Someone Else's Life (30 page)

Rosie

I turn the kitchen tap on and drink straight from my hands, the water cold and refreshing after my walk along the harbor, my cheeks burning despite the morning chill.

“Well, what the hell can we
do
about it?” Jack’s voice bellows from the living room, making me jump. My heart sinks. I turn the tap off carefully and hurry upstairs, anxious to be out of the way of another argument.

“Rosie.” Megan steps into the hall, her hair a nest of frazzled curls. “You’re back.”

I nod. “But I’ll get out of your way,” I say quickly.

“No, Rosie.” She sighs. “Sweetheart, you’d better come and see this.”

I walk slowly back downstairs, a feeling of unease sinking over me.

Jack is sitting hunched over in an armchair, the contents of an envelope spread across the coffee table.

“I need some air,” Holly mutters, pushing past me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, watching her go, my skin prickling with dread, the tension in the room hanging like icicles ready to strike.

“These arrived a little while ago,” Megan says calmly, handing me a stack of photographs.

I stare at them, surprised. They’re of me—me and Kitty in the center of Boston … trying on clothes … having manicures … hugging tearfully …

“I—I don’t understand …” I frown. “When were these … How …?”

“They were sent by one Janine Lithgow.” Jack sighs. “Kitty’s publicist.”

“Janine …” I trail off.
Janine
, the assistant woman? Kitty’s
publicist?

“I don’t understand,” I say again, looking to Megan for help. “I don’t know how those photos were taken—” Then suddenly I remember Janine and her huge Gucci bag … clutching it in the car … peering through the dressing room curtain at Chanel … thrusting the bag at Kitty desperately as we left the limo …

“I don’t understand …” I sink into a chair. “Why would she …?”

“This came with the pictures,” Jack interrupts. “It’s a draft article: ‘Mamma Mia—Reunited at Last!: How I Found My Long-Lost Daughter.’ ”

“What?”
I stare at the page, words and phrases leaping out at me.
Babies switched! Tearful reunion! Life of misery and heartache
 … My stomach turns as I read my own words:
She didn’t mean to be violent
—
it was the disease
—
and all that time I feared I’d inherit it too
.

“What
is
this?”

Jack sighs. “I’m afraid it’s a publicity stunt. Kitty’s reinventing herself as Mother Teresa, apparently,” he says. “Or Mamma Mia, anyway—it says here she’s the favorite for the new Broadway lead with—get this—rumors that her real daughter will play opposite her!” He tosses the envelope back onto the coffee table. “I should never have let you go with her,” he groans. “What a bloody mess.”

I stare at the article, the pictures, Kitty’s smiling face. All a
publicity stunt? A career move?
I remember her tears as she left me, the love in her eyes, the regret. It seemed so real … It
was
real, I’d swear to it …

But then, she’s an actress, I remind myself. She does this for a living. Fooling people, deceiving them into thinking she’s someone she’s not—that’s her
job
. Onstage, on camera, her relationship … God, she’d even told me!

It’s all a sham
—
a career move
—
my whole life’s one big charade, Rosie
—
nothing’s real …

Except when there are no lights, no cameras—hidden or otherwise—then the real Kitty emerges.
And I saw her
, I realize painfully. The real Kitty—the one I met in New York. The one who wanted nothing to do with me … until it worked in her interest.

God, how could I have been so
stupid?
I scan the page again, her words in the hotel room echoing in my ears:
I need a hook
—
you know, capture the public’s imagination, attract media interest
—
constantly raise my profile …
Well, what better hook than to have a long-lost daughter turn up? A
swapped
long-lost daughter, no less—a scandal—and then to be photographed in a joyful reunion?

I close my eyes, sick with the realization of it, the betrayal, my stupidity …

It was all an act. She never loved me, never wanted me … Andy was right—I should’ve known, should’ve been more suspicious when she turned up, all hugs and smiles. Instead, I’d stupidly swallowed the whole act—hook, line and sinker.

But then, I’d wanted to. So desperately.

“I’ve been asked to give my comment on the whole sorry saga before it’s submitted to the press on Monday.” Jack groans. “I daresay she’ll get one of those tabloids to run it, a celebrity magazine perhaps, online …”

“No!” I gasp, my blood running cold. “No, she can’t!”

“Oh, I’m afraid she can.” Jack sighs wearily. “They’ll print anything with a celebrity attached.”

“No!” I cry, squeezing my eyes tight shut. “Oh,
God!
Nana—
my nana
—she doesn’t know …”

“Doesn’t know what, Rosie?” Megan asks slowly.

“She doesn’t know
anything
!” I tell her desperately. “She doesn’t know about the swap—the mix-up—anything!” Nana’s frail face swims in front of me. “It would—it would destroy her!”

Megan glances at Jack as I stare miserably at the article, wishing I could turn back the clock, wishing I’d never come here, wishing I’d never even heard of Kitty Clare.

“It might not run in the UK, right?” I ask desperately. “She’s not even famous at home. These magazines and papers—this story—it’s just for the U.S., right?”

“I guess …,” Megan says slowly. “But sweetie, what about the courts?”

“What?” I frown. “What courts?”

“Rosie,” Jack says. “Kitty’s planning to sue.”

“What?” I stare at him, frozen.

“She’s going to sue the hospital where you were born,” he explains. “It’s all part of her Mother-of-the-Year campaign. She wants the record set straight, wants your birth certificate rectified—she wants to be officially recognized as your mother, never mind the fact that for
eighteen years
she’s never shown
any
interest in—”

“No!” I stare at him, horror surging through me like boiling lava.
Sarah
 …

“It shows she wants you, at least,” Megan says. “After all this time.”

“It shows no such thing!” Jack argues. “It’s all about publicity. She has no idea what a can of worms she’s opening. Do you have any idea what this could mean—to all of us? Besides being swamped by journalists day and night, Rosie and Holly will have their whole
lives
rearranged!”

I stare at him, dumbstruck, the world tumbling down around me.

“The two of you live in different
countries
, for God’s sake, you can’t just swap back eighteen years down the line. You have different passports, different driver’s licenses—the list is endless—and they’re all going to be investigated, all ‘set straight’—just so Kitty can bag the story of the year!”

“Oh, God …” I feel dizzy. “Kitty can’t sue … she can’t … I’ll deny it!” I protest. “I’ll say she made it all up!”

“She had a DNA test done, sweetie,” Megan says gently.

“DNA? What DNA? How?”

“It says here, your nails—”

“My
nails
?” I remember Janine insisting we get manicures and pedicures together as soon as we arrived—“perfect girly bonding”—
all to collect my nails?

“No!” I exclaim. “We have to stop this!”

“I don’t see how we can, Rosie.” Jack sighs. “After all, Kitty’s got a case—it’s a hell of a mistake to
swap
two babies.”

I squeeze my eyes shut.
But it wasn’t
 … Oh, God, if they
investigate
 … Sarah … God, Sarah … I feel sick to my stomach.

This is the worst thing I could ever imagine
. If Nana finds out, she could have a heart attack; Sarah could be arrested—could go to
prison
—all because of me and my
stupidity
!

“It’s my fault,” I sob, my voice ragged. “It’s all my fault …”

“No,” Megan tells me firmly. “No, Rosie, it isn’t. You’re the victim here. You and Holly. It’s all been a mistake, a terrible accident.”

“Except that it wasn’t.” Holly’s words cut through my tears like ice, freezing my breath.

“Holly,” Jack sighs. “Sit down, sweetheart, you’re upset.”

“No, Dad,” she says calmly. “I know what I’m talking about. It wasn’t an accident. It was deliberate.”

Through my tears, I look up at her, standing in the doorway, holding up something small and shiny in her hand. It takes me a moment to recognize it.

“We were swapped deliberately,” she says again, her eyes cold and clear, Andy’s phone gleaming in her fingers. “Weren’t we, Rosie?”

Holly

The truth hangs like a shadow in Rosie’s eyes—I can see it; so can Megan. So can Dad.

She trembles in our gaze. Little Miss Goody Two-shoes exposed in the harsh headlights of her lie.

“I don’t understand,” Megan begins. “What do you mean? How …?”

“I think Rosie had better explain,” I suggest, taking a seat. “After all”—I meet her gaze coolly—“Sarah’s
your
friend, isn’t she?”

She cringes at my words, closing her eyes and visibly crumpling into her chair.

“Rosie?” Megan says quietly. “Who’s Sarah?”

Rosie’s head hangs miserably in her hands.

“Rosie?”

She takes a deep breath. “Sarah,” she says slowly, her voice croaky and unrecognizable. “Sarah is … my neighbor, a family friend …” She trails off in a heavy, trembling sigh, screws her eyes closed tight. “And a midwife.”

Dad stares at her. So do I, Rosie’s voice mail on Andy’s cell phone ringing in my ears:
Sarah changed everything when she swapped me with Holly
—
whether she was right or wrong
 …

“But … how? I mean, why?” Megan frowns. “Why would she swap you?”

“She thought …” I watch Rosie struggle for the right words, if any exist. “She thought she was doing the right thing …”

“How?” Dad demands. “How could she
possibly
think—” He rubs his hand over his face, flattening and creasing his features. “God!”

“Sarah said that—that Kitty didn’t want her baby,” Rosie explains, her voice cracking, agony etched in every word. “That she was going to abandon her …”

Dad looks at her, his eyes deep and fierce in their sockets. I look away. So does Rosie, her lips trembling.

“She thought that Trudie’s baby was going to die,” she continues, her voice quavering. “My dad had an accident on the way to the hospital … he died, and … and Sarah didn’t think that Mum—that Trudie could cope with any more grief.” She breaks off as tears flood her words and I look away, folding my arms tightly, determined to swallow my sympathy.

Like mother, like daughter
—the article’s right. She’s just like Kitty—breaking out the sob story, making me feel
sorry
for her, making me think she’s
like
me, that she truly wants to make
amends
 …

When all along they were both just buying me off—Kitty with her ten thousand dollars, Rosie with the five hundred dollars she slipped under my door last night. When all along they were concealing the bitter truth.

Rosie always
knew
the swap was deliberate, and Kitty—my blood boils—Kitty
used
me. The first letter—the first
contact
—I’ve had from her in my entire life, and it was a
lie
! She didn’t want to
apologize
, didn’t want to
compensate
me for everything she’d done, didn’t want to
make amends
or stop the press from
intruding
on our lives! She just wanted to buy me off, buy my silence, so she could spin her own twisted version of events, paint herself as a victim, a perfect mother—without worrying that I’d tell the world the truth, the terrible sordid truth about America’s beloved sweetheart and her precious freaking family reunion.

And I fell for it.

Well, not anymore.

“So Sarah swapped you,” Dad says, his words cold, devoid of emotion. His jaw tightens. “She did this for your mother. For Trudie.”

Rosie nods miserably. “She was desperate—she thought Trudie’s baby was going to die—”

“So she stole mine?” he demands. “Sarah’s friend’s child was going to die,
so she stole mine
?!”

He punches the arm of the chair, making me jump. I look away, my cheeks burning. I’ve never seen him so angry.

“Jack,” Megan says softly.

“Jeez!” he says, rubbing his hands through his hair. “Jesus!” He shakes his head. “So when I arrived … it was already done.” He closes his eyes.
“God!”

“Sarah didn’t mean … she really thought she was doing the right thing …,” Rosie says nervously.

Dad’s eyes fly open. “You can’t honestly—Rosie, she did this
deliberately
—
and
you want to
protect
her?” He glares at her, his eyes burning, incredulous. “After
everything
she’s put us all through, you honestly want to
protect
her?!” He springs from his chair, his hands in his hair. “Jesus, Rosie!”

“I’m—I’m so sorry.” Rosie crumples.

“My child was stolen from me—
you
were stolen from me—Holly will
never
know her mother, all because of this woman—your
friend
! And you didn’t think we had a right to
know
?” His eyes bore into her as she shrinks in her seat.

“Jack.” Megan touches his arm. “Jack, come on, sit down.”

“I can’t.” He swallows, his face pale. “I’m sorry, but I can’t be here right now.” He opens the door and slams it behind him, the glass ornaments shuddering on the mantelpiece as he hammers down the steps outside.

The silence throbs.

I stare at my lap, Andy’s phone cold and shiny in my hand, Dad’s words rebounding around my head.
Swapped. Abandoned. Deliberate. Stolen
.

Rosie sniffles beside me. “Holly,” she whispers, her voice broken and frail. “Holly, I’m so sorry …” She reaches out to me.

“Don’t!” I flinch. “Don’t talk to me.” I hug my arms tightly and head for the door. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

I walk through the kitchen, my body on autopilot. I know what I have to do now. I grab my jacket and bag and head out the back door, down the steps, along the street and straight past Andy, who smiles.

“Don’t bother,” I tell him, tossing him his cell phone. I don’t need any more liars, any more deceit. I trusted Andy, and I was just beginning to trust Rosie. I thought she was like me—that this awful mistake had happened to
both
of us, had bound us together. But it wasn’t a mistake. And all this time she
knew
!

And so did he.

I race toward the dock, tears hot on my cheeks. I need to know now. The truth. Whatever it is. The truth may hurt, but lies—they’re vicious. They hide coiled up inside you, ready to strike without warning, without your even knowing they’re there.

Until it’s too late.