‘I guess …’
Erica is terrific, but she doesn’t really do cooking or washing. In fact, she doesn’t do a lot round the house at all, but she’s lovely to live with all the same. I bet she makes an amazing midwife. She’s totally unflappable and to be fair she also makes a mean cup of tea.
‘Are you still kicking the dads out?’ I ask, opening a tin of tuna.
‘Yep.’
‘Seems a bit 1960s. Mum told me they did that all the time – that and shoving babies on the bottle at the slightest inclination.’
‘No choice; can’t risk infection. It’s for the babies’ sakes as well. I try to make them feel as though they’ve got a friend in the room, though.’
‘I can imagine, and to be fair I’d rather have you there than any man.’
‘Thanks.’ Erica pops a piece of cucumber in her mouth. ‘But I’m not sure that’s much of a compliment considering you hate all men at the moment.’
‘Not all men,’ I protest indignantly, ‘just most of them!’
We down our food as we often do, in front of the TV. We’ve got quite into that drama Quiz about the guy who cheated on Who Wants to Be A Millionaire? by getting someone to cough when the right answers were read out.
‘That wife is a bit scary,’ Erica remarks.
‘Yes, to be honest I think she put him up to it,’ I comment.
‘Must have driven them mad; people coughing wherever they went for the next ten years.’
‘Yes, it’s a good job there wasn’t a virus outbreak then – the studio would have been empty.’
The dulcet tones of Dua Lipa blast out. ‘Can’t you change your ring tone? I’ve heard that so many times,’ Erica complains.
‘I love it,’ I say, grabbing my phone. ‘Besides, it gets me moving better than Joe Wicks. Oh, hi, Jess. How’s it going?’
‘Good thanks. Well, as good as it can be considering,’ Jess replies.
‘Yeah I know what you mean. It is a bit weird isn’t it? I can’t believe it’s been a month since we went shopping at Greenham.’
‘I know. It all felt so normal. Little did we know what was coming. I’ve had the most frustrating day too. The server keeps going down and we’ve had so many calls.’
‘How annoying. I guess it’s because everyone’s on the system. I s’pose at least business is going on?’ Jess works for a marketing company and used to have regular battles with her boss about working from home (it was apparently against company policy) – until the actual lockdown that is, which of course enforced it.
‘I don’t want to talk about work – it’s totally boring. I’ve had an idea.’
This sounds ominous.
‘Mmm,’ I say noncommittally. Jess is fab and I adore her, but I can tell this is her I’m-about-to-start-trying-to-manage-your-life tone.
‘I happened to come across this app the other day that could have been designed for you.’
I know exactly what kind of app she means and it will certainly not have been designed for me. ‘Jess, we’ve been all through this. It’s kind of you but …’ Erica has her jacket on and gives a little wave from across the room. ‘Just a mo, Jess – bye, Erica, take care won’t you?’ She gives me a sympathetic smirk as she vanishes out the door.
‘Erica’s just off for her shift. She’s amazing – I would hate to go and deal with birthing women, especially in the middle of a pandemic,’ I gabble to Jess, hoping it might distract her from the conversation.
‘Yes, but we’re all different aren’t we, Soph? Anyway, Hinge is a dating app that helps you meet someone nice and normal. Even you can’t go wrong. How about it?’
‘Hinge? Sounds like something to do with a door.’ I’m trying my best, but there’s no distracting Jess when she gets like this.
‘Ha-ha, come on, Soph.’ She hears my silence, which is hopefully deafening. ‘Okay so maybe you haven’t heard of it; you are getting on a bit now.’
‘Thanks a lot.’ I roll my eyes. ‘It’s nearly time for the NHS clap. Don’t you think you’d better go and get ready?’
‘It’s only seven-thirty and we only have to go to the window. It’s really not that far.’
‘Yes, but I need to make sure my hands are warmed up ready for my best clapping,’ I say.
‘It’s too late anyway,’ says Jess.
‘What do you mean? It’s not ’til 8 p.m.’
‘No, the dating thing. I’ve done it, I’ve signed you up to Hinge. You’re welcome.’ As always with Jess, it’s a fait accompli. I remember the time we vaguely discussed getting Mum and our stepdad a holiday weekend away as a surprise and before I had confirmed I could pay my share, she had booked it and paid the deposit. Jess has a heart of gold but goes at everything at a hundred miles an hour.
It’s a fact that she doesn’t ever give up. I hate dating apps. I have managed to avoid Tinder so far, having heard too many horror stories. It’s so not my thing. These people could be anyone; how do you know the photo is even them? I’m a bit old-fashioned. For me there’s something so impersonal about meeting online.
‘Jess, it’s very thoughtful, but you know how I feel about apps. I was going to get back into dating slowly; I have this idea of actually meeting someone in person, getting to know them properly. I had it all planned.’
‘Yes, but now we’re in the middle of a lockdown you’re kind of limited for options, hon.’ My sister is ever practical.
‘It’s so frustrating,’ I admit. ‘I was all geared up for a fresh start. Joining some fitness groups, book clubs – you know the sort of thing.’
‘Not going to happen now for ages, so you’re going to have to get creative and Hinge is quite good actually. Danni at work used it. She’s been going out with this guy for six months now and he is really nice and normal.’
‘Well that’s a start,’ I say with a laugh, ‘except you know I am far from normal – it’s way too boring. And I would rather meet someone first. God knows who you find on these apps. They could be a stalker.’
‘You’re going to have a hard job finding a stalker in the current situation. Most people aren’t able to go out,’ Jess tells me. ‘And in any case, Hinge is really cool. It’s not like other apps – it’s not random and you can only contact a certain number of people. Also, you have to have things in common or it won’t let you contact each other.’
‘Why is it called Hinge anyway? If you’re unhinged you’re not allowed to join?’
‘Yeah right. I don’t know but I’ve just pinged across your account details.’ My phone bings at the arrival of a message.
‘Thanks, it’s good of you,’ I say patiently, wanting to throttle her, but I know she’ll never change. ‘Is Mum okay?’
Miraculously, for once my tactics work and Jess is momentarily distracted. ‘Yes, I spoke to her yesterday. She’s been having trouble with Uncle Jim though.’
‘Oh no, is he poorly again?’
‘Well, you know how his stomach is?’ I think the whole world is au fait with my Uncle Jim’s stomach. It seems to have a life all of its own. I’m surprised he doesn’t send out a Christmas letter dedicated solely to the ins and outs of his digestive system. He is about ninety-three and one of the most dapper old gentlemen you have ever met, always in a smartly pressed shirt and tie, whatever time of day you might find him, yet he is also one of the most difficult. He usually has something wrong with him, but as soon as my mum tries to help, he won’t take the medicine. He really needs to go into a nursing home, but staunchly refuses and instead lives in a block of flats for older people, where they seem to have a competition going for who can be the most awkward and cantankerous.
‘I thought Mum sent him some medicine that would build him up a bit?’ I say.
‘Yes she did, but it was rather awkward because I took the stuff round, to save Mum, and left it outside Uncle Jim’s flat, as of course I couldn’t go in. Apparently after I’d gone, one of his neighbours, Geoff – you know, the one who lives in the flat next door and is ninety-eight, the one Uncle Jim looks out for?’
‘I remember.’ How could I forget? He’s always getting into some trouble or other despite my ill, elderly uncle’s expert care.
‘He got hold of the box of sachets prescribed to build up stamina after being ill, and he ate three of them.’
‘Oh no.’ I stifle a laugh. ‘I mean that’s terrible. Was he all right?’
‘He was fine, probably better than he had been in years, but Uncle Jim was furious with him, said he’d stolen his medicine and there was a right old ruckus. Without intervention it would have truly been a case of Zimmer frames at dawn. Mum had to calm him down – apparently she was on the phone for ages!’
‘Poor Mum, as if she hasn’t already got enough to do at work.’
‘She said it’s really busy at the surgery although they’re trying to do most of the appointments online to minimise contact.’
‘It’s a worry isn’t it? I wish now that she had a job where she worked from home. It would be a lot safer,’ I say, ‘and just imagine if she’d had her way – you’d have been working on the front line too.’
‘Someone’s got to do it, although I was never cut out to be a doctor. I hated science anyway. You should have stepped up to the plate as the prodigal daughter,’ Jess replies staunchly.
‘That was never going to happen. Science was the only GCSE I had to retake and in any case she was perfectly happy with my career in law. It’s the whole teaching thing she has issues with.’
‘I guess, but you can understand it was a bit of a shock to her after putting you through years of law school. I’d have loved to have an opportunity like that.’
I sigh inwardly. This is an age-old argument. Neither Mum nor Jess get the whole career change thing. For ages they just thought I was having a momentary crisis, which they expected to resolve along with the cessation of my seizures with the epilepsy meds, with the happy result of me going back to my legal career and everything returning to normal.
As always Jess is oblivious. ‘I’ve got to go now, but before I speak to you next I want you to try the app.’
I get the sense the world could be ending and she’d still remember to check.
‘I’ll speak to you tomorrow,’ I say.
‘I’ll be asking questions,’ Jess replies and with that she’s gone.
Half-heartedly, I click on the link she’s sent, but quickly exit it again. I can’t face it – it’s simply not the right time to meet someone now. It’s typical, just when I’m finally considering making some sort of effort to at least try to regain my trust in guys. They can’t all be unreliable and shallow, influenced totally by success and looks. There must be some genuinely nice blokes out there somewhere; it’s only a matter of finding them.
I glance at the clock: 7.50. There’s just enough time to clear up the remains of dinner and get ready for the clap for the NHS.
At 7.55 I am ready. The door to the balcony is open and I potter about just inside, not wanting to look as though I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not sure why. It’s not like anyone will see me. I fiddle with a couple of bits, picking them up and putting them down again.
I go back out again at 7.59. Should I start? Is it like a thing when everyone automatically knows when to begin? Will I be able to hear anyone else? I peer down into the courtyard but it’s empty as usual. Perhaps I’ll just start clapping on my own. I check my phone and as I am looking, it changes to 8 p.m.
As if by magic the clapping starts – first quietly, from one side of the courtyard, then the next, and from above, until all around me the air is full of clapping. It’s a rousing chorus of applause ringing out round the courtyard and beyond from the streets of the city, echoing far and wide. It’s simply beautiful.
Before I realise what is happening, the tears start streaming down my face. So many people everywhere, kept apart, yet we are all responding in the same way. We are clapping together in one united group for our incredible fellow human beings out there right now on the front line, risking their lives for us all, battling to save people from this hideous virus. Erica, Mum, and so many others – people we care about and are terrified of losing. I hate this isolation from friends, family, even strangers, from normal human contact. I am sobbing now; a raucous, noisy broken sound and I can’t stop.
‘Hello? Are you okay?’
Now I’ve completely lost it – I’m beginning to hear things.
‘Hello?’
I stop crying for a second and glance over my shoulder. No, there’s no one there. Thank goodness no one has broken into the flat, though the door’s locked and who would try burgling someone in the middle of the clap for the NHS, when everyone’s in? I really am losing it.
‘I just wondered if you were all right?’ The voice comes again, definitely from outside. I look down into the courtyard. It’s deserted.
‘Hello?’ I say tentatively, my voice husky after the crying.
‘I’m up here,’ says the voice.
‘You’re the voice from above?’ I say. I mean, it could be comic if it weren’t for the fact I’m so stressed about everything.
‘Yes, I live in the flat above.’
‘Oh.’ That’s a relief; there’s a perfectly normal explanation. ‘I thought I was hearing things,’ I admit. Good grief, now he’s going to think I’m really weird, whoever he is.
‘You probably thought I was the voice of doom?’ He laughs; it’s a nice sound actually.
‘Maybe. I’m sorry, did I disturb you? That’s really embarrassing.’ How awful, my blubbing must have been super loud for some random person to feel they had to ask if I’m all right.
‘Not at all, the clapping was really moving – made me want to cry too,’ he says.
‘Well you were a lot quieter than me,’ I say wryly.
‘Not difficult,’ he jests. ‘Was it just all too emotional or is there something wrong?’
It’s strange talking to someone I’ve never met, outside on a balcony when I can’t even see him.
‘It was emotional, but I guess I’m also scared,’ I confess, sniffing and trying not to. In a way it’s easier to be honest when you can’t see the person you’re talking to.
‘We all are I suppose. I mean, it is sort of scary being told to stay in and that people are getting really sick,’ the voice says matter-of-factly.
‘I know, but I’m so frightened something’s going to happen to my mum – she’s a doctor – and my flatmate’s a midwife. I guess the whole emotion of clapping for them brought home to me how much danger they’re in. I can’t bear the thought of losing them.’ I wipe my nose with one of the new tissues; good job I bought so many as I have a feeling we’re going to need them.
‘I’m sure they’ll be okay; they’re doing their best to keep things safe as they can in hospitals and surgeries. Surely your mum’s doing most of her appointments online?’
‘Yes,’ I call back up into space, ‘she is, and Erica is pretty sensible. They give them masks and stuff.’
‘Then you need to try to stop worrying about them as much as you can. Sometimes it’s worse for the people at home, as they have more time to fret than if they were actually doing the job.’
‘Thanks, I guess you’re right. I never thought of it like that.’ I sniff.
‘What do you do anyway?’ he asks.
‘I’m a teacher – I’m looking after some of the key workers’ kids who still have to come into school,’ I say.
‘Bet that keeps you busy then?’ he asks.
‘Very, though I’ve only got six from the whole school. I love it, but I’m sorry for them. They worry about their parents too. You’d think they wouldn’t as they’re little, but sometimes children surprise you – they understand more than you would think. Freya asked me today if her mum was going to come home and what would happen if she got sick. She’s a single parent, all Freya’s got.’
‘That’s tough, but all you can do is stay strong for these kids, I guess. But you have to let it out sometime, so I’ll let you off having a noisy blub on your balcony and disturbing my quiet beer and packet of crisps.’
‘Rude!’ I chuckle.
‘That’s better,’ he says. ‘At least you can still laugh, which is a good sign. I bet the kids are entertaining too.’
‘Yes they’re so funny,’ I reply. ‘Milo, who is five by the way, asked me today why we can’t just call up Spider-Man to come and entangle the Cornyvirus in his web and tow it into space!’
‘Interesting idea.’ He laughs.
‘We should recommend renaming it to the government for the next update meeting. Talking about the Cornyvirus would seem much less sinister.’
‘I’ll tell Boris next time he calls.’
‘Yeah right,’ I reply with a smile. ‘I could do with setting you on my sister Jess too; she’s also a complete stress-head at the moment.’
‘About the virus?’ he asks.
‘No, about her wedding. She’s talked of nothing else for the last year and although I love her dearly, she’s making me wish that the government would ban all weddings until at least 2025!’
‘Not a Bridezilla?’ he asks.
‘Maybe a bit,’ I admit.
‘But when’s the wedding? Surely it can’t go ahead at the minute?’
‘No, she’s had to cancel the physical wedding reception. As you can imagine, she was totally devastated, and I was gutted for her. Although she can be really annoying, she put an incredible amount of work in. So the service will be on Zoom.’
The guy above really laughs now – I like it, a deep chuckle. ‘My God, I’ve never heard of such a thing. There really is no stopping her then!’
‘Absolutely not.’ The whole Hinge conversation reverberates disturbingly in my mind. ‘She is a real human dynamo, Jess.’
‘Well, good for her – although it sounds as though she might leave everyone steamrollered in her wake.’
I’m silent for a moment, as I’ve tried talking to Mum and Erica about Jess but it’s difficult. In spite of her pushiness, she does really care and I adore her. When the chips have been down, Jess has always been there for me yet she doesn’t always get where I’m coming from, especially not since my illness. It’s odd because no one really understands the love-hate relationship you can have with your own family – yet this random man, who is just a voice (for all I know he doesn’t even have a body) has hit the nail on the head.
‘I haven’t offended you have I?’ comes the voice.
‘No of course not, it’s just that right now a little of Jess seems to go a long way!’
‘Always does where weddings are concerned, but I’m intrigued anyway … How is she going to manage the service?’
‘Good question, but she’s got it all sorted.’
‘Naturally. Is there a huge wall planner and a bumper executive Filofax?’
‘No, but she has three huge lever arch files, two apps and a Countdown to your Wedding Plan she has distributed to all of us.’
‘Oh wow, this woman means business. What does the groom say about it all?’
‘He just said he’s going to turn up.’
‘That’s a good start.’
‘It seems pretty unavoidable, considering he already lives with her and they’re in lockdown.’
We both laugh.
‘To be fair though, he would need to hire security, if he let Jess down – we’re really close,’ I say, feeling disloyal.
‘I get it,’ he replies. ‘I have an older brother who is great, but he thinks it gives him a free ticket to tell me what to do all the time.’
‘Siblings, huh?’
‘Yep … I’m guessing Jess and her fiancé don’t live with you then. That might be a bit crowded?’
‘No, you’re right, it would be a nightmare!’ I reply.
‘At least you get a break from it then,’ he says and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
‘True, but then I miss her too.’
There’s a silence and after a while I wonder if he’s still there. ‘There’s only one thing for it,’ he says eventually. He’s obviously been thinking.
‘What?’
‘You’re going to have to exercise your human rights.’
‘Human rights?’ I reply, puzzled.
‘Yeah, your basic human right to not answer your phone or respond to texts.’
‘But what reason can I give? I can’t exactly say I’m out, when I’m always either at school or at home.’
‘Hmmm good point. The lockdown has taken away the excuse of being unavailable when you are generally pretty available,’ he says contemplatively. ‘You’ll have to say you were in the loo or cooking dinner or something.’
‘That’s only going to work for half an hour at the most.’
‘Fair comment. You could just not get back to her and pretend you’ve left the country.’
I laugh. ‘During a lockdown? You have not met Jess; she’d get a SWAT team scouring the entire planet, social distancing or not.’
He chuckles. ‘You’ve got me there. I’m going to have to give it some thought. I too have several large files and a planner, so I’ll get back to you.’
‘Okay sounds good,’ I reply. Although the sun has been staying out a little longer now the clocks have gone forward, it has finally vanished for the night. ‘It was nice to meet you and thanks for putting up with my emotional outburst. I’m going to go in now as it’s getting cold and dark.’
‘Yeah and these flats aren’t posh enough for outside lighting.’
‘Or for anything else,’ I say. ‘Bye then and thanks for the chat.’
‘That’s okay, I enjoyed it.’
There’s silence and I wait momentarily to see if he’s going to say anything else, but he doesn’t. I shiver again as it really is cold and I get quickly back in the warm.
I hear the balcony door above shut a split second before mine and wonder if he hesitated too; maybe he too was waiting to see if I said anything else. Strange I never knew he lived there. I suddenly realise I don’t know anything about him. I was so busy talking about my own troubles I didn’t ask him about himself. I don’t even know his name!
Perhaps Jess is right: Hinge is the only answer. This lockdown and social distancing malarkey is making me incapable of having even the simplest conversation with a guy.
Chapter 2
Jack
I wake with a start, my heart pounding, with an unaccountable feeling of impending doom, as though I should be somewhere or doing something. Groggily I peer round the pillow at my silent alarm clock and the slow realisation dawns on me that I haven’t got to be anywhere and in fact I can’t go anywhere even if I wanted to. Just like yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I lie there gazing disinterestedly at the ceiling. I don’t feel like doing anything at all.
Perhaps this is what happens to people when they get old and retire, unless they are one of those active individuals who take up golf or petanque or something, they just end up staying in bed longer and longer until one day they simply can’t get up. Like the four old grandmas and grandads in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. That’s it – it’s all over. I think I’ve been on my own too long. In rebellion against my thumping head and in active defiance of the hideous future I have predicted for myself, I leap out of bed and wish I hadn’t. How many Old-Fashioneds did I drink last night? Too many, judging by the fact my feet no longer feel as though they belong to the rest of my body. Yet it can only have been a couple; it’s not as though I can get away with much these days.
For the next ten minutes I blunder about randomly, trying to find a shirt and manage to slip up on my iPad, which I’d left on the floor by my bed. Not a bright idea in view of the fact I’ve only narrowly managed to avoid smashing it to smithereens. I should really take more care of it. There’s no way I could get another if I break this one. I pick it up gingerly and place it on charge, upended and propped against a table leg. For some unaccountable reason, this is the only way it will charge now. The wire seems to have broken and it will bing incessantly otherwise. The first time it did it, the other day, I spent at least ten minutes wandering round the flat, trying to work out what was making the noise. Well at least it gives me something to do today; I’ll get online and order a new charger.
I wander into the kitchen, flick on the kettle and rummage about for some coffee. Great, there’s only decaf left; this is getting desperate. I add a double quantity hoping it will somehow help the situation and stare dispiritedly at the now-stale loaf I have available for breakfast. It’s not very appealing to be honest. Maybe I’ll make eggy dip to moisten it, unless … I search hopefully about in the fridge … nope, I’m out of eggs. It reminds me of that stupid advert where the woman gets in late from work, looks casually in the fridge and conveniently finds a courgette, a couple of eggs and some old cheese and whips up a meal out of almost nothing. It’s all very well unless you don’t have any eggs. In fact, I think it was an advert for eggs.