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mouth. “There’s something so
peaceful about Boston,
like it’s been here forever.”
“There is, isn’t there?” She smiles thoughtfully.
“This city has such
sense of history. The Mayflower
landed just up the road at Plymouth. Boston itself is where
the first shots of the American Revolution rang out, as
well as being home of the first newspaper, the first
university …” She looks at me and laughs.
“Don’t look so surprised, Rosie.” She grins. “I’m not
actually complete airhead. used to love history when
was at school, it was like story time—all these amazing
tales and characters, and all of them true
more or less,
anyway.” She giggles. “I’ll never forget my old history
teacher: ‘Remember, children, the victors write the
history books!’ Kitty laughs. “She was bonkers. For some
reason she was crazy about the suffragettes, women’s lib
and all that. She had us make this mad sculpture out of coat hangers and clay and papier-mâché or something!
Oh, it was horrible. Hideous! But she loved it, insisted it be
installed in the playground as
reminder to us all. Of
what, I’m not exactly sure. think it was supposed to be
Emmeline Pankhurst or something, but it looked more
like giant yeti in tutu—”
“Betty the Yeti!” cry, and she looks at me, stu
“Yes,” she says slowly. “How did you …?”
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“That was my school.” grin. “Maybridge Grange.”
“No!” she gasps. “You’re …” She stares at me,
gobsmacked. “You’re not Grangers girl?”
nod and she shrieks with laughter.
“No way!” she squeals, clutching my hands. “My
God! How is the old place? Tell me Belchers isn’t still
there, please!
nod, laughing, thinking of tiny wizened Miss
Bellchamber, dwarfed by her stacks of ancient history
books. “They kept trying to replace her, but she refuses to
retire!”
“God!” Kitty laughs, her eyes watering. “She’s an
institution! She must’ve been sixty-odd when I was there!
Tell me she doesn’t still run the choir too?”
“Oh, yes, berets and all.”
“The berets!” Kitty squeals. “Oh, God, they don’t still
make you wear those horrible orange monstrosities, do
they? Ugh! Hideous!”
“Not according to Miss Bellchamber.”
clear my
throat to imitate the old lady’s squeaky voice. ‘We should
be proud of our berets—the reason the Prince of Wales
spoke to Grangers girls when he visited Maybridge was
because they looked far smarter than any other school.’
“Bollocks!” Kitty shrieks, spilling her soup. “I was
there The poor prince couldn’t stop pissing himself
giggling at us!”
“I knew it!” laugh. “I wondered why he looked like
he was crying in the photos!”
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Kitty nods, her eyes streaming. “It took him five
whole minutes to regain his composure, poor thing. He
was meant to be meeting the mayor, but he couldn’t keep
straight face! In the end his aide asked us to take them
off completely in case we set him off again!”
crease up in hysterics as Kitty giggles
uncontrollably, the rich chowder warming my insides.
“My God, Maybridge Grange.” Kitty wipes her eyes,
beaming at me. “Jeez, Rosie, I’m so sorry—I wouldn’t
inflict that place on my worst enemy, let alone my
daughter.” She smiles. “It’s
wonder you learned
anything. Don’t tell me you went on to Maybridge Sixth
Form College as well?”
“No,” say, straightening my napkin on my lap. “No,
was meant to, but Mum—”
glance at her quickly.
“Trudie, mean—she needed me.”
Kitty’s smile fades. “Because she had Huntington’s
disease?”
nod.
“So you missed your levels to look after her?”
nod. “I wanted to.”
“But it can’t have been easy,” she says gently.
shrug, picking at the edge of my sourdough roll,
watching the pieces crumble to the ground.
Kitty looks at me for moment, then stares at her
soup.
“It’s awful to watch someone you love slip away,”
she says softly. “My granddad died of cancer when was
little girl.” She smiles weakly. “I remember ru
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his bedside, not understanding why he looked so different,
why he’d stopped picking me up and playing with me. It
was like he wasn’t my granddad anymore.”
nod. “That was the worst part. The way she
changed …”
She nods sympathetically. “The disease affected her
mobility?”
“Not just that—it was her behavior too. Her moods,
her temper.”
She frowns. “She was violent?”
“Not really—she didn’t mean to be, she just got
angry, frustrated. It was the disease, not her.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Kitty squeezes my hand. “I can’t
imagine what you’ve been through
what you’ve given
up—”
“I didn’t mind,” insist. “She was my mum.”
She looks at me. “And all that time you thought it
might happen to you too? That you might inherit her
disease?”
nod, studying my chowder intently, my eyes
swimming.
Kitty puts her bowl on the bench and pulls me close.
“Oh, Rosie,” she whispers, kissing my hair. “Imagine how
different life would have been
should have been.”
My heart twists in knots as
grieve for my lost
mother—for all the years I’ve missed with the one I’ve
found.
“I’m so sorry,” Kitty sighs, stroking my hair as she
holds me tight. “I am so, so sorry.”
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Holly
close my eyes. This is surreal.
nightmare
pinch myself, hoping I’ll wake up.
“Holly?” look up to see smiling woman in green
dress. “Would you like to follow me?”
She leads us down long hallway and into small
office that smells of oranges, then closes the door.
“Hi.” She shakes my hand. “I’m Charlotte Atkins. I’m
genetic counselor. That sounds technical, but it just
means I’m here to talk everything through with you.” She
turns to Andy. “And you’ve brought friend. Excellent.”
“Andy,” he says, shaking her hand awkwardly.
“So,” she says, sitting down and glancing at her
notes. “You’re thinking about testing for Huntington’s
disease?”
nod.
She looks at me, her voice gentle. “And understand
you’re pregnant?”
nod again. “About eight weeks.”
“Yes.” She nods, her eyes troubled as she scribbles
on her page. “Well, we’ll come back to that. So, have you
always known you were at risk?”
“No.”
shake my head. “No,
just found out. My
mom died—she had Huntington’s.”
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“That must’ve been hard.” Charlotte frowns. “Were
you her caregiver?”
“No, actually I—I never met her, she …” hesitate,
glancing at Andy. “I was brought up by someone else.”
“You were adopted?”
look at her, then nod. Now is not the time—it’s
complicated enough.
Charlotte explains all about Huntington’s. Most of it
I’ve already heard from Rosie, but it’s good to hear it from
an expert—and from someone don’t despise.
She confirms that if have inherited Huntington’s
from Trudie, my symptoms will probably develop at
around the same age as hers did—not until my forties or
fifties—and that my baby has twenty-five percent risk of
inheriting, which would rise to fifty percent if
test
positive.
“Now, Holly.” Charlotte leans forward. “Is your
pregnancy the main reason you’re thinking of testing?”