Someone Else's Life (24 page)

Holly

“I still don’t see any whales,” Andy says doubtfully, leaning over the rail of the boat and studying the murky depths.

“Patience,” I chide, hiding a smile. “We’re barely out of the harbor yet.”

The salty air billows through my hair and shivers on my skin as the dark waves surge beneath us.

“Choppy today.” I frown.

“Not seasick, I hope?” Andy grins.

“Don’t you worry about me.” I smile. “I’ve been out here a thousand times—it’s your own breakfast you wanna keep a hold on.”

“Whatever.” Andy laughs. “That’s what Rosie said before we went on
Nemesis
at Alton Towers. Wasn’t too cocky afterwards when her ice cream sundae made a sudden reappearance! Though neither was I—she puked all over me!”

“Eww, gross!” I grimace.

“Must be love,” Andy sighs, staring out to sea.

I look at him for a long moment, his eyes pained, his cheeks blasted pink by the wind, and I bite my lip. I shouldn’t have brought him out here like this, under false pretenses. He’s got nothing to do with this mess—I just wanted to hurt Rosie like she’s hurt me. Make her suffer like I’m suffering.

“Like you and—Josh, is it?” He turns suddenly, catching me off guard.

My heart plummets and I stare at my feet.
Josh
.

“You’re serious, right? You’re engaged?”

“Yup,” I say, my throat swelling. “Though how long that’ll last …”

He frowns. “Why?”

“Oh.” I shrug, embarrassed I’ve spoken the thought out loud. “No reason.”

I stare determinedly at the sea, scouring the horizon for imaginary whales, ignoring the sick feeling in my stomach, the thumping of my heart.

“Only …,” Andy begins, then breaks off. “Nothing. Sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“What?” I ask, turning to him.

“Well …” He takes a breath. “It’s just I hope it’s not because of the Huntington’s that you’re unsure.” His eyes search mine and I look away, my cheeks burning.

“Have you told him yet?” he asks gently.

“You’re right,” I say briskly, warm despite the biting wind. “It’s none of your business.”

He nods, turns back to sea. “Just like Rosie,” he mutters.

“What?” I turn on him furiously. “What do you mean? I’m nothing like her!”

He smiles. “You’re more alike than you think.”

I stare at him.

“She never told me about the disease, Holly. She kept it all secret. We even broke up because she was too afraid to tell me.” He looks at me. “You’re telling me you’re not feeling the same? You’re not scared to tell Josh?”

I bite my lip.

“You know,” he says gently, “if she had told me—even if she knew she’d got it—it wouldn’t have mattered. It wouldn’t have scared me away.”

I stare at him, incredulous. “It wouldn’t have mattered?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not.”

“That she was going to die?”

“Everybody dies.”

I stare at him. “It wouldn’t have mattered that in ten, maybe twenty years’ time you’d be feeding her from a
spoon
? That you’d have to be her
caregiver
? It wouldn’t have mattered that you could never have
children
without worrying that they’d have it too?”

He sighs, a troubled frown clouding his brow.

“No.” I shake my head, my stomach lurching with the surging waves. “No, you’re wrong. It matters.”

“Holly,” he says gently. “You don’t even know you’ve got Huntington’s. You don’t have to worry yet—”

“I do!” I argue, the boat rocking wildly. “You don’t understand!” The icy wind whips at my face, stinging my eyes. “Nobody does, nobody knows …”

“Nobody knows
what
?” Andy asks, struggling against the roar of the wind, the crash of the waves against the boat.

“That I’m—” A sudden lurch of the boat sends me reeling into the barrier, heaving my guts into the swirling sea below.

“Not seasick, huh?” Andy grins, crouching down next to me and rubbing my back as I collapse, shivering, onto the deck.

“No,” I sigh, swallowing painfully. “Not seasick.”

He frowns at me, confused.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, my head aching. “I’m not seasick,” I tell him, the words finally forming on my lips. “I’m pregnant.”

Rosie

I gaze out the car window, craning my neck to try to see the tops of the brownstone buildings, but they’re too high—stretching for the sky, snagging the clouds.

People walking by stare as we pass and I have to remind myself that they can’t see me. I glance at Kitty. How do you ever get used to this?

“C’mon, come on,” Kitty mutters under her breath as we stop at yet another red light, headed for lunch. She smiles apologetically at me. “Sorry—city driving is such a pain.” She sighs and leans back in her seat. “It’s really almost better to—Actually … Jerry, stop the car—pull over here.”

I look up, surprised.

“What?” Janine stares at her. “But Nautica’s still over a mile away.”

“I’ve changed my mind. Jerry, just here will do fine, thank you.”

“Where are we going?” Janine asks, hastily collecting her things as we pull to a stop.

“
We’re
going for a walk.” Kitty flashes her a smile as she blocks her way. “You stay here with Jerry, and I’ll call you when we’re done.” She grabs her clutch and winks at me as I scramble out. “I think Rosie and I can manage on our own from here.”

“What? But—” Janine protests, looking slighted as Kitty slams the door. “Wait—don’t forget your tote!”

She thrusts her huge Gucci bag through the window at Kitty, who looks at her for a moment, then rolls her eyes.

“Don’t need it.” She grins. “Bye!” She waves as the limo crawls away, Janine anxiously staring after us.

“C’mon.” Kitty smiles at me, tossing her scarf over her shoulder and hooking her arm through mine. “Quick, let’s make a run for it!”

Holly

“Oh, my God,” Andy says quietly.

“I know,” I sigh.

“You’re sure?”

I nod, biting my lip. “About eight weeks or so …”

“Wow … congratulations?” he says tentatively.

I glare at him.

“Perhaps not.” He swallows. “What does Josh think?”

“He doesn’t know,” I admit miserably.

“What? What about your dad?”

I shake my head. “Nobody knows.”

“Holly!” he stares at me.
“Eight weeks?”

I nod. “Or so.”

“But Holly—your arm—you could hurt the—”

“I know,” I say, my cheeks burning. “It was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. It was a one-time thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I was just upset,” I mumble, pulling my jacket tighter. “It won’t happen again.”

“Okay,” Andy says gently. “Wow …” He takes a deep breath and sits down beside me.

I close my eyes, the motion of the boat gentler now, rocking softly, but I still feel sick, everything inside me sore and trembling.

Andy slips his arm around my shoulders awkwardly.

“It’ll be okay,” he says gently.

I stare at him. “How?”

“I mean—”

“I’m eighteen. I’m pregnant. Oh, yeah, and I might have Huntington’s disease,” I fire at him. “Please, Andy, tell me how it’s all gonna be okay?”

“I only meant …” He hesitates, then looks at me, his eyes deep and blue. “Do you want it?” he asks, his voice a whisper. “The baby?”

I close my eyes, tears prickling as I remember the clinic.

“I’m just trying to understand why you haven’t told Josh,” he says gently. “I mean, before Rosie and I even arrived, before Huntington’s was ever an issue.”

I stare at the floor, my head throbbing, trying to untangle my thoughts, my feelings.

“Was it that you were afraid he wouldn’t want it?”

I trace the grain of the wood with my fingers, stroking the knots.

“Or were you afraid that he would?”

My head snaps up. “How dare you!” I turn on him, angry and guilt-stricken. “You don’t know me, Andy—you know nothing about me, so how
dare
you judge me?”

“I’m not!” he protests.

“Yes, I was afraid, okay? I was afraid of being pregnant, afraid of what that means, afraid that Josh would leave me—or worse, that he’d stand by me just because I was pregnant. Ever since he left for college I’ve been … I’ve been sort of expecting us to break up.”

“Why?” Andy frowns.

“That’s what happens, isn’t it? It’s what’s happened to some of my friends, anyway. And Josh and I—we’re from different worlds. He’s so clever. He’s going to be a great scientist,” I tell him proudly, the words clogging my throat. “Someone really important. I couldn’t tie him down like that—couldn’t let him throw away his dreams!” I shake my head. “I
can’t
let him do that.”

“So … what were you going to do?”

“I dunno.” I bite my lip. “I just wanted to wait, to see …” I stare at my feet. “If we were gonna break up anyway, there seemed no point in telling him.”

Andy sighs.

“And then we went to New York and he proposed and everything was perfect.” I smile miserably. “I almost told him then—I should have—but I thought no, no I’ll just hold out another day, wait till we get home, announce our engagement … it’ll be so perfect—” Tears gush through my words. “But now it’ll never be perfect because I can’t tell him—I can’t tell him about Huntington’s because we’re already engaged—he’s already trapped. He’d never walk away from me now. And I can’t tell him about our baby, because I might—because it might …”

Andy holds me tighter.

“And I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.” I sniff. “I hardly even know you!”

“It’s okay,” he soothes. “I do think you should tell your dad, though.”

“I
can’t
,” I protest. “He’s too busy running around after fricking
Rosie
! And even if I did, he’d think that was
why
we wanted to get married in the first place!”

“But if you talked to him,” Andy says gently. “If you explained …”

“I can’t.” I shake my head firmly. “I can’t tell anyone.” I look at him suddenly. “And neither can you, Andy, swear it.”

“Holly …”

“Swear it,”
I demand. “Not even Rosie.
Especially
not Rosie.”

“Okay.” He holds his hands up. “I swear. I won’t tell anybody. Scout’s honor.”

I look at him carefully, his clear eyes, his concern.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“You’re welcome,” he says. “But I do think you should talk to someone … a professional.”

I look at him. “A shrink?”

“No.” He smiles. “A genetic counselor, someone who knows about all this stuff. They’ll be able to help you decide whether or not to take the test—”

“But I
want
to take the test!” I cry. “I have to!”

“That’s fine,” Andy soothes. “But it’s the counselors who do the testing. Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“So in the next few days, you need to look up where the nearest clinic is and—”

“Why not today?” I ask suddenly. “We’ll be in Boston in half an hour—they’re bound to have one there.”

He smiles. “You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Andy,” I say gravely. “I haven’t got any time to waste.”

Rosie

The streets are swarming with busy pedestrians, but despite the hustle and bustle, Boston’s quite different from New York. There’s a more … civilized feel. I don’t know if it’s the colonial architecture, with its tall columns and grand façades, or the people themselves, but Boston has quite a European feel, a sense of age and gravitas compared to the hectic dazzle of New York.

Kitty leads me down a cobbled street that could be straight out of a Dickens novel, past several street performers, to the edge of a vast park.

“I’m starving!” she says suddenly, turning to me. “Have you ever had clam chowder?”

“Clam what?” I ask, bewildered.

“Chowder,” she laughs. “It’s like a delicious creamy soup. You’ll love it. Come on.”

Heels clacking quickly across the pavement, she heads toward a very swanky-looking restaurant, and my heart sinks. There’s a queue of smartly dressed people outside—all suits and dresses. I stare miserably at my scruffy jeans and trainers, wishing I still had on the purple dress. I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb. If they even let me in.

“Two chowders, please.”

I look up, surprised. Kitty’s not in the queue at all, but instead is standing in front of a stripy street stall. Steam billows as the vendor lifts the lid on a big metal pot and Kitty grins, handing me what looks like a loaf of crusty bread.

“I thought we were having soup?” I ask, confused.

“It
is
soup!” Kitty laughs, lifting the top of my loaf straight off to reveal a creamy liquid inside. “It’s a sourdough bowl—delicious! Once you’ve finished your chowder, you eat the bowl—it’s fantastic.” She beams. “Don’t tell Janine, though—I’m not meant to have carbs.” She grins, popping a piece of bread into her mouth. “Come on,” she says, hooking her arm through mine and leading me into the park. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

Holly

I stare up at the towering gray building, its windows gleaming in the afternoon sun. This is it.

It was surprisingly easy to find—right there on Google on Andy’s phone, and now right here on the street. People walk straight past without a second glance, but I can’t take my eyes off it. This is the place where my future gets decided.

Our future
.

“You okay?” Andy asks. “You know, you don’t have to do this today. You can always come back another time, when you’ve had a chance to think about it properly.”

“No,” I say, my voice surprisingly calm. “No, I need to do this now.”

I only intended to make an appointment. I borrowed Andy’s phone—mine being smashed up at home—and I punched in the number, half expecting no one to answer, or that I’d hang up if they did. Somehow, though, I asked for an appointment, and we were all set with a date next week—until I said I was pregnant. The woman on the other end went very quiet, asked me how far along I was, then put me on hold while a tinny panpipe played “Dancing Queen” in my ear for so long that I thought she’d forgotten me. Then she came back and said a counselor would see me now, today, if I could come in?

So here I am.

“Holly?” Andy asks, breaking my trance. “You ready?”

I take a deep breath, my knees quivering beneath me.

Ready as I’ll ever be
.

The waiting room is busy and stinks of disinfectant. I sit down next to a woman who looks like she’s desperate for the bathroom—she keeps fidgeting, leaning forward, then back, and looking all around her—making me even more nervous. I turn away, reaching for a magazine, when this other man starts pacing the room, waving his arms around like he’s doing some sort of new age slow-motion dance. I look around, beginning to notice twitches, nervous tics, fidgeting, among the other people in the room. This must be the waiting room for the psychiatric ward too. A man catches me watching him and I look quickly away, pretending to be engrossed in my fly fishing magazine.

Suddenly Andy gasps beside me and I look up as a drunk woman stumbles in, talking loudly and slurring her words. The receptionist helps her to a chair and I look back at Andy, about to make a comment about needing a stiff drink myself, but his face is ashen.

“What is it?” I ask, following his gaze back to the woman.

He swallows hard and shakes his head. “It’s just—nothing.”

“What?” I insist.

“She just …” Andy stares at his lap. “She just reminded me a bit of … someone.”

“Okay …” I grin. “Someone’s been hanging around too many bars …”

He looks at me, his eyes full of … what? Pity? He looks away quickly and suddenly I get it.
Trudie
. He knew Trudie. That woman reminds him of her …

I look around the waiting area and my pulse quickens.

Chorea, speech and movement impediments … Suddenly the words are embodied, alive, their meaning so much more horrific in the flesh. She’s not drunk and they’re not crazy. These are real people.

This is Huntington’s disease.