But, as distant as it now seemed, Julia had had a Life Before Twins. Granted, it was a bit short on the ex-boyfriend front. In-between the carrot-topped Nigel Clark when she was six years old – whose attempt to impress her by skewering worms had brought about an abrupt end to that relationship – and her husband Paul there had been only one significant other. One man who had swept her off her feet, made her laugh until she cried, made her feel like the most special, most desirable female on earth. And that man was Max Burrell.
It was almost twenty years since Julia had last seen Max but, as she’d trundled her trolley into the cereal aisle and spotted his profile, studying the line-up of healthy bran options, she’d recognised him immediately. She’d come to a juddering halt, stomach flipping over, legs turning to jelly as her eyes had carried out an involuntary physical inspection. He’d looked amazing, his lean frame clad in faded blue jeans and a grey V-necked sweater, the sleeves of which had been pushed up to reveal muscular, tanned arms. His dark-blond hair was shorter than she remembered, cut in a trendy, dishevelled style that displayed his killer bone structure. He really hadn’t changed at all. Unlike Julia. Her previously athletic form now languished under two stones of excess fat. And her once silky mane of flowing chestnut hair had somehow transfigured into an uninspiring mousy bob through which several strands of silver now lurked. Add baggy leggings, a washed-out oversized pink shirt, and not a scrap of make-up to the equation, and panic had blasted to smithereens the raft of other emotions that had skittered through her.
She’d been on the verge of orchestrating a nippy about-turn, when Max dropped the packet of healthy-something-or-other into his trolley and started up the aisle towards her. Rooted to the spot, Julia’s heart commenced a furious bout of hammering. Then he’d spotted her. His gaze snagging on hers. His mouth stretching into a devastating smile. And Julia’s head began to whirr as a barrage of memories assaulted her.
‘My God. Julia.’ Max’s grey-green eyes twinkled in the way that could always – and apparently still did – turn Julia’s insides to mush. ‘I can’t believe it.’
Before Julia could say a word, he abandoned his trolley and wrapped his arms around her.
Her nose pressed against his broad chest, Julia closed her eyes and drank in his male scent which, despite the subtle aftershave – and the twenty-year interval – was still as familiar as his profile.
He stepped back, his hands still clasping her upper arms. ‘How are you?’
About to pass out, Julia wanted to reply. Instead, she contorted her lips into some semblance of a smile. ‘Great. Fine. Never better,’ she spluttered.
‘Well, you certainly look it,’ he said, his gaze roaming over her in a way that made her resolve to dig out her Pilates DVD. ‘You haven’t changed a bit.’
‘I wish,’ she replied, with a self-deprecating laugh that she suspected made her sound slightly maniacal.
‘You look fantastic,’ he continued, the familiar lopsided grin causing a long forgotten sensation to slither down Julia’s spine. ‘So what have you been up to, in the last … what … nearly two decades?’
Julia stared at him blankly. What had she been up to over the last twenty years? And why did that sound like such a ridiculously long time, when in reality it had zipped by?
‘Oh, this and that, you know,’ she mumbled, raking a hand through her hair and wishing she hadn’t put off washing it that morning. ‘Bringing up children mostly.’
Max nodded understandingly. ‘Right. Of course. I heard you had twins.’
‘Er, yes,’ she croaked, her throat feeling like someone had emptied a hoover bag down it. ‘A boy and a girl.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘A laugh a minute,’ she retorted, thinking nothing could be further from the truth. ‘What about you?’ she asked, in an attempt to divert the attention away from herself. ‘What have you been up to?’
Max screwed up his perfect nose and lifted his broad shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. ‘Working mostly. Management consultancy. I’ve been based in New York the last couple of years but have decided it’s now time to put down some roots.’
Julia’s heart skipped a beat. It would have been strange enough having this conversation in their home town of Bristol. Surely he didn’t mean roots … ‘Here? In Yorkshire?’
Max’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Possibly. I’ve just started a contract with a company in Leeds so we’ll see how it goes.’
Julia gulped and her pulse increased its already worrying pace. Whether from horror or delight, she wasn’t sure.
‘I take it you live around here,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘We haven’t been here long. We moved up with, Paul – that’s my husband … with his, um, job.’ Heavens, had that sounded as awkward as it felt? And since when had it become weird talking about her husband?
Max didn’t say anything but continued to look at her in a way that made her paradoxically want to flee from him, and snog him – at the same time.
‘It’s really great to see you,’ he reiterated.
‘And you,’ muttered Julia, panicking as she looked into those divine eyes and suspected the snogging urge might just win out. ‘Well, I, um, must be getting on. Family to feed and all that.’
Max nodded. ‘Of course. And … who knows … we might bump into each other again. In the cereal aisle.’
‘Stranger things have happened,’ muttered Julia, shoving another hand through her hair and failing to recall any situation that had made her feel quite so strange in the last thirty-nine years.
‘Indeed they have,’ Max agreed, looking at her so intently that Julia thought she might internally combust.
Then, with another devastating smile, and a look oozing with meaning, he took his leave of her and continued up the aisle.
A good three minutes were required before Julia could coordinate her brain and legs into moving. The rest of her shopping had been carried out in an anxious fug, half of her hoping not to bump into Max again, half of her hoping she would. She didn’t. Probably just as well given that, even now, almost an hour later, her heart still thundered. But she really couldn’t spend the rest of the day in her car. Like it or not, she would have to go inside the house and face the fruit of her loins … the twins.
A bulging carrier bag in each hand, Julia entered the house via the side door that led directly into the kitchen. Her daughter, Faye, sat at the pine table, long, poker-straight, jet-black hair curtaining either side of her face as she flicked through a celebrity magazine.
‘Did you get my low-fat yogurt?’ she asked, not bothering to look up.
Resentment stabbed at Julia. Not that she expect anything else of Faye, but her lack of interest in her – and complete absorption in herself – seemed particularly poignant today.
‘Hello to you, too,’ she said acerbically. ‘And my day was fine, thank you. How was yours?’
From under her razor-sharp fringe, Faye’s heavily lined eyes flicked a look that suggested her mother may need certifying, before returning to the magazine.
‘I tell you what,’ suggested Julia in a too-bright tone. ‘How about you give me a hand to bring in the shopping and then you can see exactly what I’ve bought.’
By way of explanation,