Chapter Thirty-Nine
My circadian rhythm is broken. If only I could turn back time and keep my sleep routine intact.
All it takes is a few lapses and this is where you end up.
A terrible night of tossing and turning, broken sleep and strange snatches of dreams featuring wedding dresses of all things.
The sun is just breaking free as I swish open my curtains, muddling about how I’m going to effectively copyedit to my usual high standard when I haven’t slept well.
OK, fine. It’s the case. It’s Tiago. It’s my brand-new shiny sparkly life in Porto that I am suddenly enjoying!
Why then does it keep me up at night? Is it anxiety that it might all be snatched away again?
Finally, I, Viviane álverez, have made real friends.
Fascinating, funny oddballs to call my own who don’t blink an eye at my quirks.
It’s as if I magicked up the perfect group of eccentrics and now, I’m scared to lose them. Especially Tiago. My feelings for him have grown into something more romantic and I suppose if my mum can move on after the betrayal she suffered at my father’s hands, then I can too.
As long as Tiago is always truthful with me, I will not abide a man who lies.
It’s like a snowball effect when the truth is bent and soon there’s a second family living around the corner.
A family that I occasionally ran into. A family whose children I often complimented for their good manners when I’d bump into them buying bread, sans my father, obviously.
I didn’t know who they were back then. The children will be seven and eight this year.
There’s a short, sharp pain when I think of those two little cherubic-faced kids.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the memories of my dad teaching me all that he did and the fact they just won’t have that.
That pang of sadness sits heavily in my chest that they won’t have his presence in their lives, to teach them games, to buy them books.
Small hobbies that became my great loves. What to do about it? Anything. Nothing?
First, caffeine.
I’m midway through coffee making when there’s a scream from upstairs, a bellow, a few grunts and a sound suspiciously like my mother is taking a tumble. I rush out to check to find her sliding headfirst down the steps.
‘Mum! Wouldn’t it be easier to walk?’
‘I fell. I slipped. I—’ She gingerly stands, assessing her elbow for damage. ‘I’m fine, fine, better than fine!’ From her dressing-gown pocket she takes her phone and brandishes it in the air between us. ‘Querida. I ran out of phone battery last night.’
‘That doesn’t mean you need to body surf down the stairs to charge it. This is how addictive technology is, it’s why I stand proudly on my soapbox about the risks involved.’
‘Fine, fine, listen. I didn’t, ah, body surf the stairs to charge my phone! I put it on last night but only just checked my phone to find a heap of messages. Most of them from Tiago’s mum, Zeliá.’
Oh no. Put a fork in me, I’m done!
‘Is it true? Are you and Tiago engaged?’
‘Engaged! Mother, you know my opinions about a woman and her autonomy!’
‘Well, are you dating?’ Her expression wrinkles, like she’s frantic for the answer.
I must tread ever so carefully here. I can’t tell her how I got into this mess.
If Mum gets one whisper of anything illegal or untoward she will march me to the Polícia herself to share what I know.
Even though I have nothing of evidentiary value, that will matter not one jot to her.
But if I lie about Tiago and us dating that will also have consequences. Once again, rock. Hard place.
‘Tiago and I are firm friends. Book club friends. We enjoy talking about books.’ Although we don’t talk about them nearly as much as I would like since all those other mysteries keep cropping up.
‘Don’t be shy! You can tell me. I’m not even hurt that you told his mother first.’ The pout on her face says otherwise.
It reads: she’s absolutely devastated to be told second and she will hold on to that slight for many years to come.
‘It wasn’t that we told Zeliá first. It – uh.
’ I don’t usually stumble like this, but I don’t also routinely lie to my mother about dating men either.
‘Uh, she caught us in a rather compromising position.’
Mother gasps, her face aghast. ‘No! Oh, I will die from embarrassment, querida, what were you thinking?’
‘What? Not that kind, Mother, seriously. In an unhappy bit of happenstance, she caught me giving him a kiss on the lips.’ A fake kiss, but I can’t think fast enough whether to be honest or not. I’m having trouble keeping up with the threads of so many lies.
She brightens. ‘Oh. She caught you kissing?’
‘I wouldn’t describe it as kissing. Mouths were tightly closed.
It was more a meeting of the lips. A whisper of a meeting of the lips if you really want to get technical about it.
’ OK, it wasn’t exactly that but Mother will be scandalised if I told her I kissed him hard in front of his mother, no less.
She waves the words away. Her eyes shining. ‘So, it was nothing indecent? And you didn’t tell her you were dating first? Not before me. You’d always tell me first, wouldn’t you?’
‘I didn’t tell anyone anything. Mother, what kind of indecent activity do you think I’d take part in in Tiago’s mother’s kitchen?’ It’s an outrage! This is a bit rich coming from a woman who has been dating an exhibitionist, but I keep that to myself.
Mum surveys her nails and I brace for bad news. ‘I don’t even want to think about it! Anyway, she’s invited me over for lunch to discuss.’ There it is, the grenade. An explosion goes off in my mind, there is no way to contain this now.
‘Discuss what exactly?’ I gulp.
Her smile is of the cat that got the cream variety. ‘The meeting of the families.’
‘No, absolutely not. You’ll have to make an excuse.
Tell her you’re an imposter. That you’re going to Nepal on a spiritual journey and will not be taking your phone.
’ Desperation makes me clutch my cheeks and pull at them.
‘Or how about that you’re violently opposed to our union because you don’t believe in a patriarchal society? ’
Mother laughs, though I’m not sure what at. ‘What? No. I can’t wait to meet her. She said you wouldn’t tell her any details about me or give her my phone number. I know you’re concerned with cyber security and being cloned and whatnot but she’s your boyfriend’s mother.’
I gulp. This is not good. I deflect. ‘Being cloned?’
‘Well, whatever it’s called. Identity theft.
You can always give out my number to a Portuguese family, especially when you’re dating their son.
She sent me a range of photos of him – he is gorgeous.
You’ll make such beautiful babies. The candid shots of you two were so lovely but must you frown all the time, querida?
You come across as quite serious, especially when sitting next to such a smiley-faced boy such as Tiago.
I’m going to have to get a second job to save up for your wed— I mean for uh … ’
Here we go. I’m never going to hear the end of it. And telling me to smile! Mother sounds just like old Albert! ‘Do you not remember I’m steadfastly anti-wedding?’
I don’t even have the courage to ask what candid photos she’s talking about. No doubt Zeliá was snapping pictures while we were innocently sipping coffee and faux gazing into each other’s eyes. OK, you can’t exactly faux gaze but still.
‘That doesn’t mean you can’t smile, every now and then!’
‘Sure, sure. I’ll smile more, but Mum, it’s best to temper your excitement.
It’s very early days with Tiago and I don’t – I don’t.
’ Why won’t the words come? ‘I don’t think he’s the one for me.
No, this is just a summer fling.’ I’d like it known I’d never commit to a fling of any description because flings make a mockery of real love, but for the sake of this tsunami of a situation it’s best I try and let her down gently.
Her ankles won’t survive a second job and how did one mistake land me here!
A frown settles on her face. ‘What? I’m not sure why you’re lying to me, querida, but I am well aware you don’t do flings. According to Zeliá her son is absolutely smitten. Let me at least meet them first? Is this just nerves?’
A groan escapes me. ‘I’m already losing my autonomy.’
‘And you’re not keen on the families meeting because there’ll be too many people, is that it?
Just give it a chance. Don’t rush to end things just because of that.
You don’t even have to attend any big rowdy catch-ups.
I told Zeliá that you don’t enjoy loud, lengthy family gatherings and would most likely not attend a single one of them, and she was fine with that. Totally understood.’
I’m at the handwringing stage; there’s no hope of salvaging this now. Both mothers will be heartbroken when we eventually call this farce off. ‘Don’t you think you’re getting carried away? Both of you?’
‘No.’ She clucks her tongue.
‘No? She told you we were engaged already!’
Mum waves me away. ‘I didn’t have my glasses on, maybe I misread the message.
Maybe she invited me to an engagement, who knows.
It doesn’t matter. What matters is this fresh start is paying dividends in the best way, my darling girl, and I want you to keep grabbing life with both hands just like you’re doing.
Yes, you’re jumping out of your comfort zone and that will sometimes have an adverse effect, but the rewards are worth it, no? ’
‘I’m not so sure about that. My sleep pattern has been disturbed. My pulse keeps racing and making me feel lightheaded. Maybe I need to visit the doctor? My heart beats so hard that I wonder if it’s some sort of arrhythmia?’
‘Maybe you are sick, querida.’
I gasp. With some congenital disease that presents itself at this age and she’s known all along this day would come but kept it secret so I wouldn’t dwell on my short life span. These sorts of twists crop up all the time in whodunnits. ‘Don’t bother sugar coating it. Is it terminal?’
‘It’s not terminal.’ She guffaws, clasps her hands. ‘You, my bright, brilliant, fiercely intelligent wonder child are lovesick, but you haven’t realised it yet.’
I roll my eyes and throw out a few appendages of my own to make sure my displeasure is obvious. ‘Now you’re just being silly. What’s come over you? You’re normally so sane and rational.’
‘Love is in the air for the álverez girls, eh? Anything is possible.’
‘Mum. You haven’t even met Tiago. What if you don’t like him?’
‘Like him? I love him already. Zeliá told me all about him. Did you know he sponsors children from Ukraine? Tick! And he’s a dog person.
Tick! Last winter he donated money to the local dog shelter, and when he found out they didn’t have enough blankets for their rescues he went and bought them enough to see them through.
And not cheap blankets either, he got them wool blankets. Tick!’
‘I’m sure the dogs appreciated the breathable fabrics.’
Her eyes are glazed like she’s lost in some faraway fantasyland. ‘I’m sure they did. He’s financially stable. Tick. He loves his mother. Tick. And he reads books. Mostly about coding.’
‘Ha! That’s not true. He’s a whodunnit fan. That’s what sold me on the silent reading club which somehow got out of hand and became … all of this.’
‘Oh? Well, anyway, he’s a good boy from a good family with good prospects.’
‘Good prospects? It’s not the 1900s, Mother. I don’t need a man to keep me. My prospects are just fine due to my gift of managing money and being able to stick to a budget, and being fiercely independent.’
‘Yes, yes, of course. But marriage is about teamwork.’
‘Marriage? No. The only aisle I’ll be walking down is the one at the library.’
She does a slow eyebrow raise that stops me in my tracks. ‘We’ll see.’
‘We will not see. I’m going to start my workday and please do not bother me later with the endless chitchat and gossip you are likely to hear at Zeliá’s.
I’m not the least bit interested.’ I make a show of flouncing off as if I’m annoyed.
And I am, but mostly at myself for kicking off this disaster.
‘Not even interested in hearing about his last relationship?’ the diabolical woman says so tantalisingly.
‘Not even that.’ I hover on the bottom stair. OK, I’m slightly intrigued, only because I’d like to know what sort of man I’m fake dating here. ‘Fine. Make it quick.’
Mum lifts a brow. ‘The woman broke up with him because he was always working. Luckily for you, he’s sold his company, so now he can focus on you and treat you like the princess you are.’
I snort. ‘Princess. I’m a formidable woman with an exceptional brain in my head. Not someone who struts around wearing tiaras, Mother. Goodbye.’
‘What should I wear to lunch?’ she teases.
She must be teasing, as Mother never consults me about her sartorial choices, because she is tired of hearing my complaints about how many florals the woman owns.
Could she not, just once, wear something a bit more formal? A touch beiger? Will she listen? No.