“NO!” scream, the loudness of my voice startling

me. “She was—she is!”

“Rosie—” Sarah reaches for me.

“No! You were there!”

accuse her, wrenching

away.

15

“You were there when

was born, you delivered

me—how can you …?” gasp for breath.

She nods. That weak smile again.

“Yes, yes, was, which is why know that Trudie

wasn’t—”

“Stop it! Stop lying to me!” yell. “This is sick! This is just some sick way to stop me taking the test—admit it!”

My eyes search hers, desperate for some sign that it’s not

true, that she’s made it all up, but she just looks sad, tired.

feel faint, giddy. She was! She was my mother.

Wasn’t she? close my eyes. She would have told me— she would have told me if was adopted. Wouldn’t she …?

“Rosie, sit down, you’re swaying. Let’s talk about

this—please, let me explain …” Sarah reaches out, guiding,

helpful.

swipe her away and run, just run. Out of the back

door, through the gate, the woods, hurtling down the hill

toward the fields, yanking off the sweaters and sprinting

blindly through the snow. can’t breathe. The flakes swirl

faster and faster, dancing and whirling and twirling with

my lost mother in my mind.

I’ve lost her, and she wasn’t even mine

The words tumble clumsily into the dance, cold and

hard and heavy.

She wasn’t even my mother to lose

I’m losing him.

16

Josh’s words tumble painfully around and around

my head:

“We need to talk.”

know what that means.

Ever since he started college I’ve been expecting,

dreading, fearing those words.

“Coming for

swim?” Melissa grins, running up

beside me. “I’ll race you fifty lengths!”

“Not today.” shake my head. “I’m not in the mood.”

She sighs. “You’ve been moody for days now—this

must be record!”

hug myself tightly.

Her face softens and she hooks her arm through

mine. “Have you tried hot water bottle?”

“What?”

“That works for me—or camomile tea?”

stare at her. Why does everyone think anything

can be solved with cup of tea?

“Or read that lavender oil can really help, if you

rub it in.”

“Where?” ask, totally bemused.

“Your stomach, silly—it’s supposed to help ease the

cramps.”

Cramps? Suddenly understand.

“No, haven’t got—” The words stick like thorns in

my throat as calculate quickly.

“Oh, get it!” Melissa grins. “You’re just scared I’ll

beat you, huh? Frightened of little competition?”

smile weakly, my head pounding painfully.

17

Five weeks nearly six …

“Come on,” she laughs. “Don’t be baby!”

She drags me numbly down the street, my legs

threatening to buckle any second as my blood rushes

deafeningly in my ears.

Don’t be baby …

18

Chapter Two

The ground rushes up to meet me, and it’s only

now, collapsed in the snow, that realize where am.

Stark silhouettes of skeleton trees clutch at the first

evening stars, and the vast expanse of snow is littered

with row upon row of cold black headstones.

And there she is.

GERTRUDE KENNING

BELOVED DAUGHTER, WIFE, AND MOTHER

“Liar!” The scream rips from my throat, Sarah’s

words stabbing my brain as screw my eyes shut, trying

to drown out her voice, her pitying face. Her expression

shifts into smile, and now the face see is my mother’s,

her brown eyes shining with warmth and love and life.

“Liar!” sob, clawing at the snow, hurling the lumps

of ice and mud at the grave—at the lies set in stone—

flinging them harder and harder, my fingers bleeding, my

eyes blurring, until finally my legs buckle beneath me, hot

tears streaking down my cheeks. “You weren’t my

mother!”

19

But she was! She was my mother. The only one

had. And now this

this is all that’s left.

crumple into the snow, the crisp pain stinging my

skin as my tears mingle with the ice.

miss you, miss you so much …

close my eyes, remembering how we used to lie

like this, making figures in the snow—a mummy angel

and baby angel.…

Tears flood the memory.

She was never my mother, never mine. My whole

life— my whole life— is one big lie …

struggle to my feet, bombarded with

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?

had

right— have right to know who am …

The graveyard spins around me.

Who am …?

close my eyes.

“Rosie?”

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?”

nod silently, glad of the dark hiding my tears.

20

“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.

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.”

follow his gaze to the brightly lit church, its

stained-glass windows spilling colored light over the

chattering families huddling together outside.

Suddenly shiver.

“Bloody hell, Rose, you’re freezing. Here.” He pulls

off his jacket, and as he wraps it round me

bottle falls

out. Vodka.

“That’ll help too!” He laughs nervously, picking it

up.

stare at it, surprised.

“Well, you know.” He shrugs. “Sermons can get

little dull …” He grins that familiar lopsided grin and my

heart flips. “Not really—I’m off to party. This big family

Christmas thing is driving me crazy, and—”

frown

flashes over his features. “I mean …”

take the bottle and tip it skyward, the liquid

burning my throat and making me feel sick. take another

swig.

“Easy!” Andy laughs. “I know you—two glasses of

wine and you’re goner.”

look at him. know you My chest aches.

21

“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 long time.”

It has, but suddenly it feels like yesterday.

“Can give you ride home?” he offers.

Home

wince, thinking of the dark, empty house

filled with lies. shake my head. It’s not my home. Not

anymore.

“Okay.” He shuffles his feet, turns to go. “Well …”

“Wait,” say quickly. He turns.

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 party?”

The door opens, and surrender to the music. The

whole place is throbbing with it— thud thud thud thud—