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secret that Jimmy O’Brien believed women were less evolved than men. Certainly no secret to his daughter, who’d been brought up hearing the impatient words, ‘Here, let me do that. Women are useless at practical things,’ all the time. It had never bothered Kirsten because she liked other people doing things for her and had no intention of learning to do anything that involved being practical.

      ‘Tell me about it,’ Emma sighed. ‘He lost his temper totally in the Valley of the Kings and started yelling at Flora about how we’d paid for the tour and shouldn’t have to pay any extra to use our cameras. Then he said that it was obvious the ticket-office people were taking advantage of her because she was a woman and they knew she’d fall for a scam like that, so why didn’t he go in and sort things out.’

      ‘Business as usual,’ Pete remarked sagely. ‘He’s quite a character, your father.’

      Character, felt Emma, wasn’t the word.

      ‘Egypt was incredible,’ she enthused, squeezing Pete’s hand to show him that she was thrilled to be back, ‘but if it hadn’t been for these two women I met on the trip, Leonie and Hannah, I don’t think I’d have remained sane. Dad drove me mad and Mum is definitely losing her marbles, or losing something.’

      ‘It’s your father,’ Pete said. ‘He has that effect on everyone.’

      ‘No.’ Emma shook her head emphatically. ‘It’s nothing to do with Dad, for once. She’s getting very forgetful. She kept wittering on about the foreign currency and trying to work out how many Egyptian pounds there were to Irish ones. Normally she’d leave that sort of thing to Dad, but this time she became obsessed with working it out. She was vague a lot of the time, as if she wasn’t aware of where she was. I don’t know, I can’t put my finger on it but there’s something not quite right.’

      ‘Come on.’ Pete got to his feet and held out a hand to pull Emma from her chair. ‘Let’s put the pizza in the oven and you can tell me about these two women you met on the trip. If they can perform the phenomenal feat of keeping your mind off your parents, can they come and stay with us for Christmas?’

      ‘There’s a thought,’ Emma groaned, thinking of the trauma of enforced festive jollity in the O’Brien house, a place where peace and goodwill to all men was an alien concept. ‘You’d love them, Pete. Hannah is really confident and fun. Dad couldn’t stand her, naturally. And Leonie is sweet. She’s got three kids, she’s divorced, and I think she’s really lonely. Hannah insists our mission in life is to find a nice husband for Leonie.’

      ‘Neil is looking for a sweet divorcée,’ Pete said, referring to one of his old schoolfriends. ‘We could fix them up.’

      ‘Neil is looking for a sex-bomb housekeeper whom he doesn’t have to pay and, no, I wouldn’t dream of setting poor Leonie up with him,’ Emma said sternly. ‘She’s been through enough in her life without getting stuck with Neil, his dandruff and his Newcastle fetish.’

      ‘I’ll tell him you said that.’ Pete inexpertly cut the plastic wrapper off the pizza and jammed it into the oven, which was so dripping with blackened tomato and burnt mozzar-ella that Emma knew he’d eaten nothing but frozen pizzas all week. ‘We’re meeting him down the pub later.’

      She groaned. ‘Do we have to, love? I thought we’d have a quiet night in now that I’m home.’

      Pete completed his cordon bleu preparations by switching the oven on, and then put his arms round Emma.

      ‘I know, but I couldn’t help it. It’s Janine’s birthday and Mike wants us to celebrate with them.’

      Mike worked with Pete in the stationery business and the two couples often went out together for dinner. Emma was very fond of them, but wasn’t in the mood for being sociable. She wanted to snuggle up with Pete and maybe, just maybe, talk to him about the whole baby thing.

      ‘Why’s Neil coming?’ she asked.

      ‘He was at the match today and Mike asked him along. Seems that some of Janine’s single friends will be there and you know Neil, mention single females and he’s drooling to be asked.’

      ‘Mention single chimpanzees and Neil’s drooling,’ Emma pointed out. ‘And you wanted to fix him up with Leonie?’

      ‘I don’t know what she’s like,’ protested Pete. ‘They might be perfect together.’

      Regretting being so grumpy about the night out, Emma patted her husband’s denim-clad bum fondly. ‘No, darling, perfect is you and me. Now tell me: did you eat any of the beautiful home-cooked meals I left in the freezer for you, or did you plough all your wages into the frozen foods section of the supermarket?’

      

      The Coachman’s was buzzing with a Saturday evening crowd when Pete and Emma pushed their way through to the corner where Mike and Janine were holding court.

      ‘Hiya, guys,’ roared Mike, getting up off his barstool to give it to Emma. ‘Sit in beside Janine. She’s giving out yards to me because it’s her birthday and we’ve been talking footie all night.’

      Janine was everything Emma was not. Like a modern Gina Lollobrigida, she had curves in all the right places and favoured sex goddess eyeliner, vermilion lips and clothes from Morgan which she probably had to be sewn into. She and Emma got on like a house on fire, having the same sense of humour and problems with families. Although, in Janine’s case, her mother was the domineering one, ruling her family with an iron fist in a floral oven glove. They’d spent many companionable hours discussing home life while their respective spouses discussed the shocking performance at Shelbourne Park the previous day.

      ‘Welcome back,’ she said now, planting a pout of Mac’s Ruby Woo lipstick on Emma’s cheek. ‘Tell me everything about your holiday. Was it wonderful?’

      It was closing time when they finally left, Janine leading the way because otherwise the boys would never go home, she declared. As Pete had been smiling at Emma all evening, whispering into her ear that he’d missed her and was going to do all sorts of erotic things to her when they got home, she didn’t think she’d have any trouble getting Pete to leave the pub.

      ‘I’m shattered and if I don’t get to bed soon, I’ll collapse,’ Janine announced as they stood in the pub hallway waiting for the men to make their way through the crowds. ‘We had such a mad day yesterday, Em. Mike’s sister was having her baby christened and it turned into an almighty party.’

      Beside her, Emma stiffened. Another baby; Jesus, was there no escaping this?

      ‘Honestly, you want to hear Mike’s mother when she’s got a few drinks in her. She’s delirious about being a granny for the first time and she was dropping hints like bricks about me and Mike.’ Janine chuckled at the very idea, oblivious to how quiet Emma had gone. She rooted in her handbag and dragged out a Polaroid photo of a smiling baby with huge eyes and not a scrap of hair.

      Emma took the photo and made all the right noises as she looked at it. What a beautiful baby, she thought, longing and misery building up inside her. Why, oh why couldn’t it be hers?

      ‘It’s a lovely baby, don’t get me wrong, but God, the mess! That child is only two months old and to bring him anywhere, you need a vanload of stuff. Bottles, nappies, pushchairs! Get off!’ she squealed as Mike finally caught up with them and grabbed her from behind. ‘I thought you’d be too shagged after today for anything kinky,’ she laughed.

      ‘How could he be too shagged?’ demanded Pete with a glint in his eye. ‘He did nothing on the pitch, failed to score twice and nearly fell asleep when he was marking the other team’s winger. He’ll have loads of energy!’

      They went their separate ways, clambering into taxis and arranging to phone each other during the week. Emma knew she was being very quiet on the way home, but she couldn’t help it. All the fun had gone out of the evening thanks to Janine’s comments. Someone else with a baby. Mike’s sister was only a year or so younger than Mike, which made her around

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