Vito’s pizzeria was one shopfront wide, with an illuminated red sign over the entrance and a deckchair-striped canopy pulled out over the outside dining area. Most of the tables were occupied and there was a buzz of chatter and the clink of cutlery on china. The glass doors separating the outer and inner areas of the restaurant had been pulled back and inside was busy too, people were leaning on the bar or sitting at tables staring at the football match playing on a widescreen television. Inside, the restaurant was brightly lit, but its décor was tired: a wipe clean wallpaper with a fussy pattern of plates of food, dead fish and game and bottles of wine in straw baskets. The floor tiles were chipped and the signage on the walls was faded. The kitchen was behind the bar, separated from the restaurant by a counter that ran most of its length. An impressive, wide mouthed pizza oven took pride of place in the centre.

I spotted Francesco; he was wearing a short sleeved white shirt and black trousers and his hair had been gelled. He was moving amongst the tables collecting empty glasses and stacking them in a plastic carton. From the pavement, my eyes followed Francesco to the bar, and then they found Vito.

He was serving drinks, talking to the men perched on stools beside him. The men were animated, gesticulating, laughing in that slightly threatening way some men laugh when they are on the cusp of drunkenness.

While my gaze alternated between Vito and Francesco, Valentina came out of the restaurant, a tea towel tucked into her pocket, her arms balancing a number of large plates of pizza. She caught sight of Joe and acknowledged him with a warm smile and a nod of her head. She didn’t see me. I moved a fraction closer to Joe.

Once she’d served the pizzas she was carrying, Valentina wove her way towards us through the wooden tables balanced on the cobbles, smiling, holding out her hands in greeting. She and Joe embraced and exchanged a flurry of words in Italian. I stood to one side, uninvolved, while my former husband chatted to his former girlfriend, until, just as I reached the point where I thought I couldn’t bear it any longer, Valentina turned to me and her smile was so genuine I found myself warming in response, despite myself.

‘It’s nice to see you again, Eva,’ she said.

‘It’s Edie,’ said Joe apologetically.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Edie!’

‘It’s fine.’