Two people – a boy in his early twenties, and an old woman in grey trousers, a flowing white blouse and a Fedora, were walking directly towards us. The woman had long grey hair streaked down her back and she walked with a stick like Caro, but a little faster. Caro was already on her feet, moving towards them as fast as Beatrice was moving towards us. Beatrice clocked Caro and handed her stick to Enzo, raising both hands to her mouth.

Caro hobbled around the chairs to get to her. The second they made contact they embraced the years away and for minutes, all I could hear were the sounds of them both crying. When they pulled out of their hug, Beatrice held Caro’s face before her own and sobbed incoherently.

‘Oh, mia bella Carolina, ti ho aspettato così tanto tempo! Non ho mai smesso di amarti!’

And they kissed, unashamedly, unhurriedly and unflinchingly like it hadn’t been sixty years without one another, merely a day or two apart.

Three police officers started clapping and whistling. I looked at Enzo – he had tears in his eyes. Quite a few people around did. Two waitresses in the café were sobbing and a man in acid green shorts dried his eyes with his vest. The only one not crying or cheering was me. Because what I was seeing was not a love that I could ever experience. Love for me was brutal, strangulating and blood-spattered. Love had no heartbeat. It was cold and blue and dead.

The two women broke away but continued to hold hands. Caro brought Beatrice over to our table, wiping her eyes. ‘Hilary, this is Beatrice…’

I held out my hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Beatrice.’

She shook mine with both of hers. ‘Grazie mille per avermi riportato la mia Carolina. Grazie, grazie.’ They couldn’t stop staring at each other. I didn’t quite believe what I was seeing. Or maybe I didn’t want to believe it. She and Enzo sat and a waitress brought over a lunch menu.

They chit-chatted easily, in English and Italian, and not once did they stop holding hands. That damned parallel universe floated into view again – the one in which I persuaded Caro to stay in Rome with Beatrice and she asked me to live with them, to run errands, bake cakes, or mop floors. I was happy in this universe with my two new grannies. Grannies I actually liked.

I was clinging onto something I could never have and knew I had to go. ‘Just nipping to the loo,’ I said.

Caro looked up. ‘Do you want me to order for you?’

‘Yeah. Prawn linguine. And a beer. Thank you.’

And I walked away from the table, watching her and Beatrice smiling and holding hands like the old friends and young lovers they once were. I wanted to stay. But I couldn’t.