‘Nonno!’ I call, as I open the gates to the courtyard at the front of the restaurant. It’s a sight I will never tire of, with the lemon trees in the pergola and fairy lights. I see him on the covered terrace to the side of the courtyard. A terracotta roof, on whitewashed pillars, stands over a worn terracotta-tiled floor, leading into the restaurant and the kitchen beyond. He’s holding two empty plates and talking to a couple of customers. Candles are flickering on the tables, giving the terrace an orange glow. The air smells of citrus from the lemon trees, with a hint of woodsmoke. Nonno looks up, his face suddenly full of delight. It’s just him working and the one table of customers. Very quiet.

‘Lucia!’ he calls. ‘You remember my granddaughter!’ he says excitedly, to the couple at the table, holding out a welcoming arm to me.

‘Sì, your Welsh granddaughter! Of course!’ They turn to smile at me.

‘Ciao, Lucia! We haven’t seen you for a long time. You’ve grown!’

I wonder how to take that. I’m a thirty-three-year-old woman. Do they mean I’ve put on weight?

‘Ciao, ciao.’ I smile at them both. It feels good to be speaking the language again.

‘Come here, let me see you! Come and hug Nonno!’ He turns and puts down the plates on an empty table as I run over the courtyard to the terrace, as if I’m twelve years old again. I fall into his arms, squeezing my eyes tight shut, breathing in the smell of woodsmoke from his chef’s whites.

Eventually I pull away.

‘You look tired,’ we say at the same time, taking in each other, and laugh.

‘I’m fine,’ we say, and the customers laugh with us.

‘Here, I’ve come to help. You sit down. I’ll finish up.’

He starts to protest.

‘Join us, Enzo,’ say the customers, offering him a glass of wine.

‘Well …’ Nonno looks at me, and I know he’s tempted.

‘Va bene Nonno! It’s fine. I know where everything goes, unless you’ve had a sudden changearound while I’ve been away.’

He chortles. ‘Well, it’s been a long time. Too long!’ he scolds, wagging a finger. ‘A whole year.’

‘I know, I know, but I’m here now. Siedeti! Sit down.’ I put my hand on his shoulder and push him gently into a chair.

‘But no changes.’ He smiles up at me, his eyes crinkling in his round face. His grey hair is nearly all white now.

‘Bene! Good, now stay there,’ I tell him.

‘Maybe just for a while, and a little wine,’ he concedes, and picks up the glass.

‘Er, are you allowed? Did the doctor say it was okay?’ I say, concerned.

‘Lucia, this is Italy you are in now, not Wales!’ he reminds me, as his customers pour him a glassful and congratulate him on their fabulous pizza.