her back propped against the wall, her legs huddled under her on the hard marble.
‘I love you, Max,’ she whispered. ‘Why couldn’t you listen to me? Why couldn’t you give us a chance?’
Would she have gone with him if he’d stopped, changed his flight and told her he loved her—taken her in his arms and hugged her and said he was sorry?
No. And, anyway, that wasn’t Max’s style.
She could easily have cried again, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, so she pulled herself together, washed her face, cleaned her teeth and repaired her make-up. Then she went back out to the living room and picked up the phone.
‘Jane?’
‘Julia, hi, darling! How are you?’
‘Awful. I’ve just left Max.’
‘What! Where?’
‘No—I’ve left him. Well, he’s left me, really…’
There was a shocked silence, then Jane said something very rude under her breath. ‘OK, where are you?’
‘At the apartment. Janey, I don’t know what to do—’
‘Where’s Max now?’
‘On his way to Japan. I was supposed to be going, but I just couldn’t.’
‘Right. Stay there. I’m coming. Pack a case. You’re coming to stay with me.’
‘I’m packed,’ she said.
‘Not jeans and jumpers and boots, I’ll bet. You’ve got an hour and a half. Sort yourself out and I’ll be there. And find something warm; it’s freezing up here.’
The phone went dead, and she went back into the bedroom and stared at her case lying there on the bed. She didn’t even own any jeans these days. Or the sort of boots Jane was talking about.
Or did she?
She rummaged in the back of a wardrobe and found her old jeans, and a pair of walking boots so old she’d forgotten she still had them, and, pitching the sharp suits and the four-inch heels out of the case, she packed the jeans and 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
