"Who's this from?"

Jack has just come back from yet another of the band's all-nighters. They've been playing much further afield recently, making the most of the dwindling events available as September comes to an end. He points at the huge bouquet of roses from Will, which is my one and only reminder of our passionate rendezvous.

"That's from that crazy customer I told you about," I say, surprising myself at how easy it is to lie, probably due to the fact that I no longer believe that it happened at all anyway. "You remember, the weirdo who just bursts in, says something strange and goes out?" While we're talking, I'm trying to fasten the zip on my extra-snug jeans. They fitted perfectly before the summer when I last put them on, now it's a battle to get them over my thighs, let alone to fasten them.

Jack looks somewhat concerned as he clears up the glasses and dishes left strewn around the room from breakfast. He must have done something terrible the night before to make him feel guilty enough to clean up. "I'd be a bit careful about him. Those weirdos can turn violent."

"What, are you worried about me now?" I ask with disinterest.

He puts the washing up in the sink and comes back to stand close in front of me. "Yes. I'm always worried about you... gorgeous." His words fall flat, lacking in sincerity. He then goes for a well-needed shower.

I decide to change my outfit into one of the few remaining loose summer dresses I have left and head off to work. I have the shop to myself today as Ruben's away, visiting some relatives in Puglia. It's a quiet day with the majority of customers being older tourists enjoying the cooler weather and cheaper rates of autumn. The day passes peacefully, leaving me with plenty of time to daydream.

After I close up for the day, I go to pick up Simon from Alberto, they've been in the park since Simon was collected from school earlier. I meet them in the small play park situated at the foot of the old city walls, near the natural history museum. As I approach, through the ancient archway of the walls, Sissy notices me first and barks excitedly from her place in the shade of a large oak tree.

Simon jumps off the swing and runs to greet me. "Mummy!"

The other parents and grandparents glance up from their child observation duties, briefly interested by the unsociable English mother that they recognise from the school gates.

Alberto waddles over and hands me Sissy's lead and Simon's school bag. Loaded up like a donkey, I give Sissy a scruff on the back of the neck.

Zio Alberto is regarding me strangely. "Make it better." He says sharply. "Fix it." With that he ruffles Simon's hair and goes on his way.

"Papa'!"

The schoolbag is hoisted from my shoulder and I turn to find Jack, smiling and bearing a tray of fresh little cakes of all delicate, different types.

"Merenda!" He announces with a flourish. Now I know he's definately been up to no good.

Simon yells with delight and grabs Sissy's front paws, making her dance a quick jig with him in joy. We sit down on a wooden bench at the edge of the park and dig into the exquisite creations. With icing sugar powdering his cheeks, Simon is startled by a sudden boom of thunder from across the sky.

Jack looks up at the black, thick clouds as they spread above the ancient city's skyline. "There's no gig till next weekend." He says distracted, picking up another cake. "So I can take Simon to and from school this week if you like."

"Oh."

"Do you want to order a pizza tonight?"

"Okay." I must be missing something. So everything is just going to go back to normal all of a sudden?

"We'd better make a move before that storm comes in." He throws the empty cardboard tray into the bin next to the bench. "Come on kiddo, you can have a ride back home." He picks up Simon with ease and perches him onto his shoulders and we set off home. Playing happy families.

********

Everything goes steadily for the next few months. A rhythm of impartial cordiality and a resemblance of normal family life returns to the Firenze household. By Christmas, I've gained 10 kilos in weight and at the time I have no realisation of the cause of it. It has to be Jack. In hindsight I give him the blame for my ever-expanding waistline. With him home during the week and often weekends throughout that autumn and into winter, I share and consume all the wonderful fares that Italy has to offer.

Pasta with creamy sauces, cakes and cured meats, above all, wine. As Jack can't have a meal without opening at least one bottle and often two, I keep him company in the drinking. Sometimes during my lunch break, I will also receive a text message asking me to join him for lunch in one of the many cafés, his being a lunch of the liquid kind.

It's at New Year that I begin to believe that Jack has a real problem.

********

I stick the magazine photo of a young Meg Ryan onto the front of the fridge. She's laughing and kicking her feet in a sky blue swimming pool, the luxurious kind in Hollywood. Wearing a gold bikini and wide brimmed hat, this lady is going to give me my incentive to lose weight.

It's New Year's Eve and at three o'clock in the afternoon, Jack is already happily under the influence. He wanders into the kitchen to refill his whisky glass.

"Wow!" He's pleasantly surprised by the new pin up girl. "That's what you used to look like."

I smack him across the chest in fun. A sudden rush of force is thrown against my side, and I'm lying on the kitchen floor.

"No, no!" Jack's yelling at me, "I didn't mean to do that. Jesus I'm sorry, gorgeous, I didn't think I pushed you that hard."

I pick myself up, trying to piece together what just happened, my senses befuddled and blurred.

Maybe I slipped?

He helps me to a chair in the living room, all the while clutching his glass in one hand. Kneeling down in front of me he says quietly, "I'd never hurt you, gorgeous. Even if you are a bit of an oompa loompa now." He sniggers at his own joke.

Feeling stunned, I leave him in front of the t.v while I take Sissy and Simon out for some fresh air and semblance of clarity, to the park.

Did this really happen? Am I reading it wrong?

It's a cold but crystal clear day and I know that we will meet some other children for Simon to play with at this hour. Anytime between twelve and three you'll find the parks and playgrounds empty, no one breaks the unwritten rule of accepted social hours. Unless you're a tourist or a 'stranieri' like me.

Simon runs off to join the other kids on the swings, all of them wrapped up from the cold with bobble hats, scarves and gloves. I go to sit on the free side of a bench, next to two mothers with familiar faces from school. My mind still searching to piece together the actions of ten minutes ago.

There's a strange phenomenon around watching your children in public here compared to my memories of English playparks. It's the expected behaviour that parents have to explain to the whole world what, why and how they are dealing with their children. If a child pushes another there needs to be an acceptably audible reprimand along with the reasons behind it. If a child is hogging a swing too long, again the panel of witnesses deserve to be informed with the vocal punishment and rehabilitation for the wrong doing.

On the other hand though, if an unknown person is talking to one of the children from the pack, heads and ears and eyes will be pricked up immediately within the pack's security patrol.

Unfortunately I can't seem to fit in to this idea of spelling everything out for the benefit of everyone else, as I neither have the language skills nor the will to do so. Especially not right now. So, as Simon rattles the chains on the swing of a hogging companion to hurry him up and causes him to slide off, I offer my English form of justice and shout harshly.

"Simon! No. Wait."

I'm regarded by the pack with various degrees of response. Before they return to their chatter. We stay for a couple of hours in the fresh air and watch the daylight fade into dusk, while I replay the kitchen scene in my head.

Other parents are slowly leaving the park when I spot Jack stumbling under the stone archway towards us. He has a half-drunk bottle of sambucca and he's waving to Simon in an exaggerated manner.

Parents stare and pull their children quickly out of the danger zone, glancing in sympathy in my direction.

"Whey, hey, Simona Simina!" He yells as he picks up his son to twirl him round. Tragically, as he's twirling he slips on the gravel pathway and ends up sprawled across the grass, shattering his bottle and sending Simon flying.

"Oh my God, Simon!" I rush to gather him up and check he's not injured. No damage, just green stained trousers. I hug him close and kiss the curls on his head. Simon smiles up at me and glances at his father doubtfully.

"Is papa' okay?"

The confusion on his face is breaking my heart. "Yes, yes, it's all okay, sweetheart. Why don't you go and get Sissy for me while I help papa'."

My pulse is thumping as I reach the inert body of my husband. He's passed out - or knocked out - face down in the damp grass. I call Zio Alberto on the phone and he arrives to save the day.

Alberto helps me to get Jack home and put him to bed, leaving a bucket beside him in case. I invite Alberto to stay for dinner, the least I can do, and we discuss what's to be done as we pick over pasta and salad. Simon's watching t.v and munching away, no worse for his experience. Thank goodness. Alberto however, is very concerned.

"He has to go to a doctor."

"I think a psychologist would be more helpful at this stage, Alberto."

"No, I know, but if you get him to talk to the doctor, then they will put him over to someone else to help him, yes?"

"If I can persuade him that is."

"He must not continue this way. You have to take him. I will come too, okay?"

"Okay." I've managed to avoid his gaze until now, fearing that he'll place the bame on me for Jack's decline. I should have known better. Through everything, he's only had my best interests at heart. "Thank you, Alberto."

"Call me Zio, yes?"

Later, leaving Jack to sleep it off, we wrap up once more and go to watch the fireworks in Piazza Vecchia, in an attempt to create one happy memory of this day for Simon to look back on.

New Year's Eve is a monumental event for Italy, it has an expectant air of wonder, fireworks banging and showering the night sky for as far as the eye can see.

Sissy is of course not a fan, and currently hiding under Simon's bed.

As the bells of the church, cathedral and bell tower simultaneously chime in the New Year, we ooh and aah over the fantastically loud and plentiful displays. Sipping warm mulled wine and dipping little, brittle biscuits of almonds in to soften them.

"Time for lentils and pig foot! The best no?" Alberto rubs his hands in glee at the thought of this ritual celebration meal.

"Good grief." I offer my English opinion on the matter, "How can you possibly eat it at this time of night?"

I return home after I get tired of cheerful salutes and wishes of good luck, carrying my sleeping boy up to bed. After checking that Jack's still breathing and Sissy hasn't messed herself, I open up the balcony door and sit down with the final far-off echoes of fireworks and my little furry friend for company.

I call my mother on the phone.

"Hello?" Her sleepy voice answer, "Jilly?"

"Mum..."I start to cry. The pent up tension finally allowed to be shown. "Happy New Year."

"Not yet, not here it's not, what's the matter, you sound upset?"

We talk for a very long time, going over everything unsaid before of the last year's events. I feel relieved and as if a giant empty vacuum has been taken from my insides.

********

For the next six months, we pass our time in and out of various health authorities, Jack finally admitting his reliance on alcohol and even cutting all ties to the band members who represent his past existence. It's not always pretty. Some relapses and angry reproaches from the both of us are expressed. It somehow melds us together to form a new partnership, to know that he needs me as much as I want to do him.

The summer loses its gripping, sweaty fingers on Città Alta and we're once again living in the ochre and balmy, Italian autumn which I love.

After throwing out and giving away all our collections of wine and liquor, I begin to fit better not only into my clothes but also my marriage. Jack has begun to resemble the young man I met all those years ago in the remote Scottish hotel. We walk long distances together often, much to Sissy's delight, sharing the current battle with honesty and on Jack's part, no small amount of bravery. My admiration for his brutal honesty towards the bottle gives me hope for the future.

********

It's Simon's first day of the Second year at maternity and Ruben's allowed me to close up the shop early for the rest of the afternoon, so that I can spend it with Simon and Jack in the park together. Ruben understands what we're going through, and he's been nothing but supportive. He's turned into a great friend.

I'm putting on my jacket and checking my messages when the door chime rings for a last-minute customer.

It's James Bond's crazy double, and this time he's singing.

"I was born... under a wandering.. star..."

For all his handsome craziness I have to admit that this guy can sing. As he turns to leave the shop he continues to sing in a deep baritone,

"A wanderin'..... wanderin'..." He stops, turns to face me and winks, then finishes his song with a rich, drawn out, ".... Staaarrrr!"