The unfairness of the situation bit down on me. Francesco had been trying to take his mother from danger. He had never instigated any trouble or violence. He hadn’t known, when he drank that grappa, that in a few hours he’d have to drive his mother from her brutal, drunken husband. Now, no matter what story was told to the police, no matter how many times Francesco was reassured that he couldn’t have done anything differently, his whole life would be shadowed by the fact that he’d killed a man and that it might have been because he’d had a drink.

As I stood there, worrying and grieving for Francesco’s future, Joe came striding up the hill. I looked at him, his silver head, his tanned skin, the blue jumper, the shorts, and I felt a little calmer. I watched him approach and I no longer saw a scruffy, middle-aged man, a half stranger; I saw Joe; Joe who I loved, who I’d never stopped loving; Joe, my soulmate, my husband, my best friend.

He slowed as he came closer and looked at my face.

‘Did he make it?’

I gave the smallest shake of my head.

‘Oh, dear God,’ he whispered. ‘Jesus, Edie, what do we do now?’

‘We have to tell the truth and let Francesco and Valentina decide what to do.’

‘I don’t want to put that responsibility on Francesco’s shoulders.’

‘You have to, Joe. It’ll be better if the truth comes out now. Better for Francesco, I mean. I know you want to protect him, but you can’t hide this from him.’

‘He’ll go to prison.’

‘He’s too young for prison. And plenty of people saw what happened at Vito’s. The witnesses will explain why he had to take the car.’

‘The grappa…’

‘It wouldn’t have changed anything.’

‘Nobody will believe that.’

I shook my head sadly. ‘We can’t change what people believe, Joe. We can only tell the truth. It’s all we can do.’