by M J Dees
Teresa had great fun scribbling all over her book, stamping on it, dropping it from a great height, cutting pieces out of the pages, writing bad words, drawing dirty pictures. She found the experience very liberating. She felt herself feeling creative, something she hadn’t felt for a very long time. Not since she had sat sound with Annabel and created messy arts and crafts. She recalled one occasion on which she had become angry with Annabel for making a mess, and now the memory filled her with guilt.
During Friday’s journey to work, the usual standing in public transport, she got a seat on the metro a few stops from her destination and when she sat down her legs tingled with relief.
‘I must do some exercise,’ she thought and vowed to join Mariana and the other girls to play volleyball on Wednesday.
As she dismissed the children, the grey clouds that had been lingering all day decided they’d had enough and emptied their contents over the school. Teresa had no appetite for attempting the walk to the metro station, but she did not relish the prospect of hanging around at the school until the rains stopped. She grabbed her umbrella and headed for the exit. In Teresa’s experience, the rain in São Paulo reached a degree of intensity which rendered the use of an umbrella pointless as the huge drops of water would bounce off the ground with such force and rapidity that, even if the umbrella user’s head remained dry, the rest of their body would not. In Teresa’s opinion, the rain was not falling with such ferocity, and she was able to make her way to the metro station in a state of relative dryness. The other reason she wanted to leave the school on time was that at quarter to four, the hour she was expected to work until, there were fewer people on the metro and buses than, say, six o’clock when people filled the platforms and carriages. Even at this time the subway was busy, and there were long queues for the bus but two hours later and the trains were like tins of sardines and getting a seat on a bus would involve joining another queue for the second bus to arrive. Teresa was able to arrive early enough at Sacoma bus station to get a seat on the quarter to five bus, although, by the second bus stop after the station all the seats were full and the aisle was filling. Teresa gave a tentative glance up at the standing passengers in case any of them were old, disabled or pregnant. A couple of the passengers were borderline old, so she kept her head down and pretended to be asleep.
At home, as she waited for her cup of tea to cool down, she played with the television remote, and the screen burst into life. Teresa screamed with elation at the opening credits of the news on Globo. William Bonner, the anchor, was as dashing as usual, his greying hair adding a touch of class to his handsome features. Sometimes Teresa enjoyed watching him read the news so much that she could lose track of the subject of the news story.
Today, however, knowing that she was going to be a political activist on Sunday, she tried to pay less attention to Bonner’s bright smile and more to the content of the reports which interrupted her enjoyment of him.
As usual, the news revolved around the Petrobras scandal in which over 50 politicians, including an ex-president, were being investigated for receiving money from the national oil company. The water shortage came next with floods on the border with Peru coming in third.
There had been pro-Government protests in the afternoon, and Facebook was full of stories about how the incumbent Workers Party had paid protesters R$35 and a ham and cheese sandwich to attend. Teresa had wondered how anyone who worked would take their Friday off to go and support Dilma. There was one story about an immigrant from Guinea who didn’t speak Portuguese, had no idea why he was there but had attended for the money and the sandwich.
Imagining it would be a long weekend and already bored of the news. It had been a while since Teresa had had a drink because of the antibiotics Dr Smith had prescribed her, and she had to use all her strength not to make herself a large gin and tonic as a nightcap. Instead, she turned the television off, hoping it would turn on again tomorrow, and called the cats to follow her to bed.
On Saturday, Teresa was up early. The man who was repairing the fridge was due to arrive at 8 am and the person to look at the roof at 9 am. The cats had already woken her up at 6 am. The cats had no idea there was such a thing as a weekend and would ignore it even if they did. She made herself coffee in the kitchen which was now full of fruit flies hovering over the dirty dishes again.
Teresa sat in front of the TV which had decided to stop working again. Now that she had no car, she had no means of getting the TV to the repair shop. Her phone rang. She answered it.
“Sorry did I wake you,” asked Mariana.
“No, that’s OK. I was already awake.” this was a kind of a lie because even though Teresa had fed the cats and made coffee, she didn’t feel ready to classify herself as awake just yet.
“Good,” Mariana continued. “A few of us are getting together later at House of Europe if you want to come along. It’s an Italian place in Jardims. If you want to come, I’ll text you the details.”
Teresa knew she didn’t have the money to be going to Italian restaurants in Jardims, but she thought that maybe if she was careful that she might be able to squeeze it on her credit card.
She waited all morning, and part of the afternoon but neither the fridge nor the roof repairers appeared. After two angry phone calls to unsympathetic telephonists unable to promise more than an uncertain appointment the following week.
She felt something moving on her leg, looked down and saw a tiny black dot. She grabbed it and squeezed it between her thumb and index finger. Examining the, now dead, black dot she realised, to her horror, that the black dot was a flea. She looked at Oliver and Ramsey who were both scratching. How much would it cost to rid her two kittens of fleas? She could do without yet another expense.
Teresa decided she would cut her losses and go for a meal with Mariana. She took the last of her antibiotics and promised herself a large glass of wine as soon as she arrived at the restaurant.
When she arrived at the House of Europe, Mariana was already there with some of her friends. She went around the table and introduced her. There was a guy with a nice smile whom Teresa was convinced gay, a young looking boy who gave Teresa the creeps with his ‘Hello darling don’t you think I’m the one you’ve been waiting for all your life ‘ smile. There was a girl who was very smiley but appeared a little possessive over the man who gave Teresa the creeps and another girl who seemed indifferent to her. Mariana told her all their names, but Teresa didn’t remember any of them a moment later, because she had a terrible memory for names, but also because of the final guest. He had his back to her at first, but Teresa knew something was strange by the huge grin on Mariana’s face as she began the introduction.
“And this…” She began. “Is…”
Teresa missed the rest of the sentence because at that moment the man turned around and she found the doctor staring back at her.
“Aha, I see the bruising is coming down,” he said to Teresa’s open-mouthed face.
“You…” Teresa faltered. “I can’t believe you came.”
“Isn’t it fantastic,” said Mariana throwing her arms around the doctor whom Teresa perceived to be a little uncomfortable with the physical contact.
“I pride myself on the aftercare I offer my patients,” he said at last after Mariana released her embrace.
“And he’s coming to the protest with us tomorrow,” Mariana announced.
The doctor raised his eyebrows as if to acknowledge that what Mariana was telling her was true.
“Where are you staying?” asked Teresa.
“With a friend.”
The waiter arrived and asked Teresa if she would like something to drink. Teresa said she would like to look at the menu. This waiter exhibited an expression of deep dissatisfaction but did a half pirouette and fetched the menu anyway. Teresa scanned through the list of drinks on the menu. Bottles of wine were R$92.
“What are you drinking?” She asked Mariana who had returned to trying to engage the doctor in con
versation.
“We’re on the wine,” she said pointing towards a bottle of wine in an ice bucket which Teresa noticed was almost empty. “You’re welcome to join us.”
Teresa knew that starting to drink R$92 bottles of wine would be a bad move, but she did fancy wine.
“Shall I bring Madam another glass?” the waiter asked in a tone which suggested he was wasting his life with this bunch of losers who couldn’t decide what they wanted to drink.
Teresa nodded.
The waiter brought another glass for Teresa and emptied the remains of the bottle into it.
“Another?” he asked.
Teresa nodded. She sat watching the conversations which went on around her. Mariana was deep in conversation with the doctor who kept glancing over at Teresa. Mariana’s other friends were deep in conversation with each other. Teresa sipped her wine and smiled at anyone who looked at her, which, most of the time, was the doctor.
“What do you think Teresa?” the doctor said leaning over the table towards her, much to the annoyance of Mariana. “Mariana here was arguing that Brazil was better off under the military dictatorship and that we might benefit from military intervention. What do you think?”
Teresa glanced at Mariana who wasn’t happy about more people joining her conversation.
“Well, I don’t think going back to a system where people tell you what music to listen to is a good thing,” Teresa said at last.
“Good point well made.” said the doctor, receiving a fiery look from Mariana.
“Shall we order?” announced Mariana, changing the subject.
“Good idea.” said the doctor who requested a menu from the waiter who, outraged at being disturbed, nevertheless delivered a pile of menus.
Teresa scanned the range of dishes which seemed quite pricey, so she selected the cheapest main dish which sounded edible.
“What are you going to have?” the doctor asked her.
She looked back at the menu and then spotted pasta with mushrooms which was a little more expensive than the one on which she had settled.
“Do you know? I think I’m going to have the Fettucini with mushrooms. It’s not everywhere you see mushrooms, is it?” As soon as she had spoken, Teresa got a distinct impression that although the restaurants she frequented did not serve mushrooms, the restaurants Mariana and the doctor were accustomed to, did.
“A wise choice,” commented the doctor. “I think I’ll have that too.” Another fierce stare from Mariana.
Teresa wasn’t sure what to make of all this. What was he doing stalking her food choices and antagonising Mariana by focusing his attention on her? Teresa felt nervous and downed the rest of her wine. No sooner had she rested it back on the table than the doctor was refilling it. Teresa became even more nervous, but she smiled a thank you past Mariana’s glass which was being held out for a top up.
“What team do you support Teresa?” The doctor asked.
“Well my father was obsessed with Santos, so that pretty much made the whole family Santistas, but I don’t follow football I’m afraid.”
“No kidding,” exclaimed the doctor. “I’m a fish too.”
‘Oh no.” thought Teresa. Mariana supports São Paulo. At that moment, Mariana was busy discussing the benefits of prawns with her friend, so Teresa just smiled again.
“Are you always this quiet?” The doctor was leaning over the table towards her. This caught the attention of Mariana who abandoned the prawns discussion to defend her territory.
“Right. Have we all decided?” She asked in her best schoolmistress voice.
Teresa nodded like a naughty schoolgirl. The doctor just smiled.
For the rest of the meal, Mariana ensured she monopolised the doctor. Teresa had a brief chat with some of Mariana’s other friends but as neither she nor they were interested in maintaining the conversations they withered and died. Instead, Teresa focused on drinking her wine, which always seemed to be being topped up, and by the time the reluctant waiter brought the dessert menus Teresa was already more than a little tipsy.
The dessert menu offered a conundrum. Tiramisu or chocolate browny?
“Have you chosen a dessert?” The doctor asked while Mariana was distracted.
Teresa confessed her dilemma.
“Well why don’t you order the tiramisu, I’ll order the chocolate browny, and we can have half and half each,” he suggested.
This seemed to Teresa like a great suggestion.
“OK” she smiled. A genuine smile.
The desserts arrived, and half of each was consumed by Teresa and the doctor as agreed. Mariana eyed the exchange. Her eyes followed the plates as they exchanged places across the table.
“What’s this?” She asked as if Teresa and the doctor had just been caught cheating on a spelling test.
“Would you like some?” Asked the doctor offering Mariana Teresa’s half-eaten tiramisu. The effects of the wine were taking hold of Teresa, and she was unable to suppress a giggle.
“No thank you,” Mariana replied as if someone had offered her a piece of second-hand chewing gum.
“Suit yourself.” mumbled the doctor getting stuck into the part two of his dessert course.
Chapter Twenty - The Judge – 7th January 2014
Teresa watched the judge with incredulity. Who was she to separate a mother from her baby? She didn’t know Teresa. She hadn’t the slightest conception of the love Teresa felt for her daughter.
Her mother had always told Teresa that honesty was the best policy. That, no matter what other transgression she made, she should always be honest and would offer Teresa leniency when she confessed her childhood crimes.
It was this belief which led her to admit that she drank. She was well aware that a small amount of perjury would have helped her keep her child, but she had just admitted the facts and had not said anything that she felt indicated she was incapable of looking after her daughter. Nevertheless, the judge had awarded custody to her husband, or rather ex-husband and the opportunity to visit was all she had left.
Of course, William had the evidence of her conviction in his favour. After ‘The Incident’ she had received a three-year driving ban, a twelve-month order for alcohol rehabilitation, a £50 fine for resisting police and £170 in costs. Her admission had not been that she had never drunk, that was obvious. She had admitted that in the twelve months since the incident, twelve months in which she had attended a ‘rehabilitation programme’, twelve months in which her husband had managed to slip from her grasp, twelve months in which even her ability to care for her daughter came into question. She had not been able to give up the drink.
The judge’s comments in awarding custody had hurt her. Her husband, ex-husband, the judge had said was better placed to raise her daughter and that it was in the best interests of the child that she lives with him. With him and the bitch, with whom he was shacked up.
And now Teresa had to be content with just seeing her daughter at weekends. At weekends. Not tucking her into bed, reading her a bedtime story, she wouldn’t be the one to take her or pick her up from school, comfort her when she woke with a bad dream. That would be William and that bitch of his. They would raise Annabel.
Teresa felt down. Not just about the court decision. She already had a slight hangover from the previous night’s commiserating. And on top of that, she was starting to get a cold. Her nose was blocked, her throat sore and judging by the chill she felt, she suspected she might be running a temperature. She did what she always did in England on these occasions which was to run a very hot bath and sit in it for a very long time with a large glass of wine. The issue was that she had no wine. She had vodka but no tonic. However, she did have a carton of orange juice which was getting on a bit in age now, so she sniffed the contents but satisfied herself that it was drinkable, once she had mixed it with a decent helping of alcohol.
Chapter Twenty-One - The Stalker – 14th February 2015
All the reluctance seemed to have vanis
hed from the waiter when it came time to deliver the bill. Teresa was shocked when she discovered the extent of her share and had no choice but to use the diminishing line of credit on her card.
“Who would like to come back to ours for champagne?” Asked one of Mariana’s friends.
“Are you going?” the doctor asked Teresa.
“I don’t know,” admitted Teresa.
“Are you coming?” Mariana’s friend asked as they were leaving the restaurant.
“I’ll go if you go.” said the doctor.
“OK,” said Teresa.
The flat where Mariana’s friend lived was very small but had a tremendous view of the São Paulo skyline.
Teresa sat on the balcony and drank champagne out of a fluted glass while she watched the twinkling lights of the city ahead and the passing people and cars below. This moment seemed a million miles from her real life, her life of bills, broken fridges and televisions, leaking roofs and flea-bitten cats. She imagined what it would be like to have money, to live in an apartment overlooking the city, to have champagne in the fridge just in case she decided to invite friends round after a meal in an expensive restaurant in Jardims. She was wondering what she could do, apart from buying a lottery ticket, to afford the lifestyle she dreamt of when the doctor arrived and sat beside her.