Italian Doctor, Sleigh-Bell Bride. Sarah Morgan

Anna that if you had a bathroom like hers, you’d lie in it all day. Why don’t you lie in ours all day?’

      Because of the chipped tiles, the draught from the window and the stubborn black mould that refused to die. ‘Because I have to work. I’ve explained that to you. I work to make the money we need.’ Liv lifted an onion out of the vegetable basket. ‘Now, enough of this conversation. If I don’t get on with the supper it will be bedtime.’

      The tyrannosaurus attacked again, scattering other dinosaurs over the kitchen floor. ‘You could do the lottery or something.’

      ‘It’s a waste of money. We wouldn’t win.’

      ‘You could get married. Emma’s mum got married again and now they’re really rich because her new dad is loaded!’

      Liv gasped. ‘Where did you hear that expression?’

      ‘Emma told me.’ Max stopped playing and looked at her anxiously. ‘Is it swearing?’

      ‘No, but it’s not very polite.’ Her mind slid back to the conversation she’d had with Anna earlier that day and she frowned, pushing away thoughts of Stefano Lucarelli. ‘And it isn’t how much money someone has that counts, it’s whether you like them or not that matters.’

      ‘Well, Emma’s mum has been married twice now, and you’ve only been married once.’

      ‘It isn’t a competition, sweetheart.’

      ‘Why did you stop being married?’

      Liv closed her eyes briefly. Why did the hardest questions always come when she was tired? ‘We’ve talked about this before, Max.’ She peeled the onion. ‘Sometimes these things just don’t work out. And when that happens, it’s no one’s fault.’ Yes it was. It was her fault. She hadn’t been exciting enough for Jack. Her eyes suddenly started pricking and she told herself it was just the onion.

      ‘You should definitely try being married again,’ Max said sagely. ‘You’re always telling me I have to keep trying things. You always say you can’t tell if you like something if you’ve only tried it once.’

      ‘That’s food,’ Liv said dryly, reaching for a chopping board. ‘Marriage isn’t like broccoli. Marriage is a very big thing. You have to really, really love someone to do that. And they have to love you, too. They have to think you’re special.’

      ‘You are special, Mum.’ Max looked at her, his eyes huge. ‘I don’t know any other girls who love football and cars and no one makes pizza like you do. All my friends think you’re cool.’

      ‘Well, maybe I am cool to a bunch of seven-year-olds.’ But bigger boys wanted something very different. They wanted someone sexy and she was—

      Ordinary.

      Liv stood for a moment, distracted by her own thoughts. Across the road she could see lights from the other flats and in one window she could see a man and a woman sitting down to eat with two lively, excited children.

      Then she glanced at Max. Her little boy, his face a mask of concentration as he lined up his dinosaurs. She paused for a moment, swamped by a feeling of such intense love and anxiety that she almost couldn’t breathe.

      He deserved so much more. He deserved a loving father who would kick a football with him.

      Damn Jack. Damn Jack and his slick, womanising ways.

      She put the onion on the chopping board and stabbed the knife through it.

      Why should Max suffer because his father hadn’t been adult enough to face up to his responsibilities?

      ‘Mummy, you’re chopping that onion like you hate it or something.’

      Liv’s gaze slid from the blade in her hand to the minute slices of onion that now lay on the chopping board. Pulverised. She gave a weak smile. ‘I’m making supper.’ There was no point in regretting the past. ‘We can play football together this weekend, if you like.’

      ‘Cool. I’ve been picked for the match on Friday. I was a reserve but now Ben can’t play so I’m in the team.’

      Liv’s face lit up. ‘That’s fantastic! Why didn’t you tell me before?’

      ‘It’s only the second team, not the first.’ He looked at her and his little shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. ‘And I knew you wouldn’t be able to come. You’ll be working.’

      Liv swallowed. ‘Max—’

      ‘It’s OK,’ he said firmly. ‘It isn’t your fault. We’re a team, isn’t that what you always say? You go to work, I go to school.’

      ‘Actually I’m not working on Friday,’ Liv said brightly. ‘I—I have the afternoon off.’

      ‘Really?’

      No. ‘Yes.’ Somehow, whatever it took, she was going to make it happen. She was going to her son’s football match. ‘What time is kick-off?’

      ‘Two o’clock.’

      ‘I’ll be there.’ How, she didn’t know. But she was going to be standing on that school field even if it meant changing her job.

      Exhaustion washed over her making her head foggy. As usual her day had started before five and one glance at the washing, ironing and the pile of Max’s toys in the living room was enough to tell her that she wouldn’t be in bed before midnight.

      She envied mothers who could be at home for their children. Yes, she loved her work but the constant pressure of trying to be in two places at once was grinding her down.

      Welcome to single parenthood.

      Max scrambled off the chair and hugged her tightly, his arms round her legs, his head pressed against her stomach. ‘You’re the best mum in the world. I know it’s hard for you because you have to work. That would be one of the good things about having a dad. He could do the work bit and you could just come and watch me.’

      Liv felt a lump in her throat. ‘There’s more to being a dad than signing cheques, Max.’ And some men didn’t even manage that bit, she thought wearily as she bent to kiss the top of his head. He smelled of shampoo. ‘Spaghetti bolognese all right for supper?’

      ‘Yum.’

      Dismissing fantasies of herself standing on the school field, while someone else worried about the family finances, Liv squashed down the guilt, gave him a quick kiss and released him. Reality, she reminded herself. That was what she had to concentrate on. ‘So what was the funniest thing that happened to you today?’ Taking the lid off a can of tomatoes, she emptied it into the pan. ‘Make me laugh.’

      ‘Sam told me a great joke.’

      ‘Go on.’

      ‘What’s the best thing to give a seasick elephant?’

      ‘I don’t know. What is the best thing to give a seasick elephant?’

      ‘Plenty of room.’

      ‘Max!’

      The following morning brought a flutter of snow and a sharp drop in the temperature.

      ‘Isabella? Tutto bene?’ Stefano brought the Ferrari to a smooth halt, his attention on the phone call. Snow dusted the pavements and the roads were slick with ice. It was going to be a busy day in the emergency department and he knew this would be his only chance to make this call. ‘You called me?’

      ‘Every day for the past two weeks!’ His sister exploded into Italian. ‘Where have you been? You don’t call—you don’t come home! Have you forgotten your family? Don’t we matter to you any more? You don’t have a heart, Stefano!’

      ‘That’s the sort of comment I expect from my girlfriend, not my little sister.’ Stefano sprang from