"Oh my God, this is the life." I smile happily at Jack. The sun is settling in a blaze of tangerine glory as we sit in our vantage point overlooking the Tuscan hillside. Jack stretches out his long legs and I swear I see him curl his flip-flopped toes in bliss.
"Yeah, it's definitely better than I remember."

I'm curious to get to the bottom of Jack's strange relationship with his parents and this evening is the perfect opportunity to prise him open.

Simon is content and under the watchful eye of his grandparents, constantly supplied with entertainment. He's in the kitchen of their single-storey villa, being sang to by an equally content Matteo. Rosanna bounces her grandson on her knee, pretending to drop him to the side every now and then with an exclamation of 'oopla!', making him giggle. It's a sweet sound that I'm beginning to enjoy more now, the fog of past days has lifted for the moment.

The ride to the small town in the coastal area of Maremma, was my first experience of Italy. From the moment the hot air stuffed itself down my throat as we disembarked the airplane, I felt like a nodding dog on the parcel shelf of a car, responding with gestures rather than words. My ability to express myself now lost in non-translation.

Matteo met us with his large, red citroen at the far end of the carpark. Jack explained later that his dad would avoid having to pay for the parking that way. Firstly, Matteo bent over Simon's pushchair and pinched his cheeks while bubbling ecstatic greetings to his six-month-old grandchild. He then stayed fairly quiet, mumbling in a low volume to Jack in the passenger seat beside him, as he took us to the villa.

I looked out from the back of the car, resting my hands on Simon's carseat, watching this new landscape unfold before me. The old, principle road had multiple potholes and bumps, banging us around at regular intervals. It came as strange to me, to be on the other side of the carriage way, and sent my heart racing anytime Matteo pulled out from a junction, onto the 'wrong' side.

Trees shaped like parasols lined the street, whizzing by. The airconditioning fought its hardest to keep us cool, but failed miserably. Matteo suddenly pointed out the strip of blue to the right of us over the rolling fields. A blue of one subtle shade darker than the clear sky. His voice filled with pleasure when he told us, "Il mare."

As we came off the roller-coaster road and drove through the small town centre, I had already fallen in love. Tuscany showed its best face to me, the intoxicating scents of pine trees and sea air flooded the car as we opened the windows. Coming down an even bumpier single lane, we passed a handful of low, stretched out properties, entrapped within wide gardens, edged with bushes and trees. The grass looked sparse and brown, bushes and trees scorched a discoloured dark green by the August sun.

Rosanna and Matteo live in the third villa to the right. I use the word villa with a pinch of salt, it's more like a wide bungalow than the classic idea of a villa. Built by his own hands in the seventies, this property is Matteo's pride and joy. The front garden is well-kept and a plastic sheet roof keeps the sun off the car at the end of the short driveway, to the the left of the building. The entrance is raised from the ground by a series of stone steps and a narrow terrace welcomes you to the plain, bank-safe thick front door.

Inside is surprisingly large and spacious. Through the front door to the left is a kitchen of hospital standard cleanliness with a square wooden table in the centre of the room. To the right there's a small living room which doubles as our bedroom for the stay. To the back of the property there's a further two bedrooms and bathroom with an even larger living area stretching across the back of the villa. From this room you can open the back door, as long as you watch out for an attack from the heavy beaded fly curtain that protects the entrance, and through this door you enter another world.

That's where we are this evening. Sat at the foot of a sloping stage to the most magnificent show of my life. Edges of tall shrubbery keep the back garden secluded but its small circumference is not what grabs your attention.
The view is breathtaking.
A collection of mismatched deck chairs face out over the hillside, ending in the culmination of sea and triangular rising mini-mountains. The sea air flowing up is softly warm and infinitely fresher than further inland.
Paradise.

"Jack," I whisper, not wishing to break the spell I'm under, "What on earth made you ever want to leave this place?"

Flipping a top of a beer, Jack shrugged, sitting himself up straighter in his plastic patio chair. "We didn't see eye to eye. Me and dad."

"To leave for another country at seventeen is a pretty hard thing to do. You never told me why?"

Jack clears his throat, shuffles and keeps his eyes on nature's sundown spectacle. "It's not something I'm proud of. Dad didn't want me to leave high school after two years but it was just so boring."

"The tourism school?"

"Yeah. I wanted to go to art school but they decided for me." He downs a long swig of beer, takes a breath then continues, "I didn't find a job and I ended up having a big fight with Dad about being a lazy, useless bugger. So I packed my bags and left."

"Ah." That explained a lot, now we're starting to get somewhere.

Rosanna calls from the living room, before I can ask anything else. "Giacomo! Sono arrivati Nonnina e Alberto."

I so love hearing his real name, it makes me feel much closer to him. A bridge to his missing past, which I know little about.

We hear a commotion of loud voices and yapping dog cascade through the villa and move towards our peaceful oasis.

Matteo pokes his head through the multi-coloured fly screen. "Oh, Giacomo, svegliati..."

We force ourselves up to greet the invaders. The first one through to the garden is the culprit of the yapping. Sissy.
This little brown and white hairy effort of a chihuahua charges out like a lion then stands stock still to rent out a rage of yipping and yapping at finding us there.

A large woman in her late eighties bursts through the fly curtain, rattling the beads frantically. She's wearing a long blue summer dress with bright yellow flip flops. She has a broad severe face with enormous oval sunglasses which are trimmed in sparkling silver stars. For a minute I'm convinced I'm seeing the appearance of a pantomime Elton John as she raises her hands to the sky, flapping the saggy skin on her underarms.

"Giacomo!"

Her voice echoes around the garden and if there had been snow we would surely be under an avalanche by now. Great Aunt Maria is spectacular. Jack is obviously her favourite nephew and she can't get enough of kissing and hugging him for a few minutes. She has a very tasteful wig of cropped auburn hair which unfortunately clashes with her skintone and visible concealer lines around the edges of her face.

Finally satisfied with her greetings, Nonnina turns her attention to me.

That dog is still yapping.

"Ah, Jilly!"

She looks me up and down critically, pushes at the chihuahua to be quiet with a large flip flop and grasps me in both hands. I can feel my flesh being crushed by her astoundingly strong grip. Kisses on both cheeks, she looks at me piercingly, then a third kiss for good measure. Behind her I see my husband laughing and nodding with pleasure at the production of a third kiss, a great honour as part of the family he informs me later.

Nonnina is ushered into the villa by her nephew Matteo, and her son, Zio Alberto comes to greet us. He smiles at me and ignores Jack as he pulls a chair to sit in while dragging me by the hand to sit in the one next to him.

The dog is still yapping.

"Jilly, Jilly, come sit, tell me all about little Simon."

Jack goes to collect some more beers for us all.

"Your mother is okay? Your nonna?"

"Yes, thanks and you?"

Alberto brushes away my enquiry. "All good. You and Jack? He is not drinking so much now I hear?" Nearly everything Alberto says is in the form of a question.

Jack comes back to give refreshments. He pulls another chair round to join our semi-circle and grins at Alberto.

The dog is still yapping.

"All good, Zio." He says. "I haven't bashed her head in and buried her in the back yard yet."

Smiling and waving his hands with the beer bottle spilling and frothing over, Alberto talks about the adventurous drive down he's had with Great Aunt Maria. All the way from Bergamo in Lombardy to Tuscany. We listen and laugh along, sipping beer from the bottle and relaxing for the second time in a very long time.

The dog is still yapping.

From inside the house Simon starts to cry and soon enough, Rosanna brings out my child who is over-stimulated and over-tired. I have no choice but to say my good nights to Alberto and Rosanna, holding my arms out to collect Simon. I have completely forgotten about the noisy little dog.

Yip! It squeals in a high pitch as I unceremoniously step on its foot, then it turns and runs off to find its owner, Nonnina. I hear laughter from everyone as the great lady remonstrates the poor noisy pooch with words I don't understand, but a tone that's universal.

When Jack crawls into bed at about one in the morning, he recounts the event. "She took one look at it, picked it up and said if it wasn't such a little brown turd, then people wouldn't tread on it all the time."

The day after I wake up late. Jack has gone to take his mum to the supermarket and Matteo is busy in the garden as usual. Alberto already has Simon under control in the kitchen and I see that he's been bathed by Rosanna and made comfortable in every way. As much as I really appreciate the help with my wayward baby, I'm beginning to feel a bit redundant in my one and only vocation in life.

Peeling and squashing grapes on a spoon, Alberto is feeding Simon minute pieces of the fruit.
"Good for the gums." He explains as I watch tentatively. "Do you want to go to the street market with Nonnina this morning?"

I guess I do, I have nothing else to do after all. "Okay. What about Simon? Is it easy to get a pushchair around?"

Alberto shakes his head. "No, no, you leave little Simone with me."

I let the name pass. Why worry. I'm getting the sensation that I'm under surveillance. I sit down at the table for breakfast. Looking towards the door, I see the culprit.

Sissy.

The little fluffy dog is sitting down in the middle of the doorway, staring me square in the eyes. It starts to growl.

"Oh, she likes you, no?" Alberto laughs.

The snarling little hair ball is unceremoniously brushed out of the way as Nonnina breezes in. She's got a different pair of flip flops on and a fresh pink summer dress clinging to her ample frame. She nods at me then bustles around pinching Simon's cheeks and talking loudly to her son. I have no idea what they are saying. Every now and again one or the other looks my way as they chat. I'm like a stranger in a strange land. Eventually, Nonnina says in the dialect of Bergamo,
"Inde'm!"
And we head out to find the market.

As I go to close the front door behind us, Sissy pads arrogantly into the hallway and sits glaring at me. She starts to growl so I slam the door in her face. The last thing I need is this little effort telling me off.

After a tiring two hours of soaking in the aroma of beautiful fruits and scrumptious vegetables in the market, my ears are ringing from Nonnina's enthusiastic and animated haggling with everyone we deal with. Their raised voices shock me with the verocity that turns so quickly to laughter. I'm left in a daze, the strong citrus of the lemons and sweetness of the olives blanket my nose.
As we make it back to the villa, coming to the garden gate, I undo the rusty metal catch holding it open gallantly for my shopping guru to pass through.

Sissy comes flying from a corner in the garden to welcome back her mistress. Nonnina scoops the little fluff ball up and showers her with kisses. The dog is panting, it seems to be grinning at me.

I go into our bedroom slash living room and find out the reason for the hairy cretin's happiness. One shoe from my only expensive designer pair is lying traumatised in the middle of the tiled floor. A puddle of yellow urine is slowly seeping out from the beautiful leather peep-toe hole.

Sissy.