Blast from the Past
Praise for Cathy Hopkins:‘Funny and feelgood’ Good Housekeeping‘Warm, funny and uplifting’ Reader’s DigestOn a trip of a lifetime to India, Bea is given an unexpected fiftieth birthday present – an hour with a celebrated clairvoyant. Unlucky in love, Bea learns that her true soulmate is still out there ̶ and that he’s someone she has already met.Returning home, Bea revisits the men in her life and can’t resist looking up a few old lovers – the Good, the Bad and the… well, the others. As Bea connects with the ones that got away, she suspects that her little black book has remained shut for a reason. But one man out there has her in his sights.They say love is blind and maybe Bea just needs an eye test…Funny and wise, this is the perfect read for anyone who believes in finding love, no matter what their age.
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Blast from the Past
Cathy Hopkins
Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019
Copyright © Cathy Hopkins 2019
Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2019
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com
Cathy Hopkins asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008286576
Ebook Edition © December 2019 ISBN: 9780008289270
Version: 2018-12-04
Know, therefore, that from the greater silence I shall return … Forget not that I shall come back to you … A little while, a moment of rest upon the wind, and another woman shall bear me.
Kahlil Gibran
Table of Contents
It all began with a birthday gift from my friend, Marcia. Most people would think of giving a scarf, a pair of earrings, books or some scented bath oil but, oh no, not Marcia, not this time. She’d wanted to be different and present me something out of the ordinary.
‘Today’s our last day and you remember what we promised each other,’ she said as we sat, ready for breakfast, in rattan chairs on the terrace of our brightly coloured heritage hotel on the shore of Lake Pichola in Udaipur, India.
‘I do,’ said Pete, Marcia’s husband. ‘Presents! Time to reveal what we’ve all been planning.’ He reached down and produced three envelopes from his rucksack. He fanned his face with them then handed one to Marcia, one to me, and kept the last for himself. ‘These are from me. Happy fiftieths. May we have many more decades together.’
‘Especially in locations like this,’ I said as I gazed out over the water which was shimmering in the early morning sun. Udaipur was my favourite part of the holiday so far, a fairy tale of a city with a scenic and romantic setting, marble palaces, courtyards, gardens, temples, ancient narrow streets and, of course, stunning views from our hotel of the famous lake. And to top it all, presents. I knew that whatever Pete and Marcia had got me would be thoughtful and generous – from Marcia in particular; she loved to spoil friends and always picked something that was just right.
‘So go on, open them,’ said Pete.
‘I will,’ said Marcia, ‘but first …’ She handed me a tube of lotion and pointed at my nose which was red from the sun.
I laughed. ‘You never change.’ She’d been telling me what to do since I’d met her on my first day at secondary school. Along with all the other wide-eyed new girls, I’d entered the school gates, looking around for someone, anyone, I knew, but there was no one I could see from my junior school. I’d followed the crowd into assembly, got in line, and there in front of me was Marcia, her wild, black hair tamed into a long plait. She’d turned around, looked me up and down, assessing me, then she’d pulled her jumper up and rolled the waistband of her skirt, making it inches shorter than the knee-length uniform rule. She’d indicated that I should do the same which I did without question. ‘Welcome to seven years of hell. I reckon we should stick together.’ I’d laughed, impressed, and stuck close to her, and here she was, almost forty years later, still looking out for me and telling me what to do. I applied the coconut-scented cream, though it was really too late, my face blared Englishwoman abroad. Marcia, being dark skinned, never suffered the same problem, nor did Pete; in fact, his tan had developed evenly into a deep nut brown.
A handsome young waiter in a white starched uniform appeared and placed tall glasses of mango lassi on the table in front of us. Pete whipped out his iPhone and showed it to him. ‘Please would you take a photo? Three of us?’
