DADDY’S BOY

I stamped my freezing cold feet against the icy ground, and saw a plume of steam come from my mouth into the wintry air.

I was standing at the edge of a football pitch, like every weekend, watching my son David play football.

‘Come on, son!’ my husband Chris, 35, called.

We watched as David, 10, weaved his way through tackles, always finding the ball.

Then, all of a sudden, he just collapsed.

I thought he’d budged into another player.

But he didn’t get up.

‘David?’ I said.

We ran over, and so did everyone else.

He was lying on the ground, and thankfully he came to.

‘What happened?’ I asked, terrified.

‘I just blacked