boots, flung in her favourite jumpers and shut the lid.
Their wedding photo was on the dressing table, and she stared at it, remembering that even then they hadn’t taken time for a honeymoon. Just a brief civil ceremony, and then their wedding night, when he’d pulled out all the stops and made love to her until neither of them could move.
She’d fallen asleep in his arms, as usual, but unusually she’d woken in them, too, because for once he hadn’t left the bed to start working on his laptop, driven by a restless energy that never seemed to wane.
How long ago it seemed.
She swallowed and turned away from the photo, dragged her case to the door and looked round. She didn’t want anything else—any reminders of him, of their home, of their life.
She took her passport, though, not because she wanted to go anywhere but just because she didn’t want Max to have it. It was a symbol of freedom, in some strange way, and besides she might need it for all sorts of things.
She couldn’t imagine what, but it didn’t matter. She tucked it into her handbag and put it with her case by the door, then she emptied the fridge into the bin and put it all down the rubbish chute and sat down to wait. But her mind kept churning, and so she turned on the television to distract her.
Not a good idea. Apparently, according to the reporter, today—the first Monday after New Year—was known as ‘Divorce Monday’, the day when, things having come to a head over Christmas and the New Year, thousands of women would contact a lawyer and start divorce proceedings.
Including her?
Two hours later she was sitting at Jane’s kitchen table in Suffolk. She’d been fetched, tutted and clucked over, and driven straight here, and now Jane was making coffee.
And the smell was revolting.
‘Sorry—I can’t.’
And she ran for the loo and threw up again. When she straightened up, Jane was standing behind her, staring at her thoughtfully in the mirror. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’ll live. It’s just emotion. I love him, Janey, and I’ve blown it, and he’s gone, and I just hate it.’
Jane humphed, opened the cabinet above the basin and handed her a long box. ‘Here.’
She stared at it and gave a slightly hysterical little laugh. ‘A pregnancy test? Don’t be crazy. You know I can’t have children. I’ve got all that scarring from my burst appendix. I’ve had tests; there’s no way. I can’t conceive—’
‘No such word as can’t—I’m living proof. Just humour me.’
She walked out and shut the door, and with a shrug Julia read the instructions. Pointless. Stupid. She couldn’t be pregnant.
‘What on earth am I going to do?’
‘Do you want to stay with him?’
She didn’t even have to think about it. Even as shocked and stunned as she was by the result, she knew the answer, and she shook her head. ‘No. Max has always been really emphatic about how he didn’t want children, and anyway, he’d have to change beyond recognition before I’d inflict him on a child. You know he told me I couldn’t leave because I had a contract?’
Jane tsked softly. ‘Maybe he was clutching at straws.’
‘Max? Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t clutch at anything. Anyway, it’s probably not an option. He told me, if I didn’t go with him, that was it. But I have to live somewhere; I can’t stay with you and Pete, especially as you’re pregnant again, too. I think one baby’s probably enough.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I just can’t believe I’m pregnant, after all these years.’
Jane laughed a little self-consciously. ‘Well, it happens to the best of us. You’re lucky I had the spare test. I nearly did another one because I didn’t believe it the first time, but we’ve just about come to terms with it—and I’m even getting excited now about having another one, and the kids are thrilled. So,’ she said, getting back to the point, ‘Where do you want to live? Town or country?’
Julia tried to smile. ‘Country?’ she said tentatively. ‘I really don’t want to go back to London, and I know it’s silly, and I’ve probably got incredibly brown thumbs, but I really want a garden.’
‘A garden?’ Jane tipped her head on one side, then grinned. ‘Give me a minute.’
It took her five, during which time Julia heard her talking on the phone in the study next door, then she came back with a self-satisfied smile.
‘Sorted. Pete’s got a friend, John Blake, who’s going to be working in Chicago for a year. He’d found someone to act as a caretaker for the house, but it’s fallen through, and he’s been desperately looking for someone else.’
‘Why doesn’t he just let it?’
‘Because he’ll be coming and going, so he can’t really. But it’s a super house, all your running and living expenses will be paid, all you have to do is live in it, not have any wild parties, and call the plumber if necessary. Oh, and feed and walk the dog. Are you OK with dogs?’
She nodded. ‘I love dogs. I’ve always wanted one.’
‘Brilliant. And Murph’s a sweetie. You’ll love him, and the house. It’s called Rose Cottage, it’s got an absolutely gorgeous garden, and the best thing is it’s only three miles from here, so we can see lots of each other. It’ll be fun.’
‘But what about the baby? Won’t he mind?’
‘John? Nah. He loves babies. Anyway, he’s hardly ever home. Come on, we’re going to see him now.’
‘I’VE found her.’
Max froze.
It was what he’d been waiting for since June, but now—now he was almost afraid to voice the question. His heart stalling, he leaned slowly back in his chair and scoured the investigator’s face for clues. ‘Where?’ he asked, and his voice sounded rough and unused, like a rusty hinge.
‘In Suffolk. She’s living in a cottage.’
Living. His heart crashed back to life, and he sucked in a long, slow breath. All these months he’d feared…
‘Is she well?’
‘Yes, she’s well.’
He had to force himself to ask the next question. ‘Alone?’
The man paused. ‘No. The cottage belongs to a man called John Blake. He’s working away at the moment, but he comes and goes.’
God. He felt sick. So sick he hardly registered the next few words, but then gradually they sank in. ‘She’s got what?’
‘Babies. Twin girls. They’re eight months old.’
‘Eight—?’ he echoed under his breath. ‘So he’s got children?’
He was thinking out loud, but the PI heard and corrected him.
‘Apparently not. I gather they’re hers. She’s been there since mid-January last year, and they were born during the summer—June, the woman in the post office thought. She was more than helpful. I think there’s been a certain amount of speculation about their relationship.’
He’d just bet there had. God, he was going to kill her. Or Blake. Maybe both of them.
‘Of course, looking at the dates, she was presumably pregnant when she left you, so they could be yours—or she could have been having an affair with this Blake character before.’
He glared at the unfortunate PI. ‘Just stick to your job.