‘It’s the same thing,’ he continued. ‘You decide, all by yourself and for yourself, that something’s wrong, then you make yourself so important that you’re the only one who can stop it, the only one who sees the perfect truth.’

He thought she’d say something here, but when she didn’t he went on irresistibly, ‘This is a perfect example. What do you want, your picture on the front page of the Gazzettino, you the great defender of little children?’ By a conscious act of will he stopped himself from going on. He reached into his pocket, walked over to the barman and paid for the coffee. He opened the door to the bar and held it for her.

Outside, she turned to the left, went a few steps, stopped and waited for him to come up to her. ‘Is that how you really see it? That all I want from this is attention, that I want people to see me as being important?’

He walked past her, ignoring the question.

From behind him he heard her voice, raised for the first time. ‘Is that it, Guido?’

He stopped and turned back to face her. A man came from behind her, wheeling a dolly covered with bound stacks of newspapers and magazines. He waited for him to pass them and answered, ‘Yes. Partly.’

‘How much a part?’ she shot back.

‘I don’t know. You can’t divide something like that.’

‘Do you think it’s the reason I’m doing this?’

His exasperation urged him to answer, ‘Why does everything have to be such a cause for you, Paola? Why does everything you do, or read or say – or wear and eat, for the love of God -why does everything have to be filled with such meaning?’