After everything that had happened, you can’t blame me for day-drinking.
Returning home at lunchtime, a bag of clinking glass in my hand, I found a tall woman sprawled inelegantly on the front steps, surrounded by sweet wrappers. She didn’t recognise me. To be fair, I had changed a lot in the last twelve years.
As I opened the gate, she smiled and asked if I knew a girl called Teresa.
“It’s me,’ I sighed. ‘Mother, it’s me.”
“Tea? My little teacup? It can’t be.”
She staggered to her feet. Like mother like daughter.
“You better come in.”
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