Someone Like You. Cathy Kelly
manipulated things so that she and Pete had Sunday lunch at the O’Briens’ every fortnight, and how the question of what to do for Christmas never came up. It was the family do at the O’Briens’ and that was it.
‘Are you the only child?’ Leonie asked.
‘I’ve a younger sister, Kirsten, the one who got away. She’s married and her husband is very successful. Dad adores her. But she’s managed to get out of all the family stuff. She’s managed to get out of having a job, too, because Patrick, my brother-in-law, is loaded. Basically, Kirsten does what Kirsten wants.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ Hannah remarked. ‘My brother, Stuart, is the same. When we were growing up, I had to look after my mother’s hens in the summer and baby-sit for our relatives. Stuart never had to so much as wash a cup. Lazy pig. He was my mother’s pride and joy, now his wife is the same. Pam treats him like he’s next in line for the throne. We’re not close, I should add.’
‘Kirsten and I get on really well,’ Emma said. ‘She’s great fun and I love spending time with her. It’s a miracle I don’t hate her, really, since Dad is so besotted with her. Do you have brothers or sisters, Leonie?’
‘No, just me and my mother. And we get on really well,’ she added, feeling almost guilty that she wasn’t like the other two, both of whom appeared to have problem families. ‘My father died years ago and Mum just gets on with her own life. She works part-time, goes to the cinema and hill-walks, oh yes, she’s started playing golf. She does more than me, actually. She’s never at home in the evenings, while I catch every episode of every soap on TV. Mum is very easy-going and easy to be with.’
‘Like you,’ Hannah said.
‘I suppose I am easy-going,’ Leonie agreed. ‘Most of the time. But I do have a ferocious temper which explodes once in a blue moon and then…watch out.’
The other two pretended to duck under the table in fear. ‘Will you warn us when you’re about to explode?’ Emma asked in a meek voice.
‘Don’t worry, you’ll see it coming! I’ll be sorry to go home,’ Leonie said wistfully as they watched the sun sink.
‘That’s the sign of a good holiday,’ Emma said.
‘I mean, I’ll be happy to be home, but it’s been wonderful here. And I’ll miss you two.’
Hannah smiled but said nothing.
‘Me too,’ Emma added earnestly.
Hannah spoke then. ‘I know they always say that holiday romances never transfer to the real world when the holiday is over, but it can’t be the same for holiday friendships. We’ve had great fun together. Let’s meet up when we get home and try and stay friends. What do you both think?’
Emma grinned delightedly. ‘I’d love that. We all get on so well, it’d be great.’
‘Yeah, we could have dinner once a month or something,’ Leonie suggested enthusiastically. ‘We could meet at some midway point between where we all live.’
She thought about it. Her home was in Wicklow, south of the city and an hour’s drive from the centre of Dublin. Emma was in Clontarf in north Dublin, which was a forty-minute drive into the centre of the city, while Hannah lived in the city near Leeson Street Bridge.
‘My place is pretty much half-way between you two,’ Hannah said. ‘Sorry. You’ll have to do all the driving.’
‘I don’t mind,’ Leonie said. ‘This holiday was about starting something new and since I didn’t fall in love with some Omar Sharif lookalike, making two fabulous new friends is the next best thing.’
‘You mean we’re second best?’ asked Emma, throwing her cocktail umbrella at Leonie.
Leonie laughed and threw it back. ‘Only kidding. Right, let’s plan the first get-together now. Two weeks after we get back so we still have a bit of a tan to wow the rest of the world. Oh, yeah, we can get our photos developed and bitch about our fellow travellers.’
‘It’s a deal,’ Hannah said.
They clinked their now-empty glasses.
‘To the Grand Egyptian Reunion,’ Emma said loudly. ‘Now, shall I order more drinks?’
Dragging her suitcase behind her, Emma opened her front door and breathed in the scent of a house where the windows hadn’t been opened since she left. The peace lily in the hall looked like a weeping willow, its leaves drooping with thirst, while the newel post of the banisters was armour-plated with a selection of Pete’s raincoats and sweaters. Ignoring the mess, Emma abandoned the suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and headed for the kitchen.
There was a note on the kitchen table, lying amid a week’s worth of newspapers, supplements and junk mail. Emma put down her handbag, shivered in the chill of the Irish August which seemed so icy after Egypt, and switched on the kettle. Only then did she read the note.
Can’t wait to see you, darling. I’m at a match. Back at seven. I’ve dinner under control. Don’t do anything.
Love, Pete
She grinned. Dinner under control probably meant he’d stop off at Mario’s on the way home and pick up a giant Four Seasons pizza with a side order of garlic potatoes.
She brought her tea and the luggage upstairs and started to unpack. Out of the suitcase came skirts, T-shirts and underwear, all mingled up with the postcards she couldn’t resist and the pretty fake alabaster Egyptian figurines she’d bought in the souk in Luxor. She took one out of its tissue wrapping, marvelling at the detail of the carving on the falcon god, Horus.
It’d fall apart given a sharp knock, Flora the tour guide had warned the Nile cruisers, explaining that real alabaster statues were hand-made and built to last, unlike their cheap street-market relatives. Emma hadn’t cared. She’d wanted some cheap’n’cheerful souvenirs for the people in the office and, at three Egyptian pounds each, these statuettes fitted the bill perfectly. Happy with her purchases, she pulled the others from their wrapping until all six were uncovered and she began to plan which one she’d give to which colleague.
She took her sandals from the plastic bags she’d wrapped them up in and threw dirty clothes into the laundry basket which was already groaning with Pete’s stuff.
Her mind wasn’t really on unpacking: she was dying to see Pete and tell him everything; about her new friends and all the places they’d been…Then her hand touched something cool, soft and plastic. From under the folds of clothes she hadn’t worn, she unearthed the big pack of sanitary towels, an Egyptian brand she’d never heard of with a picture of a dove on the front. She took the packet slowly from the case and the pain hit her again. The pain of knowing that there had been no baby growing safely inside her, wrapped in fierce love and protected from the world by Emma’s body. No baby to rest its downy head against her breast, no soft mouth instinctively searching for the nipple, no crying, innocent little creature utterly dependent on Emma for everything.
The pain came from deep within herself. Her chest hurt, her head hurt, it felt as if even the bones of her body ached with the very hurt of it all. She heard a noise and realized it was herself, crying, keening like a woman at a funeral.
After days of holding on, she finally let the heartache out: every twinge of anguish, every pang of loss. It was as if a dam had burst.
Now that she was here, crouched on her own bedroom floor, leaning against the bed, she could cry to her heart’s content over her lost baby. Because it was a lost baby to her. Another chance lost, another life she’d been so sure had been inside her gone. Leonie and Hannah had been good to her; they’d tried their best to understand and comfort her. But they didn’t understand.