THE first time Alberto noticed it, he didn’t say anything. Just a trick of the light. Weeks later, at a barbecue, he watched his young daughter’s passage across the lawn and he saw it again. It was undeniable. Ashen-faced he nudged his mate, Silvio, and tried to sound blasé: ‘Look. Jilly. Her face. You see it, don’t you?’ Silvio fell apart. ‘Oh god, Berto! I’m so sorry. We were drunk. Shelly said she’d abort. We didn’t mean to hurt you.’ Alberto barely took it in: ‘I was thinking she looked like Danny de Vito.’ ‘The actor?’ ‘That’s the one.’ ‘Oh.’