Cathy Kelly 3-Book Collection 1: Lessons in Heartbreak, Once in a Lifetime, Homecoming

Choice

‘Kelly deamatises her story with plenty of sparkly humour.’

The Times

‘Kelly has an admirable capacity to make the readers identify, in turn, with each of her female characters…’

Irish Independent

To Murray, Dylan and John, with love

Table of Contents

Cover Page (#u2f1dac51-1486-5d1e-91d8-37c54c9e090b)

Title Page (#u7d18ed2a-5a86-5ba8-839b-44218b792806)

Praise (#uc2634b56-1055-59e3-9d9f-2d78e7ebd67f)

Dedication (#ub4e4d506-ce72-5a12-adf7-83376134d63d)

PROLOGUE (#udcaaf125-27f6-5b4b-97a0-b863f26a41f9)

ONE (#ucacd9bd1-4493-5db7-bb02-9cfa093cbbee)

TWO (#ubcfeac8f-0cc7-5819-a3ab-052c84bd00e3)

THREE (#u310c07e0-f153-5368-bdb9-ed8b2e0dbbdc)

FOUR (#ufd237bf7-1f1e-591e-ae2e-7d0ceefc51c3)

FIVE (#u10f6e986-9ee6-5033-97e2-46801be661d0)

SIX (#ue605dc05-c077-5cd7-aa30-76cb8a756f51)

SEVEN (#u6758433e-1e19-5325-8e12-2ed2415fde4e)

EIGHT (#u3424c157-225f-5d72-b484-589caeef5a8c)

NINE (#u83482b19-b536-5d56-9500-fb9a04472d05)

TEN (#u3fc2a2ee-91c6-5904-97c3-c186c0ba574c)

ELEVEN (#u872f1924-d024-53e8-bccf-64370df4c6c2)

TWELVE (#u3f93e036-a1f9-547f-8842-75cf49fff3f3)

THIRTEEN (#u828e564a-2f61-5659-ba2d-2ef131234ffc)

FOURTEEN (#u8dd50b2f-3b24-5982-b815-0e7bae20ad1e)

FIFTEEN (#u9a09c826-fdb2-5aa9-8d68-139e93866579)

SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-TWO (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

TWENTY-FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

PROLOGUE (#ulink_fc5038f5-fd51-5285-896a-1d1a783998ff)

In her head, she knew what she was doing was wrong. She lay, open-eyed in the dawn, feeling the length of his naked body next to hers, warm despite the chill of the room. She’d never slept naked before, and now wondered how there was any other way.

Of course, you needed another body beside yours; a body like his, hard with physical exercise, taut and lean, not an ounce of flab on him, and fiercely strong.

Yet he was so gentle with her. His hands with their tender pianist’s fingers had drawn whorls on her pale skin the night before, his eyes shining in the soft light of the dim bulb.

With his hands on her skin, her body became like nothing she’d ever known before: a treasured thing made for being wrapped up with his and adored.

‘You’re so beautiful. I wish this moment could go on for ever,’ he’d said in the low voice she loved. There wasn’t anything about him she didn’t love, really.

He was perfect.

And not hers.

Their time was stolen: a few hours here and there, holding hands under the table at dinner, clinging together in the vast hotel bed like shipwreck survivors on a raft. For those hours, he was hers, but she was only borrowing him.

The awfulness of separating rose up again inside her. It was a physical ache in the pit of her stomach.

He’d wake soon. He had to be gone by seven to get his train.

If she had been the one who had to leave the hotel room first, she knew she simply couldn’t have done it. But he would. Duty drove him.

It was dark in the room and only the gleam of the alarm clock hands showed that it was morning. She nudged her way out of the bed and opened a sliver of heavy curtain to let some grey dawn light in. It was raining outside; the sort of sleety cold rain that sank cruelly into the bones.

There were early-morning noises coming from the street below. Doors banging, horns sounding, traffic rumbling. Ordinary life going on all around them, like worker ants slaving away in the colony, nobody aware of anybody else’s life. Nobody aware of hers.