Someone Else's Life Read Free

finally my legs buckle beneath me, hot tears streaking down my cheeks. “You weren’t my mother!”
    But she was! She was my mother. The only one I had. And now this … this is all that’s left.
    I crumple into the snow, the crisp pain stinging my skin as my tears mingle with the ice.
    I miss you, I miss you so much …
    I close my eyes, remembering how we used to lie like this, making figures in the snow—a mummy angel and a baby angel.…
    Tears flood the memory.
    She was never my mother, never mine. My whole life — my whole life— is one big lie …
    I struggle to my feet, bombarded with a kaleidoscope of memories—bright, garish, fake memories.
    All fake — all lies .
    My throat burns with tears.
    Why didn’t she tell me? Why did she lie? I had a right — I have a right to know who I am …
    The graveyard spins around me.
    Who am I …?
    I close my eyes.
    “Rosie?”
    I whirl round, my breath caught in my throat.
    He looks different, older, his chin spattered with stubble, his hair longer, but I’d still know him anywhere.
    “I thought it was you.” Andy smiles hesitantly. “Are you okay? Did you get my message?”
    I nod silently, glad of the dark hiding my tears.
    “I was going to call round, but …” He shuffles his feet. “I wasn’t sure whether … if you …” He swallows, his shoulders hunched, his hands deep in his pockets.
    I hug my arms against the icy breeze, staring at my shoes.
    “Besides, I’ve been under house arrest—Gran’s visiting.” Andy clears his throat. “We’ve just been to the Christingle.”
    I follow his gaze to the brightly lit church, its stained-glass windows spilling colored light over the chattering families huddling together outside.
    Suddenly I shiver.
    “Bloody hell, Rose, you’re freezing. Here.” He pulls off his jacket, and as he wraps it round me a bottle falls out. Vodka.
    “That’ll help too!” He laughs nervously, picking it up.
    I stare at it, surprised.
    “Well, you know.” He shrugs. “Sermons can get a little dull …” He grins that familiar lopsided grin and my heart flips. “Not really—I’m off to a party. This big family Christmas thing is driving me crazy, and—” A frown flashes over his features. “I mean …”
    I take the bottle and tip it skyward, the liquid burning my throat and making me feel sick. I take another swig.
    “Easy!” Andy laughs. “I know you—two glasses of wine and you’re a goner.”
    I look at him. I know you . My chest aches.
    “Well, it’s … it’s good to see you, Rose.” He smiles, those incredible blue eyes making my insides twist, my head rushing with memories. Real, bright, happy memories. “It’s been a long time.”
    It has, but suddenly it feels like yesterday.
    “Can I give you a ride home?” he offers.
    Home . I wince, thinking of the dark, empty house filled with lies. I shake my head. It’s not my home. Not anymore.
    “Okay.” He shuffles his feet, turns to go. “Well …”
    “Wait,” I say quickly. He turns.
    I hesitate, the night dark and cold around us, his jacket warm on my shoulders, the sharp vodka racing through my veins.
    “Did you say something about a party?”
    The door opens, and I surrender to the music. The whole place is throbbing with it— thud thud thud thud —consuming and obliterating all thoughts, all conversation. I welcome it. Dropping the empty bottle by the door, I step into the throng.
    Anonymous faces crowd in as Andy weaves us through the room, past flashes of blond hair and glittering earrings; heavy-lidded goths and pouting lip gloss; flesh, piercings, bottles, lines of shots, shrieks of laughter and, permeating it all, the unmistakable smell of weed.
    “You want something to eat?” Andy mouths.
    I shake my head, reaching instead for one of the shots. I down it easily, barely feeling the sting as it slides down my throat. I reach for another, but Andy catches my arm, pointing over my shoulder. “Hey, there’s Bex!”
    I