Mom leaves the family behind to Perugia, Italy

I arrive at Perugia airport. I’ve plucked up the courage to leave my husband and grumpy mono-syllabic teenagers behind. It’s the first time I’ve been on holiday alone for 20 years and I’m not even sure how to use the gears on the hire car.

Perugia, curled round a hill, has many steps. Waiters entice me to look at a tourist lunch menu. I can’t face eating in a restaurant alone so I stock up with locally produced food: Ciauscolo, Lake Trasimeno beans, apricots, pecorino and saltless bread, and find a picnic spot outside the Brufani Hotel. The water from the fountain is clear and cool, the mountains breath-taking.

I stumble on the Gallleria Nazionale dell’Umbria on the 3rd floor of a municipal building. The whole trip is already made worthwhile by the hour spent there looking at many pictures of the Madonna and child, the timeless themes of love, pain, motherhood. No little child pulls my sleeve saying ‘let’s go’. No bored teenager shuffles into the shop.

The winding roads take me to my Agritourismo: Casa de Carlicchi on the Tuscany\Umbrian border. The drive is beautiful but exhausting. No-one to say ‘Are we nearly there?’.I put on a brave face and walk in. I am greeted by a firm handshake from a warm brown eyed man called Cesare and a hug from his wife Christiana. On site is a music room full of instruments and a recording studio – perfect for teenage bands.

It’s not easy getting to sleep without hearing the sound of my husband’s or child’s breathing. That night, I wake at about 4am. No-one to disturb. I stumble out of bed, push the door and find myself with a head and sky full of stars. No-one to share the wonder.

The morning brings cool mountain air and bird song. Barely awake, stretching out of bed, I take a few steps over warm stone into the pool. No children to wake-up, no school uniform to iron. A few lazy laps then out to dry in the sun, the air warming up by the minute. No proud swimmer taking her feet off the bottom for the first time. I listen to cicadas and wind in the poplars. No sound of arguing, shouting splashing. The heat and silence are heavy. I amuse myself scooping colourful beetles out of the pool. No one to look at the little insect wings. Hungry I go to the fridge. No-one has eaten my apricots. No-one to share their deliciousness.

Walking up Mt Ginezzo above Cortona, I don’t pass a soul. No-one to share the magnificent views. I left my hire car far up an unmarked track. There’s no mobile reception. I could be bitten by a snake and eaten by worms before anyone would find me here.

That evening I brave going to the village pizzeria alone. It’s too early, I’m the only one there. The pizza is delicious. ‘Inglese’, a grandmother is told when she sees me. I catch the eye of a child who stares back. I miss my husband. I miss my babies, toddlers long ago grown into teenagers. I sleep for 12 hours. I haven’t slept so well for the last 15 years, not since I had children.

The next afternoon I drive to the hill top village of Monte Santa Maria Tibernia. So many twists and turns, I’m going to challenge the girls to Mario Kart on the Wii when I get home. Maps are deceptive, it takes ages to get there and I suspect some thunder is lurking. Will I get struck by lightning before I’ve had the chance to say goodbye to my family?

I am the only tourist in town. A 17 year old boy shows me round the castle with so much pride in the historic town he wants to help keep alive. He gets a big key to unlock the church for me and talks about the miraculous healing of the sick. I can’t imagine my children or indeed most English children talking so knowledgably, confidently and enthusiastically to an adult.

Driving back I get lost. The satnav doesn’t work. I don’t recognise the roads. No calm reassuring husband. Eventually I’m on the right track. I long for my little ‘home’. Fireflies make fairy lights in the forest. A deer jumps back into the darkness and gives me a thrill. No-one welcomes me but the cats. No children to tuck up in bed. No broken toys to walk over.

Back in London my daughter tells me knowledgably confidently and enthusiastically about what she has learned on a school trip. As I listen, my head is full of fireflies and stars and thoughts of the beautiful young woman she’s become.

About the author: Josephine is a writer, barrister and mother of two teenage girls. She lives in Hackney, London.

Thank you for reading and commenting. Please enter the Independence Travel Writing competition and tell your story.