Someone Else's Life (31 page)

Rosie

Megan and I sit there in the aftermath, the silence unbreakable.

I feel like an empty sponge, every ounce of energy, every last drop of truth finally squeezed out of me, leaving me brittle, hollow, and exposed. This is it. It was all for nothing. I’ve lost Jack and Megan, I’ve lost Holly and Ben, and now Nana and Sarah are being sucked into the black hole too.

I should call Sarah, warn her. I should call Nana … but somehow I can’t move, can’t speak …

“Rosie …,” Megan says, then sighs. There are no words. There are too many. “Rosie, I—Shoot, is that the time?” She jumps up, then stops at the door, her voice gentle. “Rosie, look, I have to go get Ben, but … but when I get back—”

“Okay.” I nod, understanding perfectly.
When I get back … don’t be here
.

“Okay.” She smiles awkwardly, pausing for a moment before hurrying out of the door.

I close my eyes.

It’s over.

Holly

It’s over.

I shiver as I pull my sleeve back down, my blood deep red in the sample tube. It’s done. Everything’s in the hands of the doctors and lab technicians and geneticists. It’s up to them now, baby. Up to them to discover whether I’m HD-positive or not. Whether we live or die. All we have to do is wait.

Easy, huh?

It was surprisingly quick … not much more than a pinprick, really, when it came down to it. All that talking and stressing and wondering and worrying, and all it ultimately came down to was a few seconds with a needle.

First there were a load of questions, and then I had to follow a pen with my eyes, walk heel to toe and play a bizarre variation on the paper-rock-scissors game—I had to copy the actions the neurologist did in the order he did them. I felt like I was back at kindergarten, concentrating so hard on the simplest things. It was quite scary—are these really things I won’t be able to do in the next ten to twenty years?

Then Charlotte was waiting to see me. She’d been surprised when I turned up alone, but I said Andy had been unavoidably detained. It’s getting frighteningly easy to lie these days. She offered to reschedule, but I told her no—I’m already nine weeks pregnant, and I have to get the results and decide about CVS before week twelve. I gave her the five hundred dollars to remain anonymous, then the blood was drawn. Easy. All over. Out of my hands.

I feel numb as I walk toward the exit. I thought I’d be relieved—and I am, in a way. No more worrying or deliberating about the right thing to do. It’s done, and now there’s nothing I can do but wait. Two weeks, Charlotte said, though they’ll try to be as quick as possible, given my situation. Just two weeks and my fate will be decided.
Our
fate.

With tremendous effort I push the door open onto the street, and bright sunlight hits me full in the face, its warmth dazzling, blinding, until something moves in front of it.

“Holly.” Andy looks down at me, tall and shadowy.

I look up at him, the last of my strength melting away as I dissolve into his arms, dark against the light, firm against the crumbling world.

Rosie

It doesn’t take long to pack. I take a last look around the bedroom—spick-and-span. Almost as if I never came. I sigh. If only it were as easy to pack up the last few weeks, to leave everyone as they were before. Happy. Intact. A family.

I glance out the window. Still no taxi. I don’t know where I’ll go. Home, I suppose, if I can still call it that. If it hasn’t been totally annihilated by the time I get there. I sigh heavily, close the bedroom door and head downstairs.

“Jack?” Megan bursts through the back door, Ben in her arms. She looks at me, surprised. “Rosie!”

“I’m sorry—I thought the taxi would be here by now,” I say in a rush, my cheeks burning. “I’ll wait outside.”

“Rosie, wait!” she says. “You don’t have to go. We can work this out, get through this—as a family …”

I look at her, her hair spilling out from its elastic band, Ben sucking his thumb in her arms. I shake my head. “I’ve destroyed this family.”

“No, you haven’t,” she argues. “None of this is your fault.”

“Thank you, Megan.” I smile weakly. “For everything.”

“Rosie …” She trails off helplessly as I move past her through the kitchen. “Look, at least wait until Jack gets back, okay? You can’t leave without saying goodbye.”

I shake my head.

“Rosie, please—it’s not your fault—any of it! It was Sarah and—and Kitty!” She spits the name. “Kitty’s the one who started all this—she caused it and now she’s the one dragging us all—” She breaks off suddenly and moves to the counter, pressing a button on the answering machine.

“First message: Friday, January fifth … Hello?”
Kitty’s irritated voice shatters the silence.
“Hello? Jack? Are you there? Jack?”

I cringe. As if I needed any further reminder of the moment this all started, the moment I should have walked away and never come back. I shoulder my bag and open the door.

“Rosie, wait!”

Something in Megan’s voice makes me turn back, though to do so is painful.

Her eyes sparkle. “I have an idea.”

Holly

The same sun I watched rise this morning now bleeds slowly into the sea as I step off the ferry. But the ground’s still moving.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andy asks.

I nod. “Nothing’s changed, has it?” I reason. “I’ve always either had Huntington’s or not. And I still don’t know which, I’m just one step closer to learning the truth, that’s all. And it’s best to know the truth.” I sigh heavily. “However much it hurts.”

He looks at me, his eyes pained. “Holly, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t.” I shrug, hugging my arms. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters now.”

He stares at the ground. “You know, I could always stick around a bit longer … be here when you get your results?”

“No.” I smile. “Thank you, but I think it’s time to tell them. It’s time everyone knew the truth.”

“Okay.” He nods. “Well, you’ve got my number if you change your mind. I don’t leave the States for a few more days.”

“Thanks, Andy,” I tell him. “Thanks for everything.”

“Anytime,” he promises. “Good luck, Holly.”

He hugs me goodbye, and I wave, watching as he walks away, this one person who knows all my secrets, yet hardly knows me at all. I take a deep breath and walk slowly back to the house. My house. The same house I’ve lived in for as long as I can remember. The same squeaky wooden sign, the same creaky steps I’ve run up a thousand times.

Everything’s the same as it always was.

Except for me.

Rosie

I wait in the living room, staring at my bag, packed and waiting by the door. I want to be ready—just in case this doesn’t work, in case Jack doesn’t change his mind, in case the world is still coming to an end.

In the kitchen Megan is playing Jack the answering-machine message, telling him her idea. I watch Ben driving his trucks around the carpet in front of me, and want to cry. I’ll miss him so much. Miss them all. My eyes stray restlessly round the room, remembering the day I arrived here, less than two weeks ago; imprinting the room in my memory: the driftwood sculptures, the seascape over the fireplace, the photo collage …

The pictures scream at me accusingly.
Look!
they cry.
Just look what you’ve destroyed!
And like I’m witnessing a car crash, I can’t turn away.

There’s Holly as a giggling toddler, high on Jack’s shoulders; Holly holding baby Ben, so nervous and excited and proud; Holly peering out of her tree house with Melissa; Holly beaming beneath a Sweet Sixteen banner while Jack holds a cake filled with candles, ready for her to make a wish …

I press my eyes closed tight. Wishing. Hoping. Praying. If I click my heels together three times will I be home? Will all this have simply been a dream? A Technicolor nightmare?

Something hard presses into my hand, and I open my eyes. It’s a book.
The Three Little Pigs
.

Ben looks up at me expectantly.

“Storwy, Rosie?”

I smile despite myself.

“Sure,” I tell him, and he climbs up onto the sofa beside me, a mountaineering expedition. I open the book, and before I know it he’s crawled onto my lap. I stare at him, his warm weight heavy on my legs, his pale blue eyes clear and wide as he stares up at me. My little brother. My heart flips and sinks. I’m going to miss him so much.

“Once upon a time,” he prompts.

I smile, turning back to the book, and flick to the first page.

“Once upon a time,” I repeat, “there lived three little pigs.”

And so I read to him, this little boy who’s somehow, incredibly, a part of me. He turns the pages, and at his command I do all the different voices as the little pigs run about frantically trying to escape the Big Bad Wolf as he recklessly destroys their homes and lives.

Until finally he gets what he deserves.

Holly

I take a deep breath and push open the front door. I hear Megan reading to Ben in the living room and close my eyes, imagining my own child, allowing myself the luxury to dream …

I sigh.
The truth
, I think, opening my eyes. I need to tell them. I’m going to tell them now, get it over with. Then somehow we can start trying to pick up the pieces—attempt to put them back together again—try to work out what the new picture might look like.

I swallow hard and open the door.

“And they all lived happ—”

Rosie looks up, midsentence. I stare at her, the sight of Ben sitting on her lap snatching my breath.

“What’s going on?” I demand.

“We’re just reading a story.” Rosie smiles nervously. “ ‘The Three Little Pigs.’ ”

“My favewit!” Ben beams.

“I thought your favorite was ‘The Three Billy Goats Gruff’?—you know, the one with the big fat ugly troll?” I glare at Rosie.

He shakes his head fiercely. “Nope, I like the Big Bad Wolf—Rosie does good voices.” He grins.

I feel sick.

“Where’s Dad?” I say, my voice tight.

“He’s just in the—” Rosie begins.

“Rosie!” Dad beams, bursting in, Megan following closely behind. “Rosie, it worked!”

I have ceased to exist.

“Really?” Rosie stares at him as if her life depends on it.

“Uh-huh. I rang her up—this Janet … Janice … whatsherface … and I said that if they run with the story then I’ll go public with the tape of Kitty—and then I played it for her.”

“What did she say?” Rosie asks eagerly.

“Well, she didn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds, then she just swore and hung up! That’s got to be a good sign, right?”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Holly!” He smiles, turning to me for the first time. “Sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay—they’re gonna drop the article, the court case, everything!” He grabs me in a hug. “It’s over. It’s all over. We can get back to normal.”

Normal
.

“Are you sure?” Rosie asks. “Did Janine actually say that?”

“Well, Kitty can hardly go ahead with her World’s Best Mother campaign if it gets out that she abandoned her own baby, can she? And with the tape too, it’d be the end of her career.” He grins. “Apparently there
is
such a thing as bad publicity!”

He hugs her, the girl he couldn’t bring himself to look at a few hours ago.

“Now, what do you say we all go out for some pizza to celebrate?” He beams. “As a family.”

“That’s a great idea,” Megan says.

“Pepperwoni, pepperwoni!” Ben chants, and Rosie laughs.

“Holly?” Dad says. “I’ll split you a stuffed-crust Mexican Meat Feast?” He winks. “Extra jalapenos …?”

“You go on,” I tell him. “I’m actually not feeling too great. I might go lie down.”

“Really?” Dad frowns, pressing his hand to my forehead. “You okay? You want us to stay in?”

“No! Pepperwoni!” Ben protests.

“No, you all go ahead.” I force a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Okay, well … we’ll bring you back some pizza, okay? I know you prefer it for brekkie, anyway.”

I close my eyes, the thought of cold pizza making me queasy.

“Boots, Ben!” Megan instructs.

“No—more storwy!” Ben protests, waving his book at Rosie.

“Sorry!” she laughs, scooping him up and tickling him. “We didn’t quite finish did we? Where did we get to?”

And they all lived happily ever after
, I think bitterly as I turn away, closing the door firmly behind me.

Unbelievable
. I grit my teeth, trying to control myself.

Every time
. Every
freaking
time she somehow ends up on top—the cat that gets the cream, having her cake and eating everybody else’s too!
Un
-
freaking
-
believable!

Poor Rosie
—
the
girl who’s lied through her teeth since she got here—who’s had it all—who’s
got
it all—now getting all the sympathy because she doesn’t want her friend to get into trouble! God forbid the woman who did this—who
ruined
my life—should be punished! And they’re
helping
her! She deserves to go to prison—to hell—for all she’s done. I hold my stomach tenderly. And I can’t even tell them I’m pregnant because they’re too busy celebrating with freaking Rosie!

She’s had a mother, she’s free of the disease, she’s lied to us all and
still
she gets the happy ending?
Still
she gets to play happy family?

I hurl my jacket at the coat rack—and miss. Typical. I snatch it up and find the rest of this morning’s unopened mail underneath—abandoned in the wake of Hurricane Rosie, just like everything else. A green logo catches my eye.

DNAnytime
.

Great. Perfect. Just what I need—a stab in the gut with the DNA results that have ruined my life. I snatch up the envelope and stomp upstairs. Wouldn’t that just make Rosie’s freaking day? DNA proof—her golden ticket to a happy ending in my family, my life! I can imagine them all now, crowding into a booth at Pisa Pizza, the mom, the dad, the son and the perfect, healthy daughter. The textbook happy family. My eyes sting as I throw myself miserably onto my bed.

They’re not mine, they were never mine—that’s the truth. It was all a calculated move, a deliberate switch by a screwed-up midwife designed to give Rosie to her friend and leave me for dead. I’m the sick one, the doomed one. I was never meant to survive.

I reach for my pillow and my fingers find something hard beneath it. I pull it out and my heart plummets as I stare at my engagement ring. Now even that’s over too.
Everything’s
ruined because of Rosie and her freaking DNA!

I glare at the envelope, ripping at the seal and pulling out the folded sheet of paper. Everything else has gone to hell, why not stick the cherry on top while I’m at it? Bring it on!

I stare at the letter, numbers and scientific jargon swimming before me. Then I read it again, convinced I’m getting confused by the mumbo-jumbo, the terminology. When it still says the same thing the third time, I stop breathing.

Negative
.

I stare.

There is no genetic match between the subjects
.

Rosie is not Dad’s daughter.