Cathy Kelly 6-Book Collection: Someone Like You, What She Wants, Just Between Us, Best of Friends, Always and Forever, Past Secrets

‘And then the bus journey back to the boat,’ groaned one of their fellow travellers, tired after the three-and-a-half-hour bus journey into the desert.

‘It’s wonderful,’ Emma said gaily. Her pale face was flushed in the heat and her hair was tied up in a ponytail to keep it away from her face. Wearing a little blue T-shirt and cotton Bermudas in a pretty madras check, she looked about twenty, and utterly carefree, Hannah thought fondly.

For the first time during the trip, Emma felt about twenty. Her mother was suffering from stomach problems and had decided she wasn’t up to the bus journey to visit Abu Simbel. Which meant that her father had cried off too, leaving Emma to enjoy the first Jimmy and Anne-Marie-free day since she’d got to Egypt. It was such a relief, like painkillers after a nagging, three-day toothache.

Neither of the O’Briens was enjoying the trip: her mother because she was in a state of high anxiety the whole time, even more so than usual. She’d behaved very strangely the previous evening at dinner, refusing to eat anything and sitting in a world of her own for the whole meal, staring into space. The heat was getting to her, Jimmy insisted. He, who’d instigated the trip to Egypt, was now telling anyone who’d listen that it hadn’t been his idea to come and muttering darkly about how Portugal had always done them very well up to now.

To make the day even more utterly delightful, Emma’s period still hadn’t come. She was pregnant, she knew it. Every time she went near the loo, she panicked in case a tell-tale trickle of pale pink stained the white loo roll. But nothing. Bliss.

Sighing with happiness, she linked both Leonie and Hannah’s arms and led them into the temple after Flora, who was holding a royal blue Incredible Egypt clipboard above her head to make sure her busload of people could see her.

In her state of expectant happiness, Emma was one of the few people who wasn’t mildly put out when the bus broke down only half an hour after leaving the temple on the drive home. Crunching to a noisy halt on the outskirts of a dusty little town, it refused to start up despite much swearing and banging on the bus driver’s part. Buses and taxis to Abu Simbel always travelled in convoys, Flora had explained earlier, in case one broke down mid-desert. But they were unfortunately the second-last bus in the convoy back to Aswan and the only vehicle behind them was a crowded mini-bus which couldn’t take any extra passengers.

‘Don’t worry, folks, it’ll be all right,’ Flora said bravely as the mini-bus driver and their driver fiddled around with the engine and talked volubly with much irate hand-waving.

Leonie, fascinated by the exotic signs of life around them, was happy enough to sit and look out of the window, but it did begin to get hot with the bus, and therefore the air conditioning, switched off. Emma was just happy full stop. Nothing could touch the blissful happiness inside her.

They’d get back eventually and she was quite content to sit there, one hand gently on her belly. Small, dark-eyed children waved up at the tourists on the bus and Emma beamed down at them, waving back. Soon she’d have her own darling child. Would it take after Pete or her? She’d prefer a dark-eyed baby, she decided. The vision of a dark-eyed baby in cute denim dungarees lulled her into a contented fantasy.

As well prepared as ever, Hannah had an extra bottle of water in her small backpack and she shared it between the three of them. Emma had boiled sweets, which filled the gap in Leonie’s stomach.

‘I’m getting used to three massive meals a day on the boat,’ she said ruefully. ‘I’m ravenous.’

‘Me too,’ Emma said. ‘But don’t worry, they’ll fix the bus,’ she added confidently.

‘I doubt it.’ Hannah wasn’t as confident. She hated disruptions to her routine. The bus was supposed to be back in Aswan at seven thirty in time for dinner at eight. They’d been stopped for at least, she checked her watch, twenty minutes, which meant they’d be late. Shit. She hated being late, hated disorder in her very ordered life. She could feel her pulse increase as the tension got to her. Beads of perspiration that had nothing to do with the heat broke out on her skin. Her nerve ends tingled in that familiar, agitated way. Calm down, Hannah, she commanded herself. If you’re late, so what? There’s nothing you can do about it and everyone else will be late too. It had been ages since she’d had a panic attack, she couldn’t be getting one now.

Flora clambered up the steps into the bus. ‘We’ll all have to get off, I’m afraid,’ she said, still looking calm in the face of mutinous passengers. ‘I’ve phoned the bus company and they’ll have another bus here in an hour and a half. I know it’s a long time, but it’s coming from Wadi al-Sabu which is half-way between here and Aswan. Hassan says there’s a lovely little restaurant in the town and I’ll buy us all dinner there as we’re going to be late back to the boat.’

A rush of angry mutterings greeted her words from the front of the bus, while the people at the back seemed more resigned to the news.

‘I’m starving,’ Leonie said. ‘Let’s find this place quickly.’ She looked around and realized that Hannah looked strangely put out. Which was unusual because Hannah was always so relaxed, so sure of herself. Hannah never appeared to worry about what to wear, what to eat or what people thought of her. Now she looked as taut as a tug-of-war rope at the news that they’d be delayed by a few hours.

Leonie wasn’t sure what to say to calm Hannah down but Emma said it for her, Emma, who was used to people getting anxious over delays.

‘There’s nothing we can do, Hannah,’ Emma said in firm tones they’d never heard her use before. ‘We’re stuck, we may as well make the best of it. We’ll be home eventually, so let’s not panic. Food will do us good.’

‘I know,’ Hannah agreed, taking as deep a breath as she could. ‘I hate delays, I’m so impatient. Hanging around for any length of time stresses me out.’ She followed Emma obediently off the bus while Leonie went last, forever amazed at people and the chameleon changes they could make. It was a mystery to her that quiet, nervous little Emma could suddenly become the cool, calm one, while Hannah became a wreck. Talk about role reversal.

As the group straggled up the town, people watched them; adorable dark-eyed children giggled and pointed at the foreigners, laughing at Emma’s bare legs and her pale skin. Proud-faced men in Arab dress looked darkly at Leonie, resplendent in flowing white silk, her golden hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders, her mouth a vivid crimson slash. With her golden cartouche and several strings of vibrant beads she’d bought locally wound around her neck, she looked utterly exotic in this dusty desert town where the dominant colour was beige.

‘Your husband is lucky fellow,’ smiled one local man admiringly before proffering some postcards of Abu Simbel.

Leonie tried not to grin but she couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth turning up slightly. For once, she was the one getting all the attention. ‘Thank you but no thank you,’ she said primly and grabbed Emma’s arm the way the guide book had warned single women should do to avoid harassment.

‘I won’t let anyone run away with you,’ teased Emma, watching the men watching Leonie. ‘You’re the big hit around here, and no mistake.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Leonie said, immeasurably flattered and trying not to show it. ‘I’m a mother of three who wears support tights, hardly a siren.’ But she couldn’t help feeling a little bit siren-ish. People – well, men – were looking at her. Not at Hannah with her cool elegance or at Emma with the milky-white skin and long, coltish grace.

It was the same in the restaurant: a large cool place with rough bench seating and faded cushions, it was staffed by three waiters who were obviously delighted to see a flamboyantly blonde, female tourist.

Flora, with her clipboard and mobile phone, was ignored as the men stared at Leonie appreciatively, treating her like a movie star.

‘Pretend you’re Madonna,’ suggested Hannah, her mood improving. It was ridiculous to get uptight because the bus had broken down. She really must learn to snap out of these moods.

Emma started singing ‘Like a Virgin’ as the three of them were escorted to their table, a large one in a spacious corner with much softer, more opulent-looking cushions than the rest and an elaborate candelabra.

Leonie, who couldn’t sing to save her life, joined in tunelessly, her voice wavering on the long drawn-out notes. She stopped long enough for the oldest waiter to usher her to the best seat, bowing formally as he did so. She bestowed a gracious smile on him and gave him a blast of sapphire eyes. He bowed even lower and hurried off, to return with three fragile painted glasses for them.

‘More Ribena,’ said Hannah, picking up her tiny glass and breathing in the scent of the non-alcoholic fruit drink they’d got used to on the boat.

‘I don’t need to tell you ladies to enjoy yourselves,’ Flora said, arriving at their table when everyone else was settled. ‘Just don’t forget you have to buy any alcoholic drink yourselves and the bus will be here at around eight.’

‘Leave?’ said Leonie in mock horror. ‘Flora, I may never leave this place.’

Although most local restaurants didn’t serve alcohol, when Leonie saw one of the waiters emerge from the back with a bottle of red wine, she said they must order one.

‘Now, let’s have a real girlie chat,’ she said happily when the first course of mezes had arrived and they each had a glass of Cru des Ptolemees.

By the main course – kofta lamb for Emma and Hannah, vegetarian hummus and kebabs for Leonie – they’d gone through men in general and were on to Hannah’s story of Harry. It had been quite a relief to tell someone about how devastated she’d been the day he’d announced that he was travelling round South America and that it was all over.

‘You think you know someone and then they drop a bombshell like that.’ Even a year later, talking about it hurt. She’d felt so betrayed, so abandoned. All the love and time and hope she’d invested in their relationship, and to have it all thrown back at her because he felt stifled and needed a break. He was like all men: feckless and uncaring. But she’d loved him so much. All the aerobics classes in the world couldn’t dim the pain of that. At least her new plan to steer clear of men – apart from the odd bit of fun with guys like Jeff – would protect her from having her heart broken again. It just wasn’t worth it.

‘What is he doing in South America?’ asked Leonie.

‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ Hannah said fiercely. ‘I haven’t heard from him since he left. Not a dicky-bird. He took all his stuff from the flat when I wasn’t there and left a note asking for letters to be forwarded to his sister. Huh! He had two chances of me doing that. I threw his new chequebook in the bin when it arrived, and all his tax forms.’ She grinned at the memory. ‘Then I kept getting phone calls from his boss at the paper because he was supposed to be writing this book for them on political scandals and he’d just left the country without telling them. That was Harry all over: run away instead of face the music,’ she said bitterly.

Both Leonie and Emma had been gratifyingly eager to castrate Harry if they ever slapped eyes on him, and Hannah found herself thinking how nice it was to have female friends to confide in again. She’d been too hurt by Harry to seek out all the female friends she’d let go by the wayside when she fell for him first. It was comforting now to have a bit of sisterly outrage and support.

‘I doubt I’ll ever trust a man ever again,’ she admitted slowly. ‘I shouldn’t have trusted Harry in the first place. I should have known.’

‘How could you?’ Emma asked. ‘You’re not a mind-reader.’

‘It’s nothing to do with mind-reading. It’s to do with men. They can’t be trusted, full stop,’ Hannah insisted. ‘Well, I can’t trust the men I meet, anyway. Your Pete sounds lovely, but I think some of us just aren’t cut out for relationships. They mess you up. Some women are better off on their own and that’s the sort of woman I am. I can take care of myself and I don’t need anyone else. That’s my plan.’

‘You don’t mean that,’ Leonie argued. ‘You’re beautiful, Hannah, you could have any man you want. You simply ended up with a guy who was weak and left you. That’s no reason to give up on men in general. You have to dust yourself off when it all goes wrong and start again.’

By dessert – fruit for all of them – they’d moved on to their personal theories on how to get over a man. Emma hadn’t had many boyfriends before Pete, so she pointed out that she wasn’t much of an expert. ‘I met Pete when I was twenty-five and I’d only been out with three men before that. Dad ran the last one off the premises when he arrived smoking a roll-up cigarette. Said he didn’t want me corrupted with drugs.’

They all laughed at that.

Leonie admitted that Ray had been her first real boy friend and that their split had been mutual, more or less, so she hadn’t needed to dust herself off. What Leonie couldn’t understand was how Hannah had decided to simply give up falling in love until she felt strong enough to cope with men on her own terms. They’d heard about the fabulous Jeff and how Hannah had decided that a post-Harry bonk would be good therapy.

‘How can you do that?’ asked Leonie, fascinated.

‘Do what?’ Hannah bit into a piece of watermelon, little squelches of juice slithering down her chin.

‘Decide that you won’t get involved with any guy but just treat him like a friend who happens to be a lover. I mean, what if you met someone gorgeous and you couldn’t help yourself and fell hopelessly in love?’