Happy Mother's Day!

Walking over to the old-fashioned washstand, she turned on the cold tap and splashed her face with water. There were water droplets trembling on her lashes as she looked at herself in the mirror. The indent between her feathery brows deepened as she sighed.

How did I manage to fool myself? she wondered. It seemed incredible that she had for one moment believed that just because it would be convenient she had fallen out of love with Francesco.

Love didn’t work that way; at least it didn’t for her. The important thing now was that she didn’t lose sight of the fact that love didn’t automatically equate with happy ever after, especially when the object of your affections had never really been in love with you in the first place.

No more self-delusion—she had to see things as they really were, she told herself sternly.

The problem was that seeing things as they were did not produce any magical solution. As she dried her face and applied a thin layer of concealing tinted moisturiser Erin nursed the depressing knowledge that there was no solution, magical or mundane.

God, this was a nightmare!

Her troubled gaze trained on the horses in the paddock underneath her window, she lifted her chin. Perhaps it was best not to try and think of a solution to everything, just concentrate instead on sorting one problem at a time.

The scene on the patio when she went downstairs was of domestic harmony. Sam was seated on a wrought-iron chair reading the newspaper while his wife was irritating him by reading aloud headlines that caught her eyes.

It was the sight of Francesco sitting on a rug spread on the grass, making baby Gianni, who was kicking his legs, chuckle by blowing raspberries on his bare tummy that stopped Erin in her tracks.

The hand around her heart tightened as she watched him. He would make the most incredible father.

Valentina was the first to notice her. ‘Erin! Grab a scone before this greedy piglet scoffs the lot,’ she said, ruffling her husband’s hair.

Erin glanced towards the plate of scones liberally laced with cream and shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’ She made a conscious effort to look anywhere but at Francesco, who had turned his head when Valentina had called her name.

Erin looked at the spot on the rug that Francesco patted. She slipped off her shoes and began to walk towards him across the wet grass. Just looking at him made her ache with love. It was a mystery how she had ever managed to fool herself she could ever feel anything else for him.

Before she reached them her phone began to ring. She gave an apologetic grimace and pulled it from her pocket. ‘It’s Mum,’ she said, pretending not to notice the looks her hosts exchanged at the information. ‘I’ll just take it …’ She gave a vague gesture towards the house and walked barefoot in that direction.

Once out of sight of the group she lifted the phone to her ear. ‘Damn, no signal!’ She gave a frustrated sigh and looked around. She spotted the flight of stone steps that led to the room above where Sam stored the horses’ feed and headed for it at a fast trot.

She slipped on her shoes before running lightly up the steps. At the top she scanned the screen on her phone and gave a sigh of relief when she saw she had a signal.

‘Mum, what’s wrong?’ It was safe to assume that something was wrong—her mother had a talent for timing her crises to coincide with social occasions. A less generous person might have suspected she timed it deliberately!

Erin sat on the top step and listened with more resignation than concern—she’d been there too many times before to panic—as her tearful mother explained between sobs that her father had walked out.

‘I’ll be right th—’ She let out a startled yelp as the phone was pulled unceremoniously from her fingers. She lifted her head in time to see Francesco lift it to his ear.

‘No, Erin won’t be there. She has a previous engagement.’

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she yelled furiously.

‘Something you should have done a long time ago—cut the apron strings,’ he informed her callously.

Erin rose to her feet quivering with indignation. Though he was standing a couple of steps below her she still had to tilt her head to look him in the face. ‘How dare you? You had no right! She was in a terrible state; she needs me.’

‘No, she uses you,’ he contradicted.

‘You’re talking about my mother.’

‘And she’ll carry on using you,’ he said, ignoring her furious insertion, ‘until you break the cycle. It’s about habit and guilt. If you go every time your mother calls you’re simply reinforcing her behaviour.’

Her eyes flashing dangerously in response to his extraordinarily high-handed attitude, she glared up at him. ‘And if I let you run my life and decide who I talk to I’m simply reinforcing your inclination to be a total despot!’ she yelled back. ‘My mother needs me.’

‘So does your family.’

‘But she is my …’ Lower lip caught between her teeth, she shook her head as she caught his meaning.

‘The baby and I … we are your family now, Erin. What are you going to do when the baby is born? Drop everything including him when she calls?’ he suggested bitterly.