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anything!” He stands up, paces the room. “You just lock
yourself away in your own little world and try to deal with
everything by yourself. That’s why we broke up—because
you couldn’t tell me, wouldn’t tell me, what was wrong!”
stare at him, my cheeks burning, my eyes hot.
look away.
“I could’ve handled it, Rosie—I could’ve helped—I
could help now, if you’d let me.”
close my eyes.
He sighs. “I know it must be difficult—I know it’s
lot to take in …”
“It’s not,” mutter.
“Of course it is.”
“It’s not
lot to take in, all right?” glare at him.
“Because I—I already knew.”
Andy frowns. “What do you mean?”
look away.
“I don’t understand, Rose,” he says slowly. “I
thought Huntington’s was hereditary?”
“Exactly! Exactly, it’s hereditary!”
He looks at me for moment, then shakes his head.
“You’ve lost me.”
“It’s hereditary!” look at him, the pain prickling my
eyes. “But you can’t inherit disease from someone who’s
not related to you—who isn’t even your mother!”
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He stares at me.
“She wasn’t my mother, Andy—she wasn’t …” trail
off, close my eyes, my throat swelling painfully.
There’s long silence. Then he takes deep breath
and reaches over, his hand warm and soft on mine.
“Okay,” he says gently. “I think it’s time to spill,
don’t you?”
“Wow.” Andy sighs after I’ve told him everything.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” It feels good to finally let it all out.
feel
lighter. But exhausted.
“And Trudie never knew?”
shake my head.
“Wow, Rose.
mean, God,
don’t know what to
say …” He sighs. “How do you deal with something like—
Have you told your nana?”
shake my head. “I can’t, Andy. I’m all she’s got
left—of Granddad, of Mum—how can possibly tell her
that it was all one big lie, all these years? That her real
granddaughter died the day she was born? It would break
her heart.” swallow, the pain in my chest swelling. “It’s
broken mine.”
“Rosie, it’s okay.”
“No. No, it’s not. You don’t know what it’s like, Andy.
I’m stuck here, trapped in this life that’s not even mine
with
grandmother
have to lie to, no friends, no
qualifications, no life—there’s nothing left!” My voice cracks. “It’s all right for you, you’re buggering off around
the world—you can escape!”
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“Then come with me.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious—why not? You said it yourself, what’s
keeping you here?” He looks at me. “We always wanted to
travel, didn’t we? This is our second chance!”
hesitate, and he squeezes my hand, his eyes
softening. “Come with me, Rose. It wasn’t the same
without you—I missed you the whole time. This was our
dream, after all. We pla
stupid misunderstanding—so let’s
go now!”
look at him, the idea dancing enticingly in my
mind—to just fly away with Andy, leave everything
behind, pick up where we left off, but
it’s too much, too
sudden.
“No strings,” he promises, reading my doubts. “I’ve
missed you, Rosie. I’ve missed you—just being with
you
hanging out, educating your taste in music.” He
grins, those dimples making me falter. “Come on, Rose. It’s
just what you need, it’ll take your mind off everything.”
“It will not!”
He looks up at the anger in my voice.
“You have no idea, do you? You think dashing off
around the world will make me forget that my mother’s
dead? That she wasn’t actually my mother?” look at him.
“How could ever come back, Andy? To this mess of—of
lies and deceit and, and …”
trail off and look out the
window, but all can see is my tearstained reflection and
the dark clouds beyond. “It’s such
mess, it’s all such
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mess, and just
There’s nothing left, Andy. None of it’s
real …” close my eyes.
He sighs, rubs his brow.
“So, what now?”
shrug. “I du
We sit in silence for moment.
“Actually,
do,”
say eventually, taking
deep
breath. “I’m going to find her.”
“Who?”
swallow hard. “My real mother.”
“Hello? Mr. Woods? Hi!” cross my fingers tightly.
“Hi, I’m friend of Holly’s, and—Sorry? Holly Woods? She
doesn’t?” My heart sinks. “Sorry to bother you. Bye.”
sigh heavily, dropping the receiver into its cradle
and my head into my hands. There were thirty-five
Woodses in the phone book. That was the last one.
“Tell me you’ve had better luck with the birth
records?”
Andy shakes his head at the computer screen.
’Fraid not. According to this birth records site, no
seventeen-year-old Holly Woods even existed in the year
you were born.”
“What?” look up. “That’s impossible! Maybe Sarah
guessed her age wrong. Try the years either side.”
“I have,” Andy sighs. “I’ve tried five years either
side. No Holly Woods.”
“None at all?”
He shakes his head.
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“I don’t understand.”
frown. “That’s impossible.
We know she was here—she was seventeen, she ran
away, she had baby …”
drop the phone book and pick up my jacket. “Come
on.”
Andy stares at me. “Where are we going?”
“To the one place we know she has been.”
The snow has all but melted as we drive into town,
mounds that were once snowmen glinting in the fields and
gardens as the afternoon sun struggles through the
clouds.
“All set?” Andy asks as we pull into the car-park.
take deep breath and hug my clipboard. “All set.”
He squeezes my shoulder, and we head into the
small country hospital, the stench of disinfectant stinging
my nose as we follow the signs down the lino-lined
corridor to ward painted in pastel colors.
Maternity
Little goose bumps break out down my back. This is
it. This is where it all happened. Thank God Sarah’s got
this week off, so there’s no chance of bumping into her.
“Can
help you?”
cheerful-looking nurse
approaches us.
force
bright smile and clear my throat. “Hello,
we’re students at Maybridge Sixth Form College, and
we’re doing project on the day we were born.” My tone
is professional, polite, as recite the rehearsed lines we
devised in the car.
“I see.” She smiles. “How can help you?”
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“Well,
was born here,”
say confidently. “And
was just wondering if you could tell me how many …” My
eyes flick to her name-badge. Jamila Price “How many …”
Jamila … “How …”
She raises her eyebrows.
“How many other babies were born on the same
days we were,” Andy finishes for me. “And any
information you can give us about them.”
“I’m sorry.” Jamila smiles apologetically. “We can’t
give out that information. Patient confidentiality, you
know.”
“Of course,” Andy says. “Thanks anyway.”
“What about you?” ask desperately as she turns
away. “Maybe could just ask you some questions. Have
you ever had to deal with mothers ru
abandoning their child?”
She stares at me. “I’m sorry—I’m afraid can’t help
you.”
“Come on, Rose,” Andy says quickly. “Let’s go.”
“But—what about teenagers with unwanted
babies? Adoption?”
“I’m sorry.” She turns away.