J Stanley’s at my side and Terry’s still in my sights, so – fingers crossed

S The mountains are behind me forming a physical and, yes, a mental barrier between me and my home. I passed their test and they released me. I wonder if I can ever turn back

J Hope he feels guilty for putting me through it. Not apologized, yet

S A cobble-stoned piazza, bars, restaurants, crumbling façades, a fountain of sandy marble, Poseidon ruling over it with his three-pronged fork, pigeons paying homage. It’s a charming Italian square until convoys of tourists emerge to destroy the view

J Have to agree with you: Italian cities improve with age, whereas English ones just look miserable. Here they’re so beautiful and –

S Atmospherically picturesque and wonderfully evocative as seen in vintage Fellini?

J Took the words right out of my mouth, dearie

S You’ll come and see the sights with me, then?

J Look, you go and be a typical tourist and I’ll just be typical. Better still, you explore the Renaissance and I’ll explore the restaurants

S And so, in this amazing city renowned for its Renaissance culture, with galleries, chapels and museums aplenty; in this city whose history is inextricably intertwined with that of the Medici banking family; in such a city, my lover prefers to sit in a restaurant and savour the tastes of the cuisine, prompting me to ask the question: Will she ever change?

J Put it this way, my boy here wanted his freedom and me, slave master, giving it him

S An old woman in black scatters bread crumbs among the pigeons from a brown-paper bag, clucking and cooing as if they were her children. Cyclists cross the piazza, carefully avoiding mothers pushing buggies. A middle-aged man in a biscuit-coloured jacket takes his morning espresso, leaning on the counter of a bar. He looks like a smart businessman but gets into the driver’s seat of a taxi. A party of Japanese tourists is shepherded along and, even though it’s 1989, people turn to stare, just as they do at Jessie and me, casually but noticeably. If it’s with hostility, I’ve learned to ignore it

J You can thank me for that

S I do! I do! I do!

J Keep your hair on, we’re not at the altar yet. Now, where’s that waiter with our breakfast? Starving, me

S She leans forward and uses her arms to lever up her breasts, which pop up from her low-cut T-shirt like two veined rugby balls. The waiter’s eyes nearly fall out, which I suspect is her intention

J He’s got to see I’m desired by others

S It’s that croissant-spitting time again. My beloved’s eating habits have long since ceased to be endearing