the phone.

“Um, hi—Rosie? It’s Andy. It’s uh, it’s been while,

huh?” Awkward pause. “Listen, I’m—I’m sorry about your

mum, it must be …” Another pause. “Shit. Look, I’d really

like to see you—call me, okay? No pressure. Just as

friends. Okay? You know I’m always here if

You know

where am. Bye.”

Wow. Andy. He’s right, it has been long time.

“You should call him, you know.”

twist to see Aunt Sarah in the doorway. Is it that

time already? Sarah works long hours at the local hospital,

but that hasn’t stopped her checking up on me whenever

she can—to make sure haven’t slit my wrists or burned

the house down or anything.

shrug. “Maybe.” No think. No, no, no

“And why not?” She leans accusatorially in the

doorway.

10

“I didn’t say no said maybe,” protest.

“Same thing,” she replies. “I know you.”

It’s true, she does. She’s known me my whole life—

literally. was my mother’s last hope for child, at the age

of forty-two—the miracle baby—and Sarah was the

midwife who delivered me that night. The night my father

never came back.

She’s not really my aunt, or even relative at all, but

she’s Mum’s best friend and our next-door neighbor, and

she’s been there at every major event of our lives. Our

guardian angel—younger than Mum, but older and wiser

than me. fact I’m never allowed to forget.

“Seriously, Rosie, you should go out, see people—

enjoy the snow! God knows it won’t last long!”

“I’m fine,” tell her.

“I know you are, sweetie

but it would be good for

you, you know?”

hate it when people tell me what’s good for me—

Have

nice cup of tea, it’ll make you feel better. Go on,

Rosie, have

good cry, it’s good for you Yeah, coz that’ll

bring my mother back.

get up and cross to the stereo.

“Look, Rosie, this isn’t easy for any of us, you

know?” Sarah sighs, smoothing

hand over her frazzled

ponytail. “But you shouldn’t hide away like this—it’s

Christmas Eve. You should be with people—family. know

you’re going to your nana’s tomorrow, but she’d love to have you to stay with her, not just for the holidays—”

flick through the noisy radio stations.

11

“Rosie …”

can see Sarah’s reflection in the glass cabinet. She

looks tired, drained—and old. Sarah’s never been old. But

don’t care. How can she be like the rest of them?

Patronizing and clichéd and telling me what to do? turn

the volume up high, and

choir belts out “Joy to the

World.”

“Rosie!” She battles with the racket. “Rosie, turn it

down!”

“I don’t like that one either!”

yell back. “How’s

this?” “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” replaces the

choir. turn the volume higher. “Have happy ho- o- liday!”

“ROSIE! Turn it down!”

“What?!” yell back, cupping my hand to my ear.

Maybe now she’ll know how it feels.

“ROSALIND KENNING, YOU LISTEN TO ME!” Sarah

yells, and

flick the radio off, her voice echoing in the

sudden silence as

turn round. She is flushed and

breathless, the light from the hallway behind her showing

up every frizzed hair like frenzied halo.

“I’ve come to decision,” say. Calmly, rationally. “I

need to know.” take deep breath. “I need to know if I’ve

got Huntington’s.”

There it is. Out in the open

The color in Sarah’s cheeks melts away, leaving her

pale and serious. “Rosie …”

“I’ve made up my mind,” say, swallowing hard. “I

can’t live like this, not knowing.

need to know if I’m

12

going to get it too, if I’m going to …” The words stick in my

throat. “I need to know the truth.”

“Rosie.” Sarah swallows, steps closer. “You have to

think about this, take some time …”

“I have.” round on her. “Don’t you think have?”

“Look,

know that with your mum gone

everything’s strange and scary—”

“You don’t know anything!” scream at her, my legs

trembling. I’ve never shouted at Sarah, never yelled,

never

but suddenly all the feelings that have been

bottled up for too long gush out in one big mess. “You

don’t know.” shake my head. “You don’t—you can’t …”

look away.

Sarah sighs. “All I’m saying is that it’s too soon to be

making choices like this, to take the test—”

“Too soon When do you want me to find out? When I’ve got kids too? I’m not

child anymore, Sarah—I’m

nearly eighteen!”

“I know, Rosie, but this is

life-changing decision

we’re talking about here. There’s no cure, and once you

know, you can’t go back …”

“I can’t go back anyway!”

choke on the words.

“And no, actually. It’s not life-changing decision because

nothing actually changes, does it? It’s already decided whether live or die—I’d just quite like to know which it’s

going to be, okay?”

Sarah looks beaten, hopeless.

13

“What kind of

life can

have otherwise?” ask

quietly. “Not knowing? Not knowing if one day I’ll end up like—”

“You won’t.”

“Sarah, it’s hereditary.” sigh. “It hangs on the toss

of coin.”

“No.” She takes my shoulders gently, her eyes so

sad. “Rosie, sweetheart, you don’t have Huntington’s. You

don’t need the test.”

“I’m not asking your permission, Sarah,” tell her

quietly. “I’ve got an appointment at the clinic on

Wednesday, and—”

“No,” she says. “You don’t understand.” She takes

deep breath. “Rosie, you don’t have the disease.”

“Sarah,” say gently, as if to child. “There’s fifty

percent chance that do—it’s genetic fact.”

“That’s what mean,” Sarah says slowly, not looking

at me. “There is no chance.”

“I—” blink. “I don’t understand …”

“Rosie …” She sighs, rubs her hand over her brow.

“Oh, God!”

don’t move. Don’t dare breathe.

“Rosie, you don’t have the disease—you can’t

possibly, because—” Desperate pause. Swallow. Breath.

“Because Trudie wasn’t your mother.”

Her eyes meet mine at last and flick mine away.

There’s red stain on the carpet by the door, where

Mum spilled red wine as she was handing it round one

14

New Year’s Eve. She’d said she was just bit tipsy, but

knew she hadn’t had drop to drink all night.

Now it looks like blood.

“Rosie, I’ve wanted to tell you for such long time,

especially with Trudie getting worse and worse, to put

your mind at rest, give you one less thing to worry about,

and because you deserved— deserve—to know. But

couldn’t while she was alive, don’t you see? You were

everything to her.”

tug at my sweater. It’s hot again. Insufferably hot.

“God, this is awful! I’m so sorry, sweetie—this isn’t

how wanted to tell you at all. But if you take the test they

might compare your DNA, and just

didn’t want you to

find out from someone else.

had to tell you—to

explain …” She trails off. “Rosie?”

blink hard, trying to concentrate, focus.

She sighs. “Rosie, you had to know—you have to

know—because it’s the only way you can move on with

your life—your own long and healthy life!”

The room whirls faster and faster.

“I don’t understand.”

Another sigh. The same gentle voice. “Rosie, you

haven’t inherited the disease. She wasn’t your mother—”