of them.’
‘I’ll help you.’
‘I don’t think you can. You don’t have the equipment,’ she said with an attempt at levity, and as the penny dropped a dull flush of colour ran over his cheekbones.
‘Um—here,’ he said, handing Libby to her. ‘I’ll—um—’
‘Oh, sit down, Max,’ she said, giving up and heading for the sofa in the bay window. There was no point in procrastinating. And, anyway, he wasn’t going to see anything he hadn’t seen before. She sat down, pulled the cushions round to rest the babies on, one each side, undid her bra, pushed it out of the way and plugged them in.
He didn’t know where to look.
He knew where he wanted to look. Couldn’t drag his eyes away, in fact, but he didn’t think it was exactly polite to stare.
He stifled a cough of laughter. Polite? This situation was so far from being polite that it was positively off the chart, but he still couldn’t sit there and stare.
‘Kettle’s boiling. I’d love a cup of tea,’ she said, and he realised she was looking at him.
‘Ah—sure.’
He got up, went over to the Aga and lifted the kettle off, then didn’t know where to put it. On the lid? Maybe. He put the lid down, then realised there was room beside it. What a ridiculous system. What on earth was wrong with an electric kettle or the tap for boiling water they had in their apartment?
Their apartment?
Still? A year later?
‘Where are the mugs?’
‘Over the sink. The tea’s in the caddy there by the Aga, and the milk’s in the fridge in the utility room. Put some cold water in mine, please.’
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?’
