‘You see, I like the name Eva so much, it’s one of the names we had for the baby!’ she laughed, fingers at her throat playing with the small, silver dolphin she wore on a slender chain. ‘I like Edie too, of course! I’m talking too much now. Where would you like to sit? Would you like to sit outside? Would you like a view of the harbour?’

‘Please,’ said Joe.

‘This table here?’

‘That’s lovely.’

‘Give me a moment to clear it.’

‘I can do that,’ said Joe.

‘No, you’re guests! Sit down, sit! I insist.’

Joe and I sat opposite each other, with me facing the harbour. The moon was rising over the sea. I tried to keep out of Valentina’s way as she piled up the dirty dishes and unclipped the paper tablecloth from the table. She dusted crumbs into the palm of her hand.

‘Francesco will bring the menus,’ she said. ‘I hope you find something you like.’ She disappeared and the boy appeared a few moments later with a candle in a glass jar, a carafe of water and two glasses. His expression was serious, although he smiled a shy greeting to us both.

‘Hey,’ Joe said. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m good, thank you,’ said Francesco. The faintest ghost of a moustache ran along his upper lip and there were spots on his jawline. These signs of adolescence made me feel very tender towards the boy. He took a lighter from his back pocket and lit the candle. We thanked him, perhaps a little too heartily; he gave a nod of acknowledgement, disappeared and returned with bread in a basket, salt, a stoppered jug of olive oil and two laminated menus. Joe attempted to draw him into conversation and Francesco answered his questions politely, but his eyes kept flickering to the interior of the restaurant, to his stepfather.

At last, Joe said: ‘Sorry, I’m keeping you from your work. You go and do what you have to do. We’ll talk another time.’

Francesco said, ‘Okay,’ and he turned and disappeared.

Joe and I exchanged glances that acknowledged each other’s concern for Francesco.

Valentina returned with two long-stemmed glasses and a bottle of wine. ‘It’s Siciliano,’ she said, with a little flurry, ‘it’s on the house, for my dear friend, Joe, and his lovely wife, Edie.’

‘Ex-wife,’ Joe said.

‘Lovely ex-wife,’ Valentina corrected with a small roll of her eyes. ‘Would you like me to pour the wine?’

‘We can manage,’ said Joe and I said: ‘Yes, please,’ at exactly the same moment.

Valentina deferred to me, opened the bottle with a corkscrew attached to a ribbon pinned to her apron and filled our glasses.

‘Please,’ she said to me, indicating my glass, ‘taste.’ She watched as I drank, her eyes scrutinising my face for signs of approval. ‘What do you think? Do you like it?’

‘It’s delicious,’ I said. ‘Thank you so much.’