He put the teabags in the mugs, stepped over the dog, fetched the milk and sloshed it in the tea, then put the milk away, stepping over the dog again, and took Julia her mug.
‘Thanks. Just put it there on the end of the table,’ she said, and he set it down and hesitated.
He could see the babies’ mouths working on Julia’s nipples, a bluish film of milk around their lips, fat little hands splayed out over the swollen white orbs of her breasts. They were so much bigger than normal, the skin on them laced faintly with blue veins, and he was fascinated. There was just something basic and fundamental and absolutely right about it.
And he felt excluded.
Isolated and cut off, kept out of this precious and amazing event which had taken place without him.
Cheated.
He turned away, taking his tea and propping himself morosely against the front of the Aga, huddling against its warmth. He felt cold right to his bones, chilled by his exclusion. And angry.
So furiously bloody angry that he was ready to hit something. A door? A wall? Not Jules. Never Jules, no matter how much she might infuriate him. It was only his surroundings that bore the brunt of his recent ill-temper, and right then he was ready to tear the house apart.
‘Max?’
He glanced across at her.
‘Could you take Ava for me? She’s finished, she just needs to burp. Could you walk round with her? Oh, and you’d better have this; she might bring up some milk on you.’
She handed him a soft white cloth—a muslin nappy; how did he know that?—and then his daughter. His precious, precious daughter. God, that was going to take some getting used to. She was sunny now, all smiles again, but then she burped and giggled, and he wiped her mouth with the corner of the cloth and smiled at her.
‘Lager lout,’ he said with an unaccustomed wave of affection, and she giggled again and grabbed his nose. ‘Hey, gently,’ he murmured, removing her hand, and, lifting his tea to his mouth, he was about to take a sip when her hand flew up and caught the mug and sent it all over him.
Without thinking he swung her out of the way, but there was nothing he could do to save himself from it and it was hot—hot enough to make him yelp with shock—and Ava screwed up her face and screamed. Oh, lord. Water. Cold water. He carried her to the tap and sloshed cold water over her, holding her hand under the dribbling tap just in case, while Julia put Libby down and ran over.
‘Give her to me,’ she said, and quickly laid her on the table and stripped off her clothes. The muslin nappy had caught most of it, and there wasn’t a mark on her, but it could so easily have been a disaster, and he felt sick. Sick and stupid and irresponsible.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing? You don’t hold a cup of boiling tea over a child!’ Julia raged, and he stepped back, devastated that he might so easily have caused his tiny daughter harm.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think—Is she all right? Does she need to go to hospital?’
‘No, you must have missed her, she’s fine—no thanks to you.’
‘You gave her to me.’
‘I didn’t expect you to pour tea over her!’
‘It missed her.’
‘Only by the grace of God! It could have gone all over her! Of all the stupid, stupid—’
‘You were holding your tea over them!’
‘It had cold water in it! What do you think that was for? Shush, sweetheart, it’s OK.’ But the babies were both screaming now, upset by the shouting and the whining of the dog, and he stepped back again, shaking his head.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said roughly. ‘Jules, I’m so sorry—’
He scrubbed his hand through his hair and turned away, furious with himself for his stupidity, but he wasn’t to be allowed to wallow.
‘Here, hold her. I need to change her. I’ll get her some clean, dry clothes.’ And then she paused and looked up at him, her lashes spiked with tears, and her voice softened. ‘She’s all right, Max. It was just the shock. I’m sorry I yelled at you.’
‘She could have been—’ He broke off, and Julia’s face contorted.
‘Don’t. It was an accident. Just hold her. I’ll only be a moment.’
He didn’t move a muscle. Just stood there, motionless, until she came back into the room armed with nappies and tiny clothes, and took the screaming baby out of his arms. Then he sat down, buried his face in his hands and sucked in a breath.
‘Can you cuddle Libby, please?’
He pulled himself together and sat up. ‘Do you trust me?’ he asked tersely, and she gave him a grim smile.
‘I have to, don’t I? You’re their father.’
‘Am I?’
‘Max, of course you are! Who else?’
‘I don’t know, but perhaps we should get a DNA test.’
Her face went white. ‘Whatever for? I wouldn’t lie to you about that. And I’m not about to start asking you for money to support us, either.’
‘I wasn’t thinking about money, I was thinking about paternity. And I wouldn’t have thought you would lie about it, but then I wouldn’t have thought you’d leave me without warning, shack up with another man and have two children without bothering to share the information with me. So clearly I don’t know you nearly as well as I thought I did and, yes, I want a DNA test,’ he said, his anger rising to the surface again. ‘Because, apart from anything else, it might be handy in court.’
‘Court?’ She looked aghast. ‘Why court? I’m not going to do anything to obstruct your access.’
‘I don’t know that. You might move again—go into hiding somewhere else. I know you’ve got your passport with you. But on the other hand, if you decide to go for maintenance, I want to be damn sure it’s my kids I’m paying for.’
She gasped, her eyes wounded, and he felt a total heel.
‘Don’t bother to turn the tears on,’ he growled, hating it—because he thought she was going to cry and Jules never, ever cried—but his words rallied her and she straightened up and glared at him.
‘I’d forgotten what a bastard you are, Max. You don’t need a test to prove you’re the father! You were with me every minute of the day and night when they were conceived. Who else could it possibly have been?’
He shrugged. ‘John Blake?’
She stared at him, then started to laugh. ‘John? No. No, John’s not a threat to you. Trust me. Apart from the fact that he’s in his late fifties and definitely not my type, he’s gay.’
The surge of relief was so great it took his breath away. She hadn’t had an affair—and the babies were his. Definitely.
And one of them was still screaming for attention.
He picked Libby up, moving almost on auto-pilot, and went over to where Julia was dressing Ava. She ran her eyes over his chest. ‘Your shirt’s soaked. Are you all right?’ she asked, without a flicker of compassion, and he told himself he didn’t deserve it anyway.
‘I’m sure I’ll live,’ he replied tersely. ‘Is she really OK?’
‘She’s fine, Max,’ Julia said, her voice grudging but fair as ever. ‘It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.’
Easy to say, not so easy to do. Especially when, some