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“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 want to take the test!” cry. “I have to!”
“That’s fine,” Andy soothes. “But it’s the counselors
who do the testing. Okay?”
nod. “Okay.”
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“So in the next few days, you need to look up where
the nearest clinic is and—”
“Why not today?”
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,”
say gravely. “I haven’t got any time to
waste.”
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Rosie
The streets are swarming with busy pedestrians,
but despite the hustle and bustle, Boston’s quite different
from New York. There’s
more
civilized feel.
don’t
know if it’s the colonial architecture, with its tall columns
and grand façades, or the people themselves, but Boston
has quite
European feel,
sense of age and gravitas
compared to the hectic dazzle of New York.
Kitty leads me down cobbled street that could be
straight out of
Dickens novel, past several street
performers, to the edge of vast park.
“I’m starving!” she says suddenly, turning to me.
“Have you ever had clam chowder?”
“Clam what?” ask, bewildered.
“Chowder,” she laughs. “It’s like delicious creamy
soup. You’ll love it. Come on.”
Heels clacking quickly across the pavement, she
heads toward
very swanky-looking restaurant, and my
heart sinks. There’s
queue of smartly dressed people
outside—all suits and dresses.
stare miserably at my
scruffy jeans and trainers, wishing still had on the purple
dress. I’m going to stick out like sore thumb. If they even
let me in.
“Two chowders, please.”
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look up, surprised. Kitty’s not in the queue at all,
but instead is standing in front of
stripy street stall.
Steam billows as the vendor lifts the lid on big metal pot
and Kitty grins, handing me what looks like loaf of crusty
bread.
“I thought we were having soup?” ask, confused.
“It is soup!” Kitty laughs, lifting the top of my loaf straight off to reveal
creamy liquid inside. “It’s
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 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.”
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Holly
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
second glance, but
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 chance to think about it properly.”
“No,” say, my voice surprisingly calm. “No, need
to do this now.”
only intended to make an appointment.
borrowed Andy’s phone—mine being smashed up at
home—and punched in the number, half expecting no
one to answer, or that I’d hang up if they did. Somehow,
though, asked for an appointment, and we were all set
with
date next week—until said was pregnant. The
woman on the other end went very quiet, asked me how
far along was, then put me on hold while ti
played “Dancing Queen” in my ear for so long that
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thought she’d forgotten me. Then she came back and said
counselor would see me now, today, if could come in?
So here am.
“Holly?” Andy asks, breaking my trance. “You
ready?”
take
deep breath, my knees quivering beneath
me.
Ready as I’ll ever be
The waiting room is busy and stinks of disinfectant.
sit down next to 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. turn away, reaching for 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.
look around, begi
nervous tics, fidgeting, among the other people in the
room. This must be the waiting room for the psychiatric
ward too.
man catches me watching him and
look
quickly away, pretending to be engrossed in my fly fishing
magazine.
Suddenly Andy gasps beside me and look up as
drunk woman stumbles in, talking loudly and slurring her
words. The receptionist helps her to
chair and look
back at Andy, about to make comment about needing
stiff drink myself, but his face is ashen.
“What is it?” ask, following his gaze back to the
woman.
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He swallows hard and shakes his head. “It’s just—
nothing.”
“What?” insist.
“She just …” Andy stares at his lap. “She just
reminded me bit of
someone.”
“Okay …” 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 get it. Trudie He knew Trudie. That woman reminds him of her
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.
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Rosie
We stroll through the park, past the barren trees
and lampposts, until we come to duck pond.
“Perfect!” Kitty a
looking bench.
eye her cream coat uncertainly. “Are you sure?”
“Best seat in the house, don’t you think?” She grins.
stare at her, this woman in her designer dress—her
carefully styled hair tangling in the breeze, Jimmy Choos
caked in mud—perched, knees up on
park bench,
drinking soup out of bread bowl, and smile. She’s like
totally different person. She tosses some crumbs to
quacking family of ducks, which fall over themselves as
they scrabble after the bread, and she laughs, beaming up
at me as sit down.
“God, don’t know what it is with you, Rosie, but
just suddenly feel …” She leans her head back, searching
for the right word. “Young suppose!” she laughs, hugging her knees. “That’s weird, isn’t it? You’d think meeting my
grown-up daughter would make me feel ancient—and it
does, in some ways,” she admits. “But being with you
makes me remember being your age, seeing all this for the
first time …” She sweeps her arm out to encompass the
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park, the surrounding buildings, the statues. “It’s
glorious.” She sighs blissfully.
“It is beautiful,” say, taking
sip of chowder and
looking around, the creamy soup warm and salty in my