That bell again...' Teresa fumed. 'I'm coming, I'm coming,'she called, while muttering, 'for the tenth time today!' She trudged up the stairs, rheumatic knees protesting.
           'Well, what is it this time?'  She advanced into the large bedroom.
           'My pillows need plumped up, you left me needing that done hours ago!' Sam's voice grated on her nerves.
             'And turn the telly on, you've made me miss my programme!'
            Teresa switched the TV on. As usual, the picture on the wall caught her eye.  The swirls of colour, so missing from her own drab life, evolved into an exotic landscape.  The  native girls had been painted wearing bright clothes like none she'd ever seen. 
            'Can't see the telly for you standing there!' Sam's eternal whine sounded once more.      "You're always looking at that picture. Like it, don't you?'he sneered.

               'Yes, I think it's lovely,' Teresa said defensively. 'But never mind that, I'll go and get your dinner,

                       'Am I pleased tomorrow's my last day with that cantankerous old man,' Teresa said to Mike, her husband.  She pulled the sheet over her head and soon was snoring.

                                                                   
             'Look, Mike, would you believe it, that old so-and-so gave me a present!' Mike had never seen Teresa look so angry. She showed him the Gauguin painting. 
               'But that's very nice, Teresa, why are you so annoyed?'
              'Annoyed, annoyed, I'm flaming angry!' she threw herself down onto the chair. 'You don't understand, Mike.  It's a copy, the original's still up on his bedroom wall.'
             'So,' Mike screwed his face up in puzzlement.
               'Don't you think I deserve the original, after all my years of having to put up with his moans and groans. Fifteen years I've tended that lazy sod of a man. Bedridden, I'll give you bedridden!' Spit started to spray from her mouth in her anger. 'He's no more bedridden than you are.  Okay, he's not so good on his legs, but, he can get around.'
               Mike tried to calm her, but she wasn't having it.  'I'll go to the chippy, love, save you cooking,' Mike sidled out of the room, leaving Teresa ranting on.
           The next evening Teresa and Mike had a drink to celebrate Teresa's  sixtieth birthday. Tomorrow they were going out with friends.
              Mike was in the mood to lighten up and have a few.  Teresa had a few but instead of lightening up, she became more and more uptight.
            'Give it a rest, love,' Mike appealed. 'The print'll make a very nice decoration for the wall as it is.  It's in a nice frame - look, it matches the wallpaper.'
            'I should have had the original,' her eyes blazed.
              'I give up,' said Mike, yawning. Soon he fell asleep.

             Teresa drained the  bottle of wine  and slowly, unsteadily, got to her feet. 'I know what I'll do,' she slurred.

                        What with the drink and carrying the picture, Teresa's way to Sam's house was somewhat unsteady. She banged on the side door, the picture clutched precariously in her other hand. 'Come on, come on, Milly,' she called.
             Eventually a window upstairs opened. 'What  is it?  Who the...? Is that you, Teresa?' Milly called.
              'Come down here, hurry up, I'm...hic...not feeling very well.'
           Teresa pushed past Milly, the new live-in help. 'I've forgotten something...left it upstairs, I won't be long.'
           She had to keep pausing for breath on the way up to Sam's room.  She flung the door open.       
              'Couldn't keep away, eh, Teresa?' Sam cackled.
             'I wish I'd never come near you, you mean old...'
             'Now, now, Teresa, mind your language.'
             'Here, keep your rotten old picture, I don't   want it!' Teresa flung it on the floor. 

             'Are you sure of that?' Sam's eyes widened in amazement. 'Still, if that's how you want it...I gave you your chance, don't say I didn't. I don't give second chances so don't ask for it back."

           "What do you mean? What chance?  You knew how much I liked that  painting...all those colours... Teresa sniffed. "No way do I want that piece of tat."' Teresa's voice faded as tears began.
            'What you cryin' for then?' Sam demanded, 'I told you, you had your chance, you threw it away.'
           'I nursed you all those years,' Teresa wailed as her mascara ran.  'Up and down those stairs millions of times.  Cooking this, cooking that. Do this, Teresa, do that,' she sobbed.
             'I paid you for it, didn't I?' Sam shrugged, then coughed.
            'A pittance.  I could have worked for one of those pop stars and made loadsamoney,' Teresa stepped towards the bed. 'Why didn't you give me the original, why insult me with a copy?'
           'The original, why should I give you the original?'

             'What can you do with it? You've no one to leave it to. And I love it,' her voice faded. 

           " 'Teresa, pick up that painting  you threw on the floor.  Go on, pick it up,' he urged, as she hesitated.
             Teresa snatched the frame from the jaws of the wooden flooring. She placed it on the table.
            'Take the painting off the wall and place that on the other side of the table,' Sam commanded.
              Teresa couldn't help  doing as she was told. She dragged a chair to the wall.  Finally, she had the painting on the table.
             On Sam's instructions  she opened up the back of the picture frame and slid the backing out.
            'Well, what is it? I don't see anything.' She turned to Sam.
              'Exactly so,' said Sam, nodding. 'Now, do the same for the other painting.'
              After she had complied he asked, 'Now, what do you see?'

             Teresa's answer was a scream, 'Oh, no!'

           "You had your last chance, Teresa!" Sam bawled.

               She gave  one last lingering look at the beautiful painting and left.  She could hear Sam's laughter ringing loud as she went downstairs.
            'What's wrong?' enquired Milly. But Teresa shook her head without a word and walked slowly home, her head down, her steps dragging.
               On the back of the painting she had thrown back at Sam were  the words:
             Gauguin, Tahiti,1892. Gauguin's verified handwriting: the same handwriting that was on the painting itself. The handwriting Teresa had taken for a copy.