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‘It was a tight fit.’ Dino scrawled his signature on the page. ‘I’ve filled out since then.’
She looked at his shoulders and then looked away again quickly. ‘I can imagine.’
‘Send this guy to fracture clinic. Did that man in cubicle 4 get transferred?’
‘They found him a bed on the medical ward.’ She wasn’t going to think about his shoulders. ‘Dino, it was really sweet of you to tell Jamie that you love pizza, but you really don’t have to torture yourself like that. I’m honestly not expecting you to come. I’ll make some excuse—tell him you had some emergency or something.’
‘No, you won’t.’ Frowning, Dino rose to his feet and slid his pen into his pocket. ‘I love pizza. I’m looking forward to it. And I think Jamie is great. He has a good sense of humour and he’s very observant about people. And I’m looking forward to your food.’
‘All right, that is seriously bad news.’ Meg gulped. ‘I ought to warn you that I am not that great a cook. Pizza is about the limit of my repertoire, and I only manage that because Jamie’s pretty good with toppings. He gives me a list and I buy them and then he just throws them on. He even tells me when it’s cooked. If he left it to me, the whole thing would be burned.’
‘Are you trying to put me off?’
‘I’m just warning you that this isn’t going to be a gourmet evening. I’m sure you’re wishing you’d never said yes.’ Of course that was what he was wishing. He must be desperate to back out. Why would a good-looking, single guy want to waste a precious evening off eating home-made pizza with a seven-year-old boy and his mother? ‘I know how persuasive Jamie can be and it was kind of you not to hurt his feelings but, seriously, it’s OK. I’ll handle it with him.’
‘What time does pizza night start?’
Meg stared at him. ‘Y-you’re coming? Seriously?’
‘I wouldn’t miss it. What time?’
‘Oh—er—indecently early. Six o’clock. Jamie goes to bed around eight so we have to eat around then. That’s way too early for you, I’m sure, so maybe we should just—’
‘Six it is.’
She looked at him helplessly. What was this all about? Why did he want to eat pizza at her house? Why had he helped her child? ‘Dino—’
‘Would you mind talking to the relatives of the child who fell off his bike? They’re worried about their son being discharged home. They need a head injury information sheet and some of your special brand of “I’m-a-mother-too” reassurance.’
‘Right. I’ll do that.’ He was behaving as if there was nothing strange about the fact that he was coming round for dinner. As if it were something they did all the time. She had no idea what was going through his mind. Unless it was the fact that her mother had yelled the word ‘sex’ across the whole valley and he thought he may as well make the most of what was on offer. Perhaps he’d decided that the mistletoe was some sort of hint. On the other hand, a man like Dino wasn’t exactly going to find himself short of offers or opportunity. Mistletoe or no mistletoe, he didn’t need to settle for a girl who didn’t paint her nails.
One thing she knew for sure—once he’d tasted her food, he wouldn’t be coming back for more.
Dino pulled up outside the cottage and tried to remember when he’d last eaten a meal at six o’clock in the evening. Locking the car, he smiled. Probably the same time he’d last eaten pizza.
Another fresh fall of snow had dusted the path and he saw a small pair of blue Wellington boots covered in pictures of Spiderman abandoned on the step.
As he waited for Meg to answer the door, he studied the wreath. It was a festive twist of ivy, pine cones and fat, crimson holly berries. Looking closer, he saw that it was just a bit haphazard, and suddenly had a vision of Meg and Jamie making it together, laughing at the kitchen table. A family preparing for Christmas.
He was eying the mistletoe thoughtfully when the door was dragged open and he was hit by light and warmth.
Jamie stood there, a grin on his face, Rambo wagging his tail by his side. ‘You made it. Come in.’ Unselfconscious, he grabbed Dino’s hand and pulled him inside. ‘You have to choose your topping. Pepperoni, olive, ham or mushroom. Usually I’m only allowed to pick three but Mum might let you have more as you’re the guest.’
Dino followed him into the kitchen and found Meg, red in the face, making pizzas on a scrubbed wooden table.
‘Hi—you made it. That’s great.’ She looked flustered. White patches of flour dusted the front of her apron and the arms of her jumper. Her hair was clipped to the top of her head and tumbled around her face in a riot of haphazard curls.
Her eyes changed colour, he noticed, according to her mood. Tonight they were a deep, sparkling blue like one of the lakes on a summer’s day. ‘I bought you something to drink.’ He held out the bottle and she looked at it and gave a hesitant laugh.
‘Champagne? I don’t know what you’re expecting, Dino, but what we have here is a basic pizza with a few toppings. Nothing fancy.’
‘Champagne goes with everything.’ He looked around him. Her kitchen was warm and homely, delightfully haphazard, like everything else in her life. At one end of the table there was a stack of papers and unopened post, which she’d obviously cleared to one side in order to make the pizza. Brightly coloured alphabet magnets decorated the door of the fridge and the walls were adorned with Jamie’s paintings and photographs.
Intrigued, Dino strolled across the room to take a closer look. There were photographs of Meg and Jamie wrestling in the snow. One of Jamie in his school uniform, looking proud. Jamie and Rambo. Meg and Rambo. A family.
Something pulled inside him and suddenly he felt cold, despite the warmth thumping from the green range cooker that was the heart of the kitchen. This was what a childhood was supposed to be like. A million small experiences, explored together and retained for ever in the memory. A foundation for life. In comparison to the rich tapestry of family life spread around the kitchen, his own experience seemed barren and empty. His mother had paid expensive photographers to record various carefully selected moments and the subsequent pictures had been neatly catalogued and stored. Whatever artwork he’d brought home from school had been swiftly disposed of because his mother had hated clutter of any sort. The walls of his home had also been adorned with priceless paintings that no one could touch. His mother would no more have displayed one of his childish drawings than she would be seen without her make-up.
Pushing aside that bitter thought, Dino opened a glass-fronted cupboard and helped himself to two tall stemmed glasses.
