Simon storms out of the school door and throws his school back pack at my feet.

"I want to go to church!"

I beg apologies from the yummy mummy I'm talking to, in my tarzan-type way, my curiosity pricked by his outburst.

"What made you say that?"

Simon pouts for a while, before kneeling down to give his usual over-enthusiastic welcome to Sissy.

"'Cause they all go to play games and football at the 'oratorio', and Marco and Cristian are going there now!" To add emphasis to this injustice he cries, "Why can't I go there too?"

I hold up my hands in mock surrender, I'd honestly never considered the question of religion before this time, as it was something that Jack and I had never been a part of. Well, Jack said that he had been dragged kicking and screaming to church for a period during his childhood and had been forced to go through the first communion ceremony. Then, being allowed to make his own decision, he'd chosen not to pursue the religious path. It was something I guess we had overlooked in Simon's upbringing.

"I suppose I can talk to papa' about it. If you really want to?"

Simon nodded, reasonably satisfied for the moment. I, however did not look forward to the coming conversation. I'd always had good memories of Christmas carols and Harvest festivals in our local Anglican church. It wasn't a case of having religion rammed down my throat, it had been a part of my up-bringing, connected to warm and fuzzy feelings of childish anticipation. How would I convince Jack to see it the same way?

********

Whatever I'd said, I did manage to change his mind. And so, here we are at Simon's baptism. It's been a brisk, breezy morning with bouts of mad March rain playing hide and seek with us on the way to the church in Piazza Vecchia, constantly threatening to ruin the aspect of our party's smart Sunday best.

Simon looks very cute in his new white shirt and black trousers, his shoes almost as shiny as his slicked down new haircut. He grins and waves to his friends as we pass up the church, with its rows of antique carved pews and further back, modern chairs set in lines. It's a full house, which causes me to wonder if maybe the locals are curious to get a glimpse at the miracle of the heathen English family turning to the light.

It's a large echoing building, very old, very beautiful, the paintings and golden highlights of the statues and carvings are alien to my memories of the bare, solemn and draughty church near my mum's house. Yet it has that same feeling of belonging, I can sense it as my small family and Alberto gather at the font with the priest.

The water and rites are passed over Simons forehead, when suddenly I'm aware that there is nobody here from my own family. My mother would be crying by now and Gran would probably be sucking on cough-sweets, offering them around the congregation. The revelation leaves a sour taste in my mouth. If only they'd been able to come over, they would have loved today. The timing of Gran's cataract operation was plain bad luck, they would never have missed this, had I been in the U.K.

Sighing, I glance around the front rows, my eyes are met by a grinning Ruben. He flicks me a wink, and I breathe easier.

After the ceremony we trundle through the streets back down to Paola's café. She has generously offered the premises and a small buffet for the celebration at a very low price.

She smiles at me and takes off her stylish black and white hat as she makes her way behind the counter for the last minute adjustments. Everytime I see her it sends me back to thinking about Will. Would she drop me in it one day by letting a careless comment slip? I doubted it. During Jack's absences, she'd offered me nothing but support.

Lost in thought, I jump as Jack slides up beside me, puting his arm around my waist as we graciously accept gifts galore from our small collection of parents and friends gathered in the bar.

The priest, a friendly man, seems way too young to be in his chosen profession. He's chatting in earnest with a newly married couple. Simon runs away from us, keen to share his head-wetting stories with his friends.

The rain has found us once more and batters noisily against the windows, rattling the door in its frame.

Ruben hustles through the group to give me and Jack two flute glasses of what looks like, and am relieved to see, is fizzy water. Smiling in a restrained way, he wishes us the best.

"Don't think you're getting away with it, Ruby," I joke with him. "just because Alberto is Godfather, you'll have to be his second Godparent when he gets confirmed, you know?"

Leaning in close to me he whispers, "That's not going to happen, Jill."

I must look upset and confused because he goes on to explain, "I'm not Godparent material according to the church, if you know what I mean." He then whisks away to stock up on the spread of focaccia, meats and olives at the bar.

Paola is coming over, wiping her hands on a cloth, she's an extremely elegant fake redhead, short and slender, with a smile permanently attached to her sun-worn but nontheless attractive face.

"Jack..? " She asks. "How would you like to come and help me out in the bar? Mother is far too tired these days and I could do with an extra pair of hands. What do you say?"

Of course, this is my version of the conversation as the local dialect passes through my meagre translation skills with probably more than one mistake, as usual.

Jack looks to me for an answer. I give him what I hope to be an encouraging smile. This could be what he needs to gather his confidence after all the hard, self-depreciating he's sunk into during his addiction battle.

"Okay. Yes, thank you Paola." He's grinning like a Cheshire cat. "When do I start?"

********

Two days later I get a phone call.

"Jilly?"

It's Mum. "Have you got time to talk?"

Being my day off, I'm lounging in my pyjamas, cup of coffee in hand and music keeping me and Sissy company while we enjoy having the apartment to ourselves for the day.

"Sure. What's up, Mum?"

A hesitation on the line then, "It's Gran."

I shuffle on the sofa, immediately alert.

"She's had a bit of an accident. She's not been feeling well recently, as you know, and I found her on the bathroom floor yesterday morning."

"Oh no..." Is this going where I think it is?

Oh my God, is she dead?

"She's fractured her wrist and cracked a rib, but apart from that and some bruising to her face, she's doing okay."

I exahaled a huge lung full of air. "Can I speak to her?"

"No. She's still in the hospital for tonight, but they say she can come home tomorrow. I'll give you a ring this afternoon when I go to see her, Harry's taking me, then you can have a word with her, okay?"

When I hang up the phone, my hands are shaking. Wiping the tears from my cheeks, Sissy ambles over to me, jumps up on the sofa, and buries her nose in my lap. I stroke her softly, then bring her into a tight embrace, my heart wishing it could be my Gran instead.