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B efore I can stop myself, I shove the bundle of letters under my T-shirt and slip into the privacy of my Giulio-themed bedroom. I sit on the edge of the bed and quickly untie the string holding them together.

The first one is dated nearly ten years ago, which must have been shortly after our last family visit to Rome. It’s short, just a page, but it starts with an apology.

Mamma, I’m sorry for what happened. I don’t know how to fix this, but I’m trying. Please answer my calls.

An apology? From Ma? She never apologizes.

Not in words, anyway. Her medium is food; tagliatelle al ragù if the apology is for me, and some awful Roman offal dish for Pa – an apology that stinks out the kitchen for days and has the cats scratching at the connecting door to get in.

Thankfully, Ma doesn’t apologize to Pa all that often.

So it’s surreal, reading through the rest of the letters, finding apology after apology and Ma begging Nina to get in touch.

There’s other stuff, too – little glimpses into our lives in Edinburgh like when Ma started up Caterina’s Cat Casa and was worried about making a go of it, about how difficult it is when Pa’s away on shoots.

..and loads about me growing up and starting school.

But the same thread of apologies runs through every letter – Scusami, Mamma. Perdonami.

I make sure to keep the envelopes in the same order they were tied in, all ten years’ worth.

And yet, in all that time, I don’t remember any letters arriving from Nina, apart from birthday cards for me.

My chest tightens at the thought of Ma reaching out, trying to fix something I didn’t even know about. Something I still don’t know about.

I lean back against the wall, accidentally dislodging a photo from the collage.

It flutters on to the bed and I pick it up to find it’s one of a younger Giulio, standing next to the blue Vespa with a woman who must be his nonna.

The Vespa looks like it does now – Giulio clearly takes care of it.

Guilt gnaws at me. He’s been upfront with me about the debts, about being prepared to sell his nonna’s Vespa to help save the bar.

I need to share this with him too. I know the letters aren’t about the debts, but they are about Ma and Nina – and it’s their constant bickering and sniping that’s holding me back from opening up to Ma.

How can I tell her Nina’s in debt without making things a hundred times worse between them?

And, much as I hate to admit it, Giulio knows Nina better than I do, so maybe he knows how to help with this too.

It’s nearly midnight when Ma finally heads to bed.

But I wait another half hour before sneaking up to the rooftop.

The night air is warm, the cityscape bathed in golden lamplight, still alive with people enjoying the summer evening.

I climb over the low railing on to Giulio’s side of the terrace and, after a little pep talk from Inner Isla, I knock on his door.

..so gently I have to do it a second time.

Louder...in tune with my hammering heart.

There’s a pause, then the sound of footsteps. Then Giulio’s tall shape appears in the doorway, silhouetted against the light from inside. His face is hard to read in the shadows, but I can tell he’s surprised.

‘Couldn’t wait until morning to see me, Scotland?’ he murmurs, his voice low as he joins me outside.

‘I need your help.’ I hold up the bundle of envelopes. ‘I found these letters from Ma to Nina, full of apologies.’

Music drifts up from somewhere nearby – probably from the piazza with the octagonal fountain at the bottom of the road. I think back to wandering past it with my case that first night, looking and feeling like an outsider, then drag my attention back to Giulio.

He frowns at the letters in my hand. ‘What’s she apologizing for?’

‘That’s the thing, see? She doesn’t say...it’s like she doesn’t have to, as if Nina will definitely know.’ I shake my head in frustration. ‘Ma started sending them after our last trip to Rome ten years ago. Something must have happened then. I...I was wondering if you knew anything?’

I unfold one, scanning it quickly to make sure there’s nothing embarrassing about me in it.

Once I’m sure it’s safe, I hand it to Giulio.

His long, straight eyelashes almost brush his cheeks as he skims the letter.

I clear my throat, grateful it’s too dark for him to see the tide of warmth flooding my cheeks.

I find a point on the horizon and stare at it, breathing in for the count of four and out for the count of six...remembering the technique from some wellbeing class at school, hoping it will return my face to its normal colour.

‘This doesn’t really tell us anything.’ He holds out the letter and I make an effort not to brush against his fingers when I take it from him.

It hits me suddenly – what if Giulio thinks I’ve dragged him out here for nothing? That this is just an excuse to...see him?

I try to make him understand. ‘It’s vague, I know. But something happened. Ma never apologizes...’

‘Isn’t that just adults, though?’ Giulio scoffs. ‘My parents never say sorry. It’s the one thing they have in common.’

I go still, as if I’ve stumbled across a wild creature and don’t want to scare it away. It’s the first time Giulio’s brought up his parents without Ma asking about them.

‘Sometimes I wonder if it’s because Papà is from the north, and Mamma’s from the south,’ Giulio says, his voice thoughtful.

I raise an eyebrow. ‘I thought your mum was from Rome?’

He rolls his eyes. ‘Anything below Florence is the south for Papà.’

I can’t help but laugh a little at that, some of the tension dissolving. A north–south divide...I hadn’t considered it before. But before I can think any more about it, Giulio points at the letters in my hands and says, ‘ Allora... what do we do now?’

‘I need to tell Ma about the debts...’

He frowns, opening his mouth like he’s about to protest.

‘But I want to speak to Signora Pedretti first,’ I finish.

‘You’ve seen what Ma and Nina are like. There’s so much tension.

Ma’s not even going to lunch any more, and now these letters.

There’s something bigger here. So I was thinking.

..’ I hurry on. ‘Maybe you could distract Ma the next time Signora Pedretti’s in, and I could talk to her.

..see if she’ll open up? She obviously knows something, and spying’s getting us nowhere. ’

Giulio nods. I start to move away, then the opening notes to a classic Italian power ballad drift up over the rooftops, one I recognize from Pa’s favourite Spotify list.

‘Vasco Rossi,’ I say with a small smile.

Giulio looks at me in surprise. ‘This song is famous in Scotland?’

I laugh. ‘Err, no. Definitely not. But my dad loves this track. He plays it a lot.’

I peer over the balustrade, aware of Giulio’s gaze lingering on my profile for a long moment before he looks too. We can’t actually see the fountain or who is playing the music, but we stand there until the song is finished, half-singing, heads nodding, in the moment. Together.