Someone Else's Life (11 page)

“I don’t know.” I shrug miserably. “You were just so down on the whole idea. I thought you’d be mad at me, spoil it all, and I just wanted to find her, to
see
her.” I sigh and stare at my lap, my throat swelling. “But it didn’t work, did it? It’s over.”

Andy looks at me for a moment, then shakes his head. “Nope, not good enough, I’m afraid.”

I look at him. “What?”

“Rosie, if you’ve come all this way to find her—if it really means that much to you—you’re not going to bloody well give up now.”

“But—it’s impossible, I’ll never get anywhere near her. You weren’t there—she’s got all this security—”

“Well.” Andy winks. “That’s where the master plan comes in.”

“Sweetheart.” He checks his watch for the millionth time. “Are you nearly ready? We’re gonna miss it completely if we don’t leave soon!”

“My darling fiancé.” I smile, the word tingling deliciously on my tongue. “We’ve got heaps of time. You go get us a cab, I just want to change.”

I pull my dress over my head and his arms are instantly around my waist.

“Don’t ever change.” He beams, his eyes deep in mine. “You’re so beautiful, have I ever told you that?”

I laugh. “Once or twice.”

“You look”—he kisses my neck, my shoulder—“like a movie star.”

A thrill tingles down my spine.

“Babe …,” I mumble. “Cab?”

“But you said we’ve got heaps of time!” he complains, kissing my arm, my ring finger.

“We have.” I smile. “We’ve got the rest of our lives.”

“The rest of our lives.” He beams at me. “Just you and me.”

Chapter Eleven

“This is never going to work,” I moan, struggling to carry the wobbling silver platter along the hotel corridor without the lid falling off.

“Well, it won’t if you give up,” Andy urges. “Now come on, you must’ve inherited some of Kitty’s acting talent! Next room.”

I groan and stop outside the next door.

“Room service!” I sing for the umpteenth time.

A middle-aged man opens the door, his belly hanging over his boxers.

I plaster on a smile. “Room service?”

“I ain’t ordered no room service,” he grunts. “Whatya—”

“Sorry, wrong room!” Andy interrupts, steering me on down the corridor as I tug the tiny black skirt farther over my bum.

“I feel ridiculous!” I hiss. “Besides, this is a waitress’s uniform, not room service!”

“Well, it’s all Lola had.” Andy grins. “And it is very cute.”

I glare at him.

“Andy, we don’t even know which room she’s in,” I protest. “She hasn’t even
ordered
room service—and what if someone else actually has? All we’ve got are chocolates!”

“Who doesn’t like chocolates?” Andy smiles. “Come on, next room.”

Lola’s master plan—as seen on one of her favorite sitcoms—involved her causing a distraction in the hotel lobby by pretending (?) to be a crazed fan while Andy and I snuck in and got changed in the toilets. Now, starting at the top of the hotel, we’re knocking on every single door holding Lola’s covered silver platter, pretending to be room service, until we find Kitty. We’ve gone through two whole floors already, but there’s still no sign of her.

The next door opens almost immediately. An enormous man in a suit glowers down at me, his bulk filling the doorway.

“Yes?” he grunts.

“Er, room service?” I say timidly.

“Typical!” Another man strides forward and the Incredible Bulk steps aside. “Grab the cases, will you, Stan? Trust Kitty, ordering room service at the last minute. We’re never gonna leave! I think she’s fallen in love with your town.” He winks at me, the warmth of his smile making my cheeks burn. “Please, go on in. And tell her I’ve gone to see what the hell’s happened to our cab, will you?”

“I, er, I will!” I call after him, watching him stroll away down the corridor, the Bulk following behind, laden with heavy suitcases.

“Oh. My. God!” I hiss, turning to Andy. “That was Luke Reynolds!”

“Who?” He frowns.

“Kitty’s costar—they’re engaged!”

“Well, we’ve got the right room, then, haven’t we? Come on!” He pushes me inside.

“Oh my God!” I stop dead in the doorway. My jaw drops as I gaze round at the marble fireplace, the roaring log fire, the silver candlesticks, the beautiful bouquets, and the luxurious deep-pile Indian rug sprawling across the expansive floor. It’s absolutely incredible—and a far cry from her parents’ cramped semi in Bramberley.

“You forget something, babe?” Kitty pads out of the bathroom.

I stare at her, my breath catching in my throat. Here she is, in front of me, in the flesh. Her black hair swings smoothly as she stops and looks at me, her green eyes penetrating mine.

“Can I help you?” she asks, her accent a muddle of American twang and round English vowels.

“I, um, er …” I glance at the platter in my hands. “Room service!”

She frowns. “I didn’t order any …” She lifts the lid, surprised. “Chocolates? I don’t eat chocolates.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I—”

“He
knows
I don’t eat chocolates.” She beams suddenly. “I love that man. He spoils me rotten.” She winks as she pops one in her mouth. “Where’d he go, anyway?”

“Uh, he—”

“He went to see about the taxi, ma’am,” Andy interrupts, bowing and closing the door behind him as he steps back into the corridor.

“Have I found the perfect guy, or what?” She grins. “Now, let me get you a nice fat tip.” She picks up her purse and a tiny frown flickers over her features. “Do I know you?”

“I—” I nod helplessly, my throat paralyzed, butterflies dancing circles in my stomach. Could it be? Could she really recognize me …?

“Ah, I know!” She points a finger at me. “You were at this afternoon’s show, weren’t you? Huge backpack, no umbrella?” She smiles.

I nod quickly.

“So?” she says eagerly. “Did you like it? I never trust the critics.”

“Oh, I thought it was wonderful,” I gush.

She beams at me. “Cigarette?” she offers, opening a packet.

“No, thanks.”

She settles back in her armchair. She looks so young, so beautiful.

“You’re not really room service, are you?” she says suddenly. “Unless the Ritz suddenly changed their uniform since this morning.”

I feel my cheeks grow hot.

“And the chocolates—are they from you too?”

“I—” I struggle to breathe. “I’m really, really sorry—”

“Relax!” she laughs. “I’ve done some crazy things to meet stars in my time, believe me. And thank you—they’re delicious.” She grins. “So, what can I do for you?” she asks, placing a cigarette between her lips and feeling for a lighter. “Autograph? Photo? I’m afraid I haven’t got long—my taxi to the airport will be here soon. I’m off to sunny Las Vegas.”

She smiles at me expectantly.

The butterflies go crazy. It’s now or never.

“My name’s Rosie.” I swallow. “Rosie Kenning.”

“Nice to meet you, Rosie.”

“And I’m—” I take a deep breath, my cheeks burning. “I’m your daughter.”

She looks up quickly.

I hold her gaze fearfully, a rabbit pinned in headlights, not daring to breathe. I can’t believe I just did that—just blurted it out like that!

She stares at me for a long moment, my heart hammering wildly. This is it. The moment of truth.

And then she smiles, cocking her head to one side. “I didn’t know I had a daughter.” She exhales coolly.

“I know,” I say, my breath shallow. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m always the last to know,” she says, waving her cigarette. “Usually I’m just handed a script and it’s
‘Action!’
Nice to have a heads-up for a change.”

I frown, confused.

“Actually, Janine’s been on about getting me a kid on the show for a while now—change my image, keep things fresh.” She shakes her head. “She keeps saying I need a hook, you know, to capture the public’s imagination, attract media interest, constantly raise my profile …”

“No,” I interject. “I’m—”

“Do you know, I was up to play Maria in the remake of
The Sound of Music
but they said I wasn’t a
star name
—never mind that I’ve been on prime-time telly for the last eight years—and that no one would buy me as a motherly nun after
For Richer, For Poorer
! Offered me the Baroness instead—
the Baroness
! Well, we’ll show them, huh? We’ll show them motherly.”

She smiles at me, looks me over.

“They’ve done a pretty good job too, I must say. Black hair, green eyes—you’re even British!” She leans forward. “Or is that just a really good accent?”

“No, I—I am.”

“Well, I’m very impressed.” She beams, leaning back in her chair and looking me up and down. “You’re a bit old, though, aren’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“Well, I mean I’m sure they could make you look a bit younger with makeup, but—what are you, seventeen? Eighteen?”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Well, exactly! I’m not old enough to—”

“You’re thirty-five.”

She chokes on her cigarette smoke. “And you’re a cheeky minx!”

“I’m eighteen,” I say again. “Eighteen today, actually. It’s my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday, but that’s really no excuse for—”

“And eighteen years ago today, when you were seventeen”—I take a deep breath, seizing my opportunity—“you gave birth to me.”

She stares at me, then coughs. “What?”

I hold her gaze expectantly. “In England.”

She looks at me for a long moment and then gives a little laugh and stands up, hugging herself.

“Well, you’re good, I’ll give you that—a backstory and everything! The studio must’ve pulled out all the stops for this one, though I can’t think why they never told me, I mean—”

“It’s nothing to do with the studio!” I interrupt loudly. “I’m not an actress! I’m real. I’m your real daughter!”

She turns deathly pale and just stares at me. “Stan …?”

“Please, listen—”

“I don’t know what you want, but—”

“You gave birth to me in St. Anne’s hospital, Maybridge.”

“I really don’t think—”

“You ran away after I was born, you—”

“Look,” she says suddenly, turning to me. “Hon. I’m sure you’re very nice, and I hope you find your mum, I really do, but you’ve got the wrong lady.”

“It was a stormy night and—”

“Rosie,”
she interrupts. “Look, I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but—”

“Your mother.”

“What?” She stares at me.

“I’ve spoken to your mother, Pam Sinclare.” I hold her gaze. “My grandmother.”

She looks at me, speechless.

“That’s how I found you. She told me how you’d always wanted to be an actress, how you came to America when you were seventeen. But she doesn’t know the real reason you left, does she?”

“I—”

“She doesn’t know that you’d just had a baby, that you were scared, that you ran away.”

“Now, listen—”

“But after you ran away, Kitty, there was a mistake—”

“Damn right, there’s been a mistake!” she shouts, striding to the door and flinging it open. “Stan’s always telling me—
Stan?
”

“Kitty,” I beg. “Kitty, please.”

“Rosie …” Andy steps inside.

“And who the hell are you?” Kitty demands.

“Kitty, I’m your
daughter
!”

“I don’t have a daughter!” She rounds on me, eyes blazing. “Now please leave—both of you!”

“No. Kitty—”

“Stan!” she calls again.
“Stan!”

“Rosie,”
Andy hisses. “Are you
sure
about this?”

“Yes!” I shrug him off. “Kit—”

Andy catches my arm again and holds it tightly. “
Really
sure?”

I look at him.

He lowers his voice. “What if you’re wrong? What if it’s not her?”

“What?” I stare at him. It
has
to be her.

Doesn’t it?

I look at Kitty, who’s punching a number on the hotel phone. She
looks
like me—same hair, same eyes … She’s the right age. She had a daughter called Holly Woods … My breath catches.

Didn’t she …?

Sinclare
 … There were several on record—just because Kitty lived locally, it doesn’t necessarily mean …

I swallow.

My mother was a runaway
—she could’ve come from
anywhere
to have her baby in secret …

A shiver runs down my spine. Pam never mentioned a baby, a pregnancy—I assumed because Kitty’d kept it a secret, but what if …

I stare at Kitty as she clutches the receiver. “Security?”

What if there was no baby?

My heart hammers painfully.

What if she’d just gone off, as Pam said, to follow her dream?

I was so sure. So
sure
 … But what if it was all a huge mistake?
What if she’s the wrong Sinclare?

“Rosie,” Andy says gently, wrapping his arm round my shoulder. “Maybe we should go.”

I stare at Kitty, doubt gripping me with icy fingers.

It’s not her … All this, and it’s not even her!

“Come on, Rose.” Andy steers me toward the door, the room spinning wildly.

I was so sure … I’ve come all this way, left Nana, lied to Andy—all for nothing. I got it wrong, so wrong … 
She’s not my mother … I’m not her daughter, not
—

“Wait—” I stop suddenly in the doorway, my last chance. “Holly Woods.” I turn to Kitty desperately. “Kitty, I’m Holly Woods.”

She stares at me for a second, her green eyes wide. Then, trembling, she replaces the telephone.

“Who sent you?” she whispers, her breath ragged, her face ashen. “Did Jack send you?”

“Nobody sent me!” I insist, my pulse racing.

“What does he want? Money?”

“No, Kitty, you don’t understand.”

“No,
you
don’t understand!” she cries, eyes wild as she stares straight at me.
“I do not have a daughter!”

The words sting like boiling water. I stare at her. Her face is white and she’s shaking.

“What’s going on?”

Luke appears in the doorway.

Kitty stares at him. For an instant something like terror flashes over her features. Then it’s gone.

“Oh, thank God!” she gushes, rushing to his side. “Oh, darling, they just burst in—they’re stalkers—they wouldn’t leave!”

Stalkers?

Luke pulls out his mobile and dials. “Police?”

“We’re leaving,” Andy insists, taking my arm.

“But—” I stare at Kitty helplessly. “Wait—”

“Oh, darling, I was so scared—she was saying such crazy things!”

My jaw drops.

“It’s all right, sweetheart, they’re leaving.” Luke puts down his phone and pulls Kitty close, glaring at me.

“Come on.” Andy drags me away down the corridor, my head reeling.

Crazy things?
She
recognized
me—she
knew
I was telling the truth!

I droop against the mirrored wall of the lift, the glass cold and hard against my forehead as we travel down, down, and Andy walks me numbly outside, the lights from the hotel splintering on the wet pavement as an icy wind whips my cheeks.

“God, Rosie, you’re shaking! Where’re your clothes? Are they still inside?”

I shrug, my body shivering uncontrollably. But I don’t feel cold. I don’t feel anything.

“Wait here, I’ll go and get them.”

I stare blindly out at the street, at people bustling by, a blur of color and movement.

I can’t believe it. I found her. I
met
my real mother … 
and she kicked me out
. I slump against the wall, the conversation reeling round my head—her shock, her anger, her denial—her
recognition
. The look in her eyes when I mentioned the name Holly Woods—that whimsical name she gave me before she ran away …