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A fter three hours of Italian weather vocabulary, when the only word we’re likely to use is rovente – scorching! – I’m more convinced than ever that Kenzi’s language swap is the way to go if I’m ever going to pass for one of the locals.

And it’s an added bonus that Signora Pedretti is already perched on her usual stool when we arrive at the bar. Predictably, however, Ma’s right in front of her, getting in the way as usual.

I sense Giulio trying to catch my eye and we fall into our usual silent communication.

He wiggles an eyebrow and tilts his head in Ma’s direction – need a distraction?

I nod, then second-guess our telepathic powers when, instead of heading for Ma, he disappears outside. But then, moments later, he reappears in the doorway. ‘Caterina...the sun umbrella’s broken...looks like the pin’s come out. Can you give me a hand?’

Ma frowns. ‘ Com’è possible? How did that happen?’

Giulio shrugs, but when Ma walks past him, he looks towards me for a split second, eyebrows rising a tiny fraction. I suppress a smile; he must have sabotaged it on purpose.

While everyone else is distracted by Ren’s new fusion delicacy – a French croque monsieur made with Italian ciabatta bread that has Sofia whipping her phone out to snap photos – I slip behind the counter and stand opposite Signora Pedretti, my mind racing for a way to interrogate her over Ma and Nina’s relationship as I uncap some fizzy soft drinks for us.

‘So...do you visit Nina often? I’ve never seen you at the hospital before.’ I dive straight in.

Signora Pedretti looks guarded but answers. ‘Not often, no.’

I sigh. ‘More than Ma, I bet. I really wish they hadn’t fallen out so badly.’

Signora Pedretti takes a slow sip of her drink. ‘You know about that?’

‘How could I not? It’s like they’re opponents in a boxing ring, only they’re throwing insults instead of punches. I mean, we’ve stayed away for ten years. I can’t imagine that happening to me and Ma, but...’

I can’t finish the sentence. I might have engineered this conversation, but that doesn’t make the loss any less real...the ache any less painful.

Signora Pedretti’s face softens. ‘There was a misunderstanding, cara . Although your nonna considers it more...a betrayal.’

‘A betrayal?’ I echo, not liking the sound of the word at all. ‘Why? Because Ma moved to Scotland?’

She tilts her head as if she’s considering it. ‘Partly, yes, I believe so. Adelina is deeply rooted in this city. She was still a young woman when your nonno died, and Caterina is her only daughter. But there is more to it than that...’

My breath catches; this is it . . . I’m finally going to learn the truth . . .

Then Ma bursts in, the top part of her hair bouncing weirdly as she walks. ‘I fixed the umbrella with my clip!’ She beams at us with pride. ‘Like MacGyver.’

Mistaking my sigh of frustration for confusion – which, weirdly, is also accurate – her hands go to her hips.

‘Or that girl...the one on YouTube who fixes everything with stuff from her handbag.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘Lucy the Lifehacker?’

‘ Esatto!’ Ma grins.

Giulio joins me behind the counter and holds up a small metal pin so that only I can see. ‘What do I do with this?’

‘Give it to Ma,’ I scowl. ‘She can fix the Leaning Tower of Pisa or something.’

Opportunity to dig over, I add a twist of lemon to our drinks and round the counter to carry them over.

Ren leaps up. ‘Allow me, mademoiselle .’

But as he goes to take the tray, Giulio snatches it away. ‘That’s my job.’ His jaw is tense as he sets the glasses on the table among the food clutter, but before I can inspect the reason for it, Sofia’s excited voice breaks into my thoughts.

‘Hey! Someone’s sent a message on Ren’s page.’

Ren cranes his neck. ‘I have a page?’

‘You do now.’ Sofia shows us a beautiful photo grid of Ren’s culinary creations. ‘I set it up the other day.’

‘What is it? Do they want me on MasterChef or something?’

Giulio snickers quietly and I glare at him.

‘Umm, it’s in Italian so I don’t really understand it, but I don’t think it’s that,’ Sofia answers carefully. ‘The guy who messaged has a pretty big following, though – almost as many as I do.’

Kenzi takes the phone, skim-reading the text as she translates, simplifying the message. ‘It’s about a food tour of Rome...hang on, there’s a link.’

Ren hangs an arm over my shoulder as we all lean in.

‘It’s on Sunday,’ Kenzi continues. ‘Basically, they’re offering the chance to go on a sightseeing tour for foodies!’

‘Nice!’ Sofia says. ‘See what a little bit of social media posting can get you!’

Ren spins me to face him. ‘You should come, Livia. You haven’t done any sightseeing, yet.’

I flinch, wishing Ren hadn’t said that in front of everyone...like I’m a tourist-in-waiting.

Before I can think of a polite excuse, Giulio clears his throat. ‘Sundays are busy here. We need Livia to help.’

I’m surprised but pleased he thinks I’m actually useful. Ma, however, who has the hearing of a cat, pounces on the opportunity to send me sightseeing.

‘Giulio, caro . Why don’t you show Livia around? If Nina wasn’t in hospital, she would do it herself...I bet she took you to all her favourite spots.’

I can think of a spot or two I’d show Giulio , Inner Isla murmurs.

But her joke doesn’t quell the little bubble of jealousy swelling inside me. It’s not Giulio’s fault I wasn’t here, I remind myself. But still, if I had Nina in my life when I was growing up, I wouldn’t be here now, feeling like a loose part half the time.

Giulio shifts his weight from one foot to the other. ‘I suppose I could. Maybe Saturday afternoon...if you don’t mind managing alone for a while.’

I brace for one of Ma’s cringey comments, but she surprises me by being normal and simply nodding.

Kenzi leans over, her voice low. ‘You and Giulio? Sightseeing together? What have I missed?’

A lot, I realize. The reason she and the others came to the bar in the first place was to help me spy on Giulio – she has no idea we’re working together now, trying to find a solution to the debts, Giulio’s plan to sell his Vespa, and whether or not to tell Ma everything.

‘It’s a long story,’ I say, half-laughing, half-sighing. ‘I’ll fill you in on Monday at class.’

So much has shifted in such a small amount of time.

Even the bar feels livelier than it did two weeks ago.

A couple of twenty-somethings hover at the entrance, their eyes straying to the now half-eaten goodies on our table – proof that we’re making something happen here.

..something I didn’t think was possible.