch? Did

make it too strong? Should call your dad?”

shake my head vehemently, then immediately

wish hadn’t, as my stomach empties itself yet again. She

rubs my back.

“Oh, babe. You need glass of water? Coffee?”

“Water.” nod weakly, clutching my belly.

“Coming right up!” She grins, ruffling my hair.

“Don’t worry, next time I’ll leave out the vodka. Or maybe

the rum.” She kisses my forehead. “Maybe neither would

be good idea for few days, though!”

She winks and disappears into the house.

lean my head against the cold wall and close my

eyes.

didn’t even have any freaking punch.

49