Later on, after long discussions with first Ruben - on the phone and then Jack, I get the call from Mum at the hospital. Once she's updated me on the situation she passes me to Gran.

"Hello, Gran. What have you been up to?" My lip quivers. "Have you been at the gin again?"

I hear a soft, rasping snigger of laughter.

"No, no, Jilly I tripped over that great big bath-mat your mother insists on using..."

I listen as she attempts to muffle the phone while telling her daughter off.

"...I don't know how many times I've told you it's dangerous!" She then turns her attention back to me. "But don't you worry, Jilly, it'll take more than that to finish this tough, old bird off."

When we've finished the phone call, Mum sends me a photo of the two of them, sitting side by side together, Gran in the hospital bed and Mum perched beside her.

It's a million miles away.

Gran's face is black and blue, her jaw bone swollen and her left eye half closed. She looks so old and grey. Mum is neat and has a new, shorter haircut, her strained fake-smile the only give away to what she must be going through.

I talk to Jack that night when he comes back from his first day at work - the bar having closed at a reasonable ten pm. We go through the shared sensation of helplessness we have at now being more than half a day away from our families. His parents are also at least a five hour drive from here. He agrees that it's time to plan a visit to both sets in the near future. Before we receive any other upsetting phone calls.

In the morning, as I'm opening up the shop for Ruben, I get another call. It's Mum again, Gran's had a stroke sometime during the night and has lost the movement of one side of her face. She's oddly calm concidering her reaction to Dad's death before, but that does nothing to make me feel better about it. What would the next phone call bring? As I finish the call, the image of the hospital bed photo imprints on my brain.

Ruben arrives an hour later, bringing croissants with breasts drawn in icing across them. I look at the pastries, then at Ruben and burst into tears.

"Oh, good grief, Jill." He's probably exasperated by my emotional display. "Get yourself over there to them. I can manage the shop. Go on, you have to, you'll never forgive yourself. I'm going to let you into a little secret..." He pulls out the stool from under the counter and guides me by the arm to sit down.

"My Dad used to call me on a Friday night. Every Friday night, without fail, the moment I turned off the lights and was ready to close up, guaranteed. I'd explained it to him time and time again, to call me after eight pm, then I'd have more time to talk, but no, he kept doing it. It wound me up so much, that I stopped answering. Two weeks of ignoring his phone calls and I finally got one from his next-door neighbour, Signora Vincetti, on a Monday morning. She'd been calling for two weeks..." Ruben's mouth began to tremble and I held out a hand to steady his arm.

"For two weeks she'd been trying to tell me that he'd been taken to hospital with pneumonia and that he'd passed away ten days later. From his hospital bed, he'd insisted that she had to call me at seven-thirty on a Friday, or I wouldn't answer the phone."

Ruben placed his hand over mine, smiling through his tears as they slipped free, his voice came out husky and broken. "You see? This is the important stuff in life. You have to be there."

*****

Jack books me on a flight for the next morning. It's disgracefully early and Alberto yawns while he helps me take the carry-on trolley out of the boot of his car.

The airport at Orio al Serio, Bergamo, is uneasily quiet, the brooding darkness of the still night sky infiltrated by sneaky terracotta daylight.

I thank Zio sincerely and go to join the security line, my heart banging away with the thrill of the journey and the anticipation of being with my family again.

It's not long before I'm settled in my seat aboard the jam-packed flight to Manchester - Leeds Airport being too expensive an option and this the first available flight out. I have an aisle seat and am forced to move twice to allow other passengers into the adjacent seats. A man - squashing his far too-large luggage into the locker of the row next to me, stumbles back banging my funny bone with his rock-hard computer bag. The resulting constant ache accompanies me all the way to England.

********

Harry the Aviator is waiting on the other side, in the arrivals area. He holds up his hand, cool, calm and collected as always. Dark, mirrored glasses reflecting the electric lights. Of course, it's raining.

The drive to York takes us about two hours, traffic heavy as the workday commuters slave to the rhythm of life. Windscreen wipers click and squeak across the screen as Harry skips through the radio channels, whilst asking me numerous questions about my new life. I don't take in much of the ride but am struck by how green everything looks.

We get to the house and Mum opens the front door, waving us in out of the rain before we even step out of the car. She's dressed in a heavy, grey trench coat already prepared to leave for the hospital.

"Jilly, at last! Come in, come in."

Once inside, Harry wanders into the kitchen and prepares us all a mug of tea. He mutters something about 'tears and soppy stuff'. I wrap Mum in my arms, holding her close, breathing in her perfume. We cry together, happy and sad. Neither of us say a word, but the warmth and love inside me spills out in gushing spurts. It's so good to be with her again.

As we sit down in the living room, I venture to whisper, "Harry seems very much at home, is there a particular reason for that?"

Mum shakes her head, wiping her tears. "I'd be lost without him."

After tea and chatter about Simon and a brief recount of the christening, we pile back into Harry's volvo and off to see Gran.

Once we get there we say our thanks and goodbyes to the Aviator, then walk briskly to the ward. My throat is dry and tight, my nerves on edge with the time it's taken me to get to see her again.

When we get to the nurse's desk for Gran's section, a tall, serious Indian doctor greets us. She tells us all the information we need and informs us that a check is to be made on the situation back at the house, to make sure that it will be suitable for Gran's care, when she returns. As she's talking, her face softens along with her voice. We leave the doctor and find Gran fast asleep in her bed.

Wrapped up in crisp white sheets and a warm cotton blanket. She reminds me of a cocoon with a shock of wispy black threads poking loosely out of the top end. We don't wake her, instead we pull out two visitors chairs and sit further towards the foot of the bed, turned to each other and half facing away from her so as not to disturb her sleep.

Mum puts her hands on my knees.

"How is everything with Jack?" She makes eye contact, tilting her head to one side.

"Fine." I reply honestly, "It's been a lot better since Christmas."

The fact that we had ended up having raucous, hot sex, up against the kitchen door on Christmas eve, was something I was not willing to add to the conversation.

"If you're stuck about how to spice things up again, you should leave Simon with Alberto and have a dirty weekend away together!" She winks at me in conspiracy. "It always did wonders for me and your father."

"Thanks, Mum. That's another image I have to erase from my memory."

"Cheeky."

Mum looks round to check on sleeping beauty. Then grips my hands tighter and stares intensely in my eyes. "Is there something you're not telling me, Jilly?"

She's perceptive. I could never keep many secrets from her supernatural intuition.

"Yes."

"And?"

"I think I'm pregnant."

Mum sits back upright in her chair, proud of her discovery. "I knew it!"

Changing the subject quickly, because I'm not entirely convinced on the matter myself, I say, "Do you think you can cope with Gran at home?"

Mum moves her head to the side and as if confering with herself a moment before answering. "Yes, yes, I think so. There's always Harry around to help."

"Ah! Just the subject I've been dying to ask about. So you and Harry are a thing now, ey?" I tease.

"No." Mum is insistent.

"Come off it, Mum, he's always at your place."

Mum shakes her head in denial but I'm convinced there's something going on. "You can't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind about why he's always hanging around?"

"No, no, it's not possible..."

"Why not?"

"Because, because, your Dad...."

Oh dear, it must be some old promise that Mum and Dad had made between them about future lovers I suppose. "Yes?"

"Your Dad said..."

At this exact point Gran decides to wake up. From her direction I hear her shaky, weakened voice finish Mum's sentence for her. "Because your Dad said Harry is gay, dear."