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B ertolli’s gone when we get back, and Giulio must be so relieved he doesn’t even realize his body has sagged against mine, his back pressing softly against my front. But as soon as he parks in his usual spot, he tenses again – grip tightening on the handlebars, knuckles whitening.

‘Wait here.’ He steps off the Vespa and heads towards his apartment building, stopping at the mailboxes fixed to the outside wall.

Ignoring him, I follow close behind, my heart thudding in my chest as he pulls something from one of the slits. It’s a torn scrap of paper with words scribbled across it, written in a hurry and shoved in without much care.

‘Is it from Bertolli? What does it say?’ I stand on my tiptoes and try to read the messy scrawl.

Giulio crumples the note in his fist. ‘The offer to take the Vespa as payment is valid for two more weeks. After that, the bank will take legal action if we can’t repay the debt in full.

’ He stares past me, his jaw tight. I can tell he’s looking at his Vespa, wondering how much longer it will belong to him.

I open my mouth to ask the question I’ve been putting off – to know exactly how much Nina owes – but Ma steps out of the bar.

That radar of hers? It’s been programmed to alert her when I’m this close to this boy.

There’s a faint pillow crease on her cheek; she must’ve been having a nap. She checks the smart-watch Pa bought her for Christmas – the one she still only uses to tell the time. ‘I’m just reopening. You’ve been gone a while. Everything OK with Nina?’

Giulio’s silent plea pokes into my back like a finger. Don’t tell her about the debts. Not yet .

I usher Ma back inside, blinking at the shift from bright sunlight to the bar’s dim interior. ‘Actually, I think she smiled at me today.’

‘Because I wasn’t there to ruin her day,’ Ma huffs, then waves her hand, trying to dismiss the comment.

‘She was probably just happy about the pasta e fagioli , actually. But it’s great she has an appetite, right?’

Ma nods, her smile a little tight. ‘Appetite’s one thing, but it takes more than a good meal to get back on your feet. Especially at her age.’

I hear Giulio’s voice in my head – all the more reason not to dampen her spirits with hopeless news.

‘Have you spoken to the doctors? Do you know when she’s getting out?’ And if she’ll have a bar to come back to, I wonder – but keep that uncomfortable thought to myself.

‘Getting up to the flat will be the biggest hurdle. But, knowing your nonna, she’d manage the stairs in a full body cast out of stubbornness alone.’ She laughs at her own joke, but there’s a bitter edge too.

I push a tiny bit more, but it’s like I’m rolling out pasta dough – stretching it just thin enough to work, but not so much that it tears apart. ‘What happened to make things so...tense...between you?’

Ma lets out a long breath. ‘Let’s just say she doesn’t appreciate my interference.’

‘But Giulio would be doing this all on his own if we hadn’t come.’

Nooo. Cavolo! I’ve said the wrong thing. Ma’s pupils dilate like a cat zeroing in on its target. And yep, that’s me.

‘Aha! You are warming to Giulio now, sì ?’

I want to scream into a pillow. I was getting so close to finding out the truth. My breath hisses out of me like steam from a boiling moka pot. ‘I just mean...we’ll be back in Scotland soon enough, and Giulio goes back to school in September. Time’s running out.’

In ways you don’t even know. The secret burrows into the pit of my stomach.

I could tell her right now – about the debt, about Bertolli, about the trouble the bar’s in.

It seems wrong not to. So wrong I open my mouth to let the words spill out.

..but then Ma’s phone buzzes on the counter and Isla’s name pops up on the screen.

Ma picks it up, cradling it in both hands as if she’s worried she’s going to press the wrong button by accident. Her expression goes all mushy when she sees the message.

‘Aww, look at the little micetti .’ She shows me pics of the two foster kittens that have just arrived at the cattery from the shelter she partners with. The tension of our conversation melts away as we coo over them, guessing which one’s going to cause Isla the most trouble.

I point to the little tabby pictured with its claws in Isla’s jumper. ‘That one has a side parting like Enrico’s. It’ll probably want its own corner table and a cappuccino every morning.’

Ma laughs, and it’s so nice to see the strain of the last two weeks leave her face that I don’t want to ruin it by telling her about the debts.

I have to get ready for language class, anyway.

And, if I’m honest, it’s also because of Giulio.

He’s willing to give up his Vespa for the bar, for Nina.

The least I can do is keep quiet...for a day or two at least. I’ll tell her soon, I promise myself.

There’s still time to come up with a solution.