She grabbed Mabel’s lead and a shopping bag, and put her coat on to walk to the shop. It was only open for a couple of hours today as it was a Bank Holiday Monday, and while bleach and dog biscuits could wait, milk and tea bags could not. Things were bad enough without foregoing the tiny pleasure of a cup of tea; it was the only thing keeping Britain going. She’d had to start the day with an instant black coffee this morning, and was still feeling bitter about it.
As she walked past the estate, Gemma caught the tail end of a screaming row through an open window; a woman yelling at someone that they needed to pull their weight, that she couldn’t entertain the kids AND clean the house AND do the shopping AND do her job on her own. Gemma slowed down a little, wanting to check that nobody would start throwing furniture or crockery or punches. She heard a door slam and the whine of a toddler, but no more yelling.
The voice rang in her ears as she continued walking. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be locked down with an unhelpful partner and a couple of bored kids; the monotony and stress would kick in pretty quickly. It mirrored the conversation she’d had with Caro on Friday, but Caro could afford to buy toys and games and video consoles to keep Bella and Luca amused. The narrow Victorian townhouse that she and Tony owned in Borough wasn’t huge, but it had a garden big enough for a paddling pool or a trampoline. Tony had wanted to live north of the river, somewhere smart and leafy in Zone 2, but Caro couldn’t bear the idea. ‘It’s all Bugaboo mums and four-wheel drives, Gem. I feel bad enough having an au pair and a cleaner without living in fucking Hampstead.’
As Gemma walked through the village, she waved and smiled at some familiar faces, and stopped for a chat here and there. With the exception of the unflappable cheerfulness of Steve the Postie, who lived on the estate and did the local mail delivery, Gemma’s irritable mood seemed to be mirrored through the village. People seemed bored, frustrated and in need of inspiration. She passed a man kicking a deflated football in the front garden with his daughter, a big-eyed, red-haired child of about four who asked if she could pet Mabel. As girl and dog got to know each other, Gemma chatted to the girl’s dad; he had two older kids inside but his wife was a pharmacist, so she was currently at work. They’d played with all the toys, watched all the DVDs, and exhausted all his ideas. He joked that after three more weeks of this he’d have to put them up for adoption, just so they’d have a change of scenery. ‘What’s adoption?’ asked the girl, and her dad smiled awkwardly and hustled her into the warmth of the house.
A few houses further down was an elderly woman struggling with her wheelie bin, so Gemma dragged it up the path for her and asked if she wanted anything from the shop. Her name was Joan and she didn’t need anything; apparently a shop volunteer rang on a Wednesday morning to take her shopping list, then delivered it in a box that afternoon. Joan and Gemma talked for a while about the things they missed from before the pandemic – Gemma couldn’t wait to meet up with her friends in London, and Joan missed the weekly knitting circle at the village café. They’d swap patterns and share leftover wool, so she always had plenty of inspiration for new things to make. Gemma made a hasty exit before she was invited to look at Joan’s woolly creations; Mabel was getting bored with all this stopping and chatting and was already eyeing up Joan’s sheepskin slippers as a potential snack.
For the rest of the walk to the shop, Gemma’s brain whirred. A seed of an idea was taking root, and by the time she reached the shop it was growing branches and leaves. She checked her watch and saw that she had twenty minutes until it closed, so she tied Mabel to the metal ring and fished out her notebook to scribble down some notes.
Ten minutes before closing time, Gemma closed the notebook, gave Mabel a kiss on the head and went into the shop. Only Ruth was there, getting ready to cash up for the day. The smile she gave Gemma was much warmer than the day she’d arrived; clearly staying three whole weeks had earned her the courtesy of being treated like a normal human being. I’ve got my temporary visa, thought Gemma, returning Ruth’s smile and gathering her shopping as quickly as possible. She wondered how long you’d have to live here to be considered a resident; maybe you had to be part of the sixth generation of babies born in Crowthorpe or it didn’t count.
As she paid for her shopping, she started to casually fish for information. She was a journalist, this was her happy place.
‘Ruth, just out of interest, who’s in charge of the village hall?’ Ruth looked up. ‘Oh. Well. There’s a committee, I’m a member. But obviously we’re not hiring it out right now. Why do you ask.’ Still no upward inflection, it was like this woman had never learned how to ask a question.
Gemma hesitated. Nothing was ever going to happen if this thought only existed in her head. ‘I’ve had an idea for the village, and I think it would help a lot of people. Have you got time for me to run it past you?’
Ruth’s brow furrowed for a second. ‘Yes, but we can’t talk in the shop, it’s not allowed.’ She scribbled a phone number on a scrap of paper and handed it to Gemma. ‘Why don’t you walk your dog round the churchyard while we talk on the phone.’
Gemma left her shopping in the shelter of the lychgate and called Ruth as she began her first loop of the churchyard. By the time they’d finished talking, Mabel was ready for another nap.
Gemma built on the idea for the rest of the afternoon, working through the potential objections and hurdles as Mabel snoozed on her feet. By 6 p.m. she had written up a proposal on five Power-Point slides she could share on the Zoom video call Ruth had organised with the village hall committee at 7 p.m. The fact that this could be scheduled at half a day’s notice on a Bank Holiday Monday was testament to how few social engagements people had these days.
She felt nervous and out of her depth – she’d only been in this village three weeks, and now she was asking them to listen to her ideas. She wasn’t even sure why she cared; it wasn’t like she was moving here for good. What if she came across as some kind of meddling Londoner, trying to change their way of doing things? To make matters worse, she was going to have to do the call in Matthew’s apartment, because her WiFi signal wasn’t good enough for a video conference. What if the people on the call noticed and thought they were living together? She’d be a meddling Londoner who was clearly shagging the local handyman, which somehow felt so much worse.
At 7 p.m. Gemma joined the call, having arranged Matthew’s dining table so her backdrop was an innocuous blank wall. The first ten minutes were spent unravelling various technical complications – how do I turn on my video, Sue you’re on mute, you need to press the microphone symbol, no that’s the camera, we can’t see you OR hear you now. Gemma was gratified to see that it wasn’t all old men – the committee had seven members, and four of them were women, including the Chair, who was a woman called Erica.
Gemma introduced herself to the group and tried to allay any preconceptions that she was a busybody interloper. ‘I know I’m new to the village, but I’ve been made incredibly welcome, and I’ve talked to a lot of people about some of the challenges they’re facing right now. I guess maybe people find it easier to talk to a stranger? Anyway, I’ve had an idea that might make a small difference, but I can’t make it work without your support.’
She had their attention, so Erica encouraged her to carry on. Gemma clicked the button to share her screen and cleared her throat, suddenly feeling like this was the stupidest idea ever.
Slide 1
The Challenge
Right now everyone has been stuck at home for at least three weeks, and it feels like the monotony of the situation has kicked in.
Kids are bored, parents have run out of inspiration, sometimes it feels hard to get through the day.
It’s easy to buy toys and books and games and start new hobbies if you’ve got plenty of money, but lots of people in the village are struggling on reduced furlough incomes, waiting for their self-employed government grant, or getting by on universal credit or their state pension. For many pe
ople, and for a hundred different reasons, things are really tough right now.
Slide 2
The idea
Lockdown Swap Shop
To bring Crowthorpe villagers together by starting a simple swap shop in the village hall – donate your unwanted toys, books or games in a safe, socially distanced way, and pick up something new at absolutely no cost.
What would we take?
Children’s toys, books, games
Adult books – fiction and non-fiction
Board games, outdoor games, jigsaw puzzles
DVDs and video games
Recipe books, baking tins and kitchen accessories
Gardening and DIY books and tools, cuttings and plants
Craft/hobby books and supplies
Slide 3
How would we make it safe?
We’ll run the scheme for a few hours, three times a week – all new items dropped off will be cleaned with anti-bac spray and quarantined in a storeroom in the village hall for 48 hours. Only quarantined items can be given away.
We’ll allow one household in the hall at a time, for ten minutes. That household could be one adult, or a couple, or a whole family. People can book their slot in the village shop in person or by email, so they’re not hanging around.
Slide 4
What would we need?
Donations – I’ll get to that in a minute.
Tables to display available items clearly – it’s important that people don’t handle things, so they need to be able to see what’s there. It would help to separate items into categories – adult books, children’s toys, craft items, DIY, etc.
Some kind of barrier so people are held back from the table – reduces temptation to touch (particularly for kids).
Three or four volunteers each session – someone to manage the flow of visitors, someone to accept incoming items, and a couple of people to help with outgoing items. These people will have gloves on so they can handle items and answer questions. At the end of each session all volunteers can anti-bac spray and organise any incoming items for the next session and wipe down the hall.
Disposable gloves and cleaning materials.
Slide 5
How would we tell people about it?
Day 1: A leaflet drop to every house in the village (via Steve the Postie?). Also village noticeboard and shop, and village Facebook page (?). Fifty or so houses get 2-part leaflet asking them to donate items for first session, everyone else can bring items along on the day.
Leaflet would also ask people to plan their visit to coincide with their daily outing, so it isn’t a special journey. All sessions during shop opening hours, so hopefully additional uplift in sales.
Day 2: Collection of donations, to be left in bin bags/boxes outside each house. All taken to the village hall for cleaning and quarantine.
Day 4: First swap shop.
Day 6: Second swap shop.
Day 8: Third swap shop.
Gemma had talked uninterrupted for twenty minutes, and now had nothing more to say. She un-shared her screen and looked at the wall of stern, silent faces. ‘Umm, that’s it. Any questions?’ she asked weakly.
The questions and suggestions began; Gemma was relieved to see that there was general enthusiasm, although some questioned whether this was in line with lockdown guidelines about use of community spaces, or whether people would have stuff to swap. Holes in Gemma’s plan were filled, additional refinements made around ways to display, how to involve people who were completely isolated, and what to do with any leftover items at the end of the lockdown. Eventually a vote was taken and passed – pending a call first thing tomorrow to the Council to check that this was permitted, it would be tested for three sessions, then reviewed by the committee.
Gemma would create the leaflet on her laptop tomorrow, email it to Ruth who would print it off on the village hall printer, and deliver to Steve the Postie, who Erica would call immediately. He’d delivered leaflets for the shop before without any issues, so he could drop these through every letterbox in the village on Wednesday.
Somebody asked if they could ask Matthew for the use of his van to collect all the donations on Thursday, and Gemma updated them on his mercy dash to Bristol; she had no idea if he’d be back by then. She’d barely given him a thought since this morning, and wondered what he would think of this mad idea. A different man with a van was suggested – the husband of a committee member called Rachel who volunteered to collect everything with him on Thursday lunch-time, when Ruth and Gemma would be waiting in the village hall with Dettol spray, masks and rubber gloves to sort and clean everything. Which meant the first swap shop could be Saturday morning, if they liked. It seemed like a lot to achieve, but the committee agreed that there was nothing to be gained from hanging on. A team was assembled, and Erica agreed to email round the notes and action plan first thing in the morning.
It was almost 8.30 p.m. by the time the call wrapped up, and Gemma was exhausted but exhilarated. It felt uplifting to have a project and be doing something that was useful. She realised how much she needed her time in Crowthorpe to feel worthwhile – it was what would have mattered most to Aunt Laura, and even her mother would approve. Aunt Laura loved a community project – she had turned a run-down theatre in Norwich into a thriving space that offered free workshops and holiday drama clubs for underprivileged teenagers. When they were posted in Germany, Gemma’s mother had started coffee mornings for young, often lonely military wives – a safe and confidential space where they could meet and offload for an hour. For all her mother’s faults, having the empathy to see a problem and the creativity to find a solution was something Gemma had always admired, and seemingly inherited. In that moment, the realisation took her by surprise.
She shook off thoughts of family and picked up her phone, which buzzed with a message from Matthew.
Hey Gemma, how was your day? I’m hoping to be back on Thursday. Hope that’s good news? Mx
Hey you. My day was pretty great, and that is really, really good news. Gx
Returning to the pages of notes and ideas on the table around her, Gemma decided that, either by current standards or those of her former life, this had been a very good day.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Tuesday, 14 April
To Do
Running (ugh)
Plan mad village thing
Clear the decks of everything unrelated to mad village thing
Erica emailed first thing to confirm that she couldn’t get hold of anyone from the Parish Council, and the government guidelines were really quite unclear on coronavirus-specific community initiatives. But volunteer activity was definitely allowed, so as long as they were meticulous about safety, they should probably work on the basis of ‘ask for forgiveness, not permission’. Gemma was very much on board with this kind of renegade thinking, and cracked on with drafting the leaflet, which explained in words of two syllables or fewer how the scheme would work.
Deciding this would all benefit from a second opinion, she popped back to Matthew’s apartment with Mabel and started a video call to Caro – the woman had a desk covered in awards for advertising, she would have opinions to spare. Mabel immediately made herself comfortable in her favourite spot on the sofa, while Gemma propped her phone up against the wall so she could chat and type at the same time.
‘Hey, Caro. I need your help.’
‘If you’re asking for sex tips I’ve got nothing, it’s drier than the Kalahari down there. I think it’s healed over.’
‘Haha, no. I need your marketing wisdom.’
‘OK, that you can have for free. Wait, where are you? That’s not my table, and you have proper WiFi. Holy fuck, are you in Matthew’s place? WAIT. GEMMA, DID YOU SLEEP THERE?’
Gemma threw her hands up in despair and laughed – this woman should work for GCHQ.
‘NO, I did not sleep here. He’s been in Bristol since Saturday and left me a key so I could borrow books, so I’m pinching his WiFi. Stop talking
so I can tell you what I need.’
‘OK, but how does that even work? Do you count as the same household?’
‘It’s a very good question. We’ve decided we do, because of the shared garden.’
‘Fair enough. Have you snogged him yet?’
‘I have not.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Gem, you’d make a lovely nun. OK, tell me what you need.’
Gemma outlined the scheme to Caro, who clapped her hands with glee. ‘This is SO you. You move into my parents’ village and immediately start solving everyone’s problems. I love it, THEY would love it. I’m so proud of you.’
Caro made a few suggestions and Gemma edited the copy on her laptop while they chatted. Once they’d ended the call, Gemma hung around in the peace of Matthew’s apartment for half an hour to finish both versions of the leaflet, the poster, and the copy for the village Facebook page. She attached them to an email and sent them to Ruth and Erica for approval, then turned to a fresh page in her notebook and started making lists of things that needed to be done each day this week. Her priority today and tomorrow was clearing the decks of work, house cleaning, laundry and life admin so she’d be free to focus on the Swap Shop for the rest of the week.
Mabel wandered over to the table and headbutted Gemma’s leg until she bent down to scratch between her ears. She was overdue her morning walk, but Gemma wanted to finish her lists before taking her out. It was also a day for running, so it would very much be worth Mabel’s while to be patient. ‘I’ll be half an hour and then we’ll go, you’ll have to wait.’ Mabel eyed her reproachfully and settled down under the table with a huff, which reminded Gemma of her visits to Aunt Laura’s when Mabel was a puppy. She had followed her owner round the house like they were joined by elastic, and could always be found lying at Aunt Laura’s feet.
Two Metres From You Page 13
