The Italian restaurant was small and cozy, with ochre walls and dim lighting that made it feel intimate, somehow. Proper, solid wood tables without cloths. It gave the place a hearty, rustic atmosphere that went well with the food. It smelled great too: garlic and wine, mixed with candle smoke.
“This is really good,” I told Edward, savouring my saltimbocca and remembering too late what Mum had always said about speaking with my mouth full. I had a swig of wine to wash it down. “Sorry. Manners of a pig, as Carol would say.”
Edward smiled. “You seem really close to your sister and her son. I envy you that; I never had any siblings.”
I shrugged. “Well, Mum died when I was thirteen, so after that it was Carol who brought me up, really. She’s only three years older but honestly, you’d think
