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vanished. Again. By the time Holly was old enough to ask
questions decided to tell her that her mother had died. It
seemed easier somehow. Kinder
“Then met Megan.” He smiles. “The girl with the
sunshine in her hair. And the rest is history. Her folks
lived on the East Coast, so we moved here, and when her
granddad died we took over his restaurant, got married.”
He smiles. “She was so beautiful, and warm and fu
so good with Holly—it was like everything had worked
out.
“Then, about eight years ago, got the shock of my
life when saw Katharine on TV. Calling herself Kitty now.
Kitty Clare—no wonder hadn’t been able to find her. It
was so surreal—I couldn’t believe it, after all that time …”
He shakes his head incredulously. “I wrote to her through
her agent, telling her where we were, sent photos of Holly,
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but she didn’t reply. Perhaps she never received the letter,
told myself, so kept trying—letters, photos, couple of
times
year—via her agent, her studios, determined to
give her every opportunity possible to know her daughter.
But when never heard from her again knew I’d been
right to lie to Holly. It’s better to have dead mother than
one who abandoned you, right?”
He looks at me, stricken. “Rosie, I’m so sorry—I
mean—”
“It’s okay,” say quietly. “I know what you mean.”
He sighs. “I’m not sure Holly’ll see it that way,
though.”
“You were just trying to spare her feelings,”
reason.
“Well, yes,” Jack admits. “But how did you feel when
you learned the truth about your mother—that she wasn’t
dead after all, that she was alive on the other side of the
world?”
“I was angry,”
admit. “I was hurt that
hadn’t
known the truth. But then that was all mixed up with the
fear of Huntington’s—of inheriting the disease. It wasn’t
the same. Holly’s never known her mum, so she’s
probably more upset about you—she’s frightened of
losing her dad.”
“She’ll never lose me.”
“I know.” smile. “And deep down I’m sure she does
too. I’d already lost my mum when found out she wasn’t
my mother. In the end, though, it doesn’t affect how feel
about her. She’s still my mum, she always will be. But
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watching her die from Huntington’s
dreading it
happening to me
always thought I’d rather know the
truth—about everything. Then you can find way to deal
with it.”
“And now?”
“Now
don’t know.” sigh. “I mean, your life was
lot simpler before came along, huh? And as for Holly …”
Jack sighs. “It’s been
bit of
bombshell for
everyone.”
“Yes.” nod. “But for Holly it’s going to be worse. My
bombshell was finding out my dead mother wasn’t my
mother, that my real one was still out there, and that was
never going to inherit Huntington’s—Holly’s is that you’re
not her dad and she’s at risk from disease she’s probably
never even heard of. Would you want to know? Really?”
Jack considers for moment. “There’s definitely no
cure?”
“No,” sigh. “Not yet.”
He pauses. “And yet you wanted to know—you took
the test.”
nod.
“Why?”
“I suppose needed to know one way or the other—
so
could make informed choices …”
trail off. “My
mother …” My voice catches. “Trudie
said she might not
have had children if she’d known.”
Jack looks at me for long moment, his expression
unreadable, then stares into his cocoa. “Well,” he says
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softly, stroking his thumb round the rim of the cup. “That
really would have been tragedy.”
look away, my cheeks hot, the lump in my throat
the size of watermelon.
Jack sighs. “I’ll tell Holly about Huntington’s. Take
her out for the day, just the two of us. It should come from
me.”
look up.
“She needs to know.” He nods. “You’re right, she
needs to make an informed choice.
can’t make this
decision for her, and won’t lie to her anymore.” He smiles
sadly out the window. “My little girl’s growing up.” He
looks at me. “Both of them are.”
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Holly
“It’s go
time, pouring Ben
glass of milk while cook pancakes,
the butter swirling in the pan making my stomach turn.
“Remember, she’s the outsider here.” Megan
squeezes my shoulders. “You and your dad—you’re
rock, you’re solid. Okay?”
rock
swallow. The only rock I’m sure of is the
one lodged in my gut, growing every minute they’re alone
together.
Suddenly, footsteps pound up the steps outside and
freeze.
“Holly!” Dad cries, rushing through the back door
and grabbing me in hug that lifts me off my feet. “Holly-
berry, thank God!”
can’t breathe, he’s squeezing me so tight.
“I’m sorry left, Dad—”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m just so glad you’re home!”
close my eyes, the rock inside me begi
crumble as his familiar salty smell washes over me.
Home
“I’ll just go and shower,” Rosie says, squeezing past.
flinch at her touch, her voice.
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“Don’t you want some brekkie first?” Dad asks.
“Holly makes the best pancakes.” He grins at me.
“Yummy pancakes!” Ben agrees, his mouth full, and
smile tightly.
Say no, say no
pray into the soft folds of Dad’s
jacket, clinging on tighter, holding my breath. Let it just be us
“Thanks, but I’m not really that hun—” Her stomach
growls loudly and Dad laughs, sending vibrations
trembling through me.
“I think your stomach disagrees.” He grins. “Come
on, pull up chair. It’s been long morning.”
My heart sinks as he slips out of my grasp, leaving
me cold suddenly, standing by the stove.
He pulls out chair for Rosie and smiles at me. “You
coming, Holls?”
hesitate, unwilling to join them, reluctant to leave
them alone.
“Wow!” Rosie says suddenly, taking
bite. “These
are amazing!” She grins at me.
look at her. Megan’s right. Remember how Rosie
must be feeling—her mother slammed the door in her
face, and she’s in
new place,
new country, meeting
new father
My father! slump into chair and stab pancake.
“Does your dad never cook you pancakes, Rosie?”
ask i
me every day when was little.” slice piece off and pop
it in my mouth. “Did yours?”
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Megan shoots me
look, but don’t care. chew
without tasting, waiting.
“Actually, no,” Rosie says quietly. “No, my dad died
the night was born.”
“Oh.” swallow, the pancake heavy as guilt in my
stomach. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
She smiles. “It’s okay. never knew him, and me and
Mum did just fine on our own—though she wasn’t much
of cook! She only made pancakes on Shrove Tuesday.”
“Shrove what?” ask.
“Shrove Tuesday, honey,” Dad replies. “It’s the day
before Lent—pancake day.”
“Oh.” frown. Some stupid British custom.
“Mum tried and tried to make pancakes, but they
always stuck to the pan—or the ceiling!” Rosie laughs. “So
in the end we had ice cream instead. Ice Cream Tuesday,
we called it, courtesy of Saint Ben and Saint Jerry.”
Dad laughs out loud, his mouth full.
“Now, that’s my kind of saint’s day,” Megan