Love in Lockdown

by Chloe James

  ‘Chocolate crispy cakes!’ he shouts. ‘What a result – I love these.’

  ‘Cheers!’ I say taking a sip of the cocktail. ‘Mmm, that is so good. What is it?’

  ‘Well, it’s my own invention at the moment as I haven’t got half the usual ingredients.’

  ‘Tastes pretty darn good to me. I’m not sure it will go with the cakes.’

  ‘I can tell you it does,’ he replies. I have to strain to make out his words; I reckon he’s got a mouthful.

  ‘They are pretty moreish,’ I agree, tucking into another one myself. I can always make another batch tomorrow. ‘Good grief.’ I suddenly remember the mince and as I run inside the flat, I am almost knocked backwards by an acrid smell of burning. ‘For goodness’ sake!’ The contents of the pan have stuck fast to the bottom in a blackened mess. ‘So much for being organised,’ I lament to no one in particular, scraping the burnt meat into a bowl just in case any of it’s salvageable. This is all going horribly wrong. I was only trying to be organised so things would feel a little more under control, a couple of dinners prepared in advance so I don’t have to worry about cooking when I get in from work, and I can’t even manage that.

  ‘Everything all right?’ calls the voice.

  I walk back outside. ‘Yes – no, not really, I’ve just burnt tea for the next two days and I might have ruined my favourite pan.’ I take a comforting sip of my cocktail.

  ‘That’s a bit of a crisis. Is it totally trashed or can you save some of it?’

  ‘It’s pretty blackened.’

  ‘Looks like you’re going to have to live off cocktails and cakes.’ We both laugh.

  ‘Could be worse I guess. Where did you learn to make such amazing cocktails?’

  ‘In Greece. I lived in Crete for a couple of years and did a bartending course.’

  ‘Oh wow, that sounds amazing. I’ve not been to Crete but I’ve visited Santorini and it was just beautiful.’ I refrain from adding that the memory is tinged with sadness, as it was my last holiday with Ryan. We had stayed in a gorgeous apartment with a shared pool. Our days had been spent exploring the cobbled streets, swimming in the glass-smooth water and making love in the cool white cotton sheets within the sanctuary of the air-conditioned stone-clad apartment. It’s been many months since we broke up, yet I still miss him, the feel of him, what we had together. Now I feel so bereft. Five years is a long time to be together for it to end so abruptly, just like that.

  ‘Santorini is stunning.’ His voice breaks in on my thoughts. ‘I went on a day trip from Crete once. I didn’t like the cable car ride much though – it felt really dodgy.’

  ‘I avoided that.’ I smile at the recollection, trying not to think of Ryan. ‘The donkeys looked safer to me.’

  ‘You’re braver than me; they looked every bit as lethal as the cable car.’

  ‘Yes, they were a bit twitchy and fidgety,’ I acknowledge. ‘And it seemed to take forever to get up the cliff path. At one point I was worried I was going to have to dismount and carry the poor donkey.’

  He laughs. ‘It was awfully hot there, even for carrying just a scrawny donkey.’

  ‘Baking. I needed one of your cocktails. When I got to the top I drank three jugs full of iced water.’ Ryan had laughed at me, as I had sprawled against a cooling wall in a shady spot to recover. I had laughed too. Everything seemed so much simpler then. We had been two young people having fun. With difficulty, I drag my thoughts back to the present.

  ‘Did you always want to be a barman?’ I ask.

  ‘No, funnily enough I wanted to be a sports therapist. I was all set to go to college. I was looking forward to the course but …’ He breaks off suddenly.

  ‘But?’

  ‘Things changed. Greece sounded fun, less responsible. It was easier to run away instead I guess.’

  ‘You could always go back to it, if it’s really what you want to do. It’s never too late. Our local college has an excellent reputation for Sports Science.’

  ‘I guess.’ He goes quiet and I worry I’ve touched a nerve.

  ‘What made you come back from Greece anyway?’ I ask, to change the subject a little.

  ‘My brother Sam,’ he says simply. ‘And a few other things.’

  ‘Does he live nearby?’

  ‘Sort of – he’s about an hour away.’

  ‘That’s nice. It’s good not to be too far away from family, but maybe not too near either? If my sister Jess lived any closer, it would be a complete nightmare.’

  ‘I know what you mean.’ He laughs. ‘I’m glad Sam’s around though. He’s about to become a dad.’

  ‘Exciting – when’s the baby due?’

  ‘In the next couple of weeks.’

  ‘Not long then. How’s Sam’s wife doing? It must be stressful in the middle of this whole business?’ I know I would be terrified giving birth in the middle of a lockdown, although I guess it would be exciting as well. This birth would be a small moment in history, a snapshot from a major human drama. Ryan and I had discussed having kids several times. He wanted to have children and so did I, until I was ill that is; it made everything so much more complicated. Now our dreams feel as flimsy and transient as a gossamer-thin spider’s web flickering in a thunderstorm.

  ‘Tina? Yeah, she’s doing okay, though Sam says she’s driving him mad with frenetic scrubbing of everything in the house. Even the cat’s running scared in case he ends up with a good bathing.’

  I laugh. ‘That’s quite normal, as I understand it. My flatmate Erica’s a midwife and she says all sorts of strange behaviour is completely run of the mill when dealing with pregnant women.’

  ‘From what Sam says, I think she’s right. Tina has insisted on reading Shakespeare to the bump at least once a day as well as the Quantum Theory of Physics – apparently she figures he or she needs to be fully rounded – at the same time as eating mustard and gherkin sandwiches. Most bizarre.’ He pauses a second. ‘Nice for you to have company – when your flatmate’s not at work.’ He sounds envious.

  ‘Are you on your own up there, then?’ I wonder if he has a girlfriend living with him.

  ‘Yep, at the moment. I used to have a flatmate but he moved out. I was about to advertise for a new inmate and this all happened.’

  ‘What a pain – you must be fed up then. How are you coping on your own? I guess at least it’s peaceful?’

  ‘Yeah maybe a bit too quiet for me,’ he admits.

  ‘Are you still working?’

  ‘Nope, the bar’s shut.’

  ‘Oh, of course.’ I feel really stupid now. ‘Which bar is that?’

  ‘Soho.’

  ‘Oh, I know it.’ I’ve been several times with Erica. I wonder whether I might have seen this guy there, amongst the admittedly fit and smartly uniformed barmen. ‘It’s great in there, nice atmosphere.’

  ‘Yeah it is good, and our cocktails are second to none.’ I can feel the pride in his voice.

  ‘I can tell.’ I take another sip. ‘I haven’t been in there for ages.’

  ‘You’ll have to pop in when we’ve reopened.’

  ‘That would be lovely. I can’t wait to have a night out again with the girls.’

  ‘It all seems a long time ago now, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Going on a night out?’

  ‘Going out at all.’ The raw tone of despair paired with utter resignation in his voice is painful to hear.

  ‘Are you stuck in then?’

  ‘Yeah, pretty much.’

  ‘Oh that sucks.’ I wonder why he’s having to stay in. He must be shielding for some reason, but I don’t like to ask why.

  ‘Yeah it does. I’ve got kidney disease, so I’m in the high-risk category. Not that I’ve got a letter to prove it or anything. But doctor’s advice. You know how it is.’

  ‘I do, actually.’ I know all too well. It was with mixed emotions I had read the letter from the hospital.

  We would like to inform you that there are no known additional risks
associated with catching Covid-19 if you have epilepsy. If, however, you have any concerns, please call the Epilepsy Team.

  In spite of this supposedly reassuring letter, I had been in a quandary about work. After all, no one really knows how this virus affects anyone. It’s an unknown quantity, especially for anyone with any kind of underlying condition. For anyone told to shield, it must be terrifying. ‘How are you coping? How are you getting food and stuff?’

  ‘I’m okay. I managed to get a delivery booked for a couple of weeks’ time.’

  ‘But what are you going to do until then?’ I’m horrified now.

  ‘I do have nice chocolate cakes that a kind person sent me.’

  I laugh. ‘No, seriously, do you have enough? If you ever need anything …’

  ‘No, I’m fine.’ I don’t believe him at all. I’m getting the sense that he’s the type of independent guy who doesn’t like to ask for help. It would be admitting weakness. He’s been through a lot by the sound of it; it’s hardly surprising he feels this way.

  ‘I’m going to Tesco tomorrow. Why don’t you drop me down a list? I bet there must be some things you need.’

  ‘I did eat my last crust of toast this morning,’ he admits after a pause.

  ‘Right: bread, what else?’

  ‘I have a terrible craving for crisps, beef-flavoured ones, and Super Noodles; I love them. But I can’t possibly ask you to get all those things.’

  ‘Look, it’s nothing. Write me a proper list with everything on it and send it down.’

  ‘It’s really kind of you – that would be brilliant! But I feel terrible. You’ve already got a lot on your plate.’

  ‘Honestly, it’s no trouble. I insist.’

  ‘Okay then. I’m really grateful, thanks. But there’s one thing, other than the fact you must let me give you the money.’

  ‘That’s fine – what’s the other thing?’

  ‘If you’re kindly doing some shopping for me, I’d like to at least know your name?’

  ‘Sophia.’

  ‘Jack.’

  ‘Nice to almost meet you, Jack,’ I say – and it is. It really is.

  Chapter 4

  Jack

  I go back inside as Sophia says she needs to go and try to salvage her dinner, but I leave the door to the balcony open, just in case. I like her name; it suits her.

  I flick on my iPad and check all the major supermarkets’ delivery slots, but they’ve got nothing sooner than my trusty slot on April 1st. I hope Sophia really is happy to shop for me. I feel bad asking her, but she didn’t seem to mind. I peer in the cupboards and make a list, crisps and peanuts at the top – not that they’re the most important, but at the moment they feel as though they are. Perhaps I should put staples at the top of the list, like bread and noodles and the other stuff at the bottom with a disclaimer: only get if you don’t mind.

  I tear off another bit of paper and rewrite the list with little notes next to what’s urgent and what is just an extra luxury. I even add a few illustrations. I survey my handiwork – this is really sad. This is what lockdown does to a chap.

  I flick on the iPad and select Dua Lipa’s ‘Physical’, connect to the speaker and crank up the volume. I feel more energised than I have in weeks. It must be the thought of crisps and nuts. I dance around the room, and I almost feel like breakdancing as a sudden wave of unexpected happiness washes over me. Perhaps I should take up some kind of exercise again. My old training rope lies across the back of the sofa, still attached to the Budweiser packet – I could start skipping again. Then again, Sophia might think someone’s coming through the ceiling if I bang about like that. Perhaps I’ll give it a go in the day, while she’s out. I might even do some push-ups. I need to do something to keep fit.

  I catch sight of myself in the mirror and want to laugh – my hair has gone crazy. I’m going to have to shave it sometime, given that a trip to the hairdresser isn’t going to happen any time soon.

  My phone buzzes round the table.

  ‘Hi, mate,’ I answer. It’s Dan, my friend from school. Back in the day we used to have some right old laughs. I’m really pleased to hear from him. It’s been a while and I haven’t exactly had much contact from the outside world.

  ‘Hi, Jack, how you doin’?’

  ‘Yeah okay, you know … considering.’

  ‘Matt said you’re having to self-isolate. That’s a right bummer. Mind you, sounds like you’re having a party.’

  I turn down Dua Lipa. ‘Thought I’d liven things up a bit.’

  ‘The party starts at home, right? Reminds me of that night at “Urban Reef” when we all went late-night surfing.’

  ‘Yeah, Matt miraculously found he could super surf after several beers, until that huge wave totally took him out.’

  ‘It was brilliant, happy days,’ he says.

  ‘Feels like another lifetime, mate.’

  ‘I know. How are you coping on your own?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s okay I suppose.’ I pause a second. There’s no point in pretending it’s all great when it isn’t. ‘Well not really – it’s boring to be honest and I never thought I’d say this, but I’m a bit lonely. How’s tricks with you?’

  ‘Complicated.’

  ‘That doesn’t sound too good. Work not going well?’

  ‘No, the delivery job’s all right. As long as people keep their distance, and most of them don’t even come out the house. I had someone earlier today who just yelled out the upstairs window to leave the parcel on her car. Makes me feel like I’ve got the plague.’

  ‘For all they know, you might have,’ I joke.

  ‘Yeah it’s made everyone pretty fearful … Bad times, mate. Nah, it’s not work that’s the problem.’ He sounds furtive and lowers his voice to a whisper. ‘It’s Rick.’

  ‘What’s up with him?’ Rick is Dan’s room-mate. We all worked together in the holidays in our first student job down at the local eatery. Rick is a nice enough guy, a real joker, but he can be full on when he gets going.

  ‘He’s not the problem, exactly. More his girlfriend. Wait a minute.’ He breaks off for a moment. ‘I’m shutting the door – I don’t want them to hear.’

  ‘I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.’ That’s the other thing about Rick – he’s a bit of a lad. I don’t think he’s ever stuck with anyone for more than a couple of dates. They usually run away and change their number, if not their whole identity by that stage.

  ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘I’m confused now.’ I shove in a mouthful of cake; perhaps the chocolate will help my addled brain.

  ‘He has now, though, and that’s the problem.’

  ‘Don’t you like her?’ I’m also wondering how he even met someone in the current situation.

  ‘No, I don’t think anyone does. He must have been totally trashed when he met her.’

  ‘Surely he can’t see her at the moment anyway? We’re all in lockdown.’

  ‘That’s the thing: she was a one-night stand and hasn’t gone home since they got together, because the next day the lockdown started.’

  This does not surprise me with Rick at all. ‘That’s classic. So you’re all stuck with her.’

  Dan sounds cross now. ‘Yes, and she’s the most hideous person ever. Totally obsessive.’

  ‘Maybe she can’t help that. Anyway, you are a bit of a slob.’

  ‘But it’s my flat! I didn’t ask to live with her and I really can’t do it. You know my new rugby kit?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Perhaps I’ll finish that cake. I reach for the rest of it.

  ‘She’s dyed it.’

  ‘Dyed it?’

  ‘Dyed it. Pink.’

  I laugh again; I can’t help it. ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  ‘Unfortunate! It’s a flipping disaster. It cost over a hundred quid and now it’s bright pink. All because she can’t leave anything unwashed or not put away. I can’t find anything. And she is the world’s pickiest eater – except when it comes to my food. I
went to the cupboard yesterday and she’d eaten all the Twix.’

  ‘That is a serious offence, especially at the moment; snacks are like gold dust. Perhaps you should lock them away?’

  ‘And my beers have all run out because they’re her favourite.’

  ‘I suppose at least you can go get some more.’ I’m beginning to struggle here. It’s tough having someone grumble about stuff running out when at least he’s able to get out. It’s a basic human right.

  ‘Not the point though, is it.’ There’s a silence. ‘It’s no good, Jack. I’m going to have to move out.’

  ‘But where would you go?’ Dan is a bit of a drama queen. Only he could think of flouncing out of his flat in the middle of a lockdown.

  ‘That’s the thing, I was wondering …’

  ‘Look, Dan, of course you could crash here if we weren’t in the middle of a lockdown.’

  ‘I was hoping it might be okay, just for a couple of nights.’

  ‘It’s not that. I just can’t risk it – I’m meant to be staying in. Can’t even go out for a walk.’ I feel really awkward now.

  ‘I haven’t really been in contact with many people.’ I hate it when people say things like this. I know Dan has at least seen Rick and this new girl, whoever she is, and we don’t know how many people she sees each day or anything else. The whole situation is so complicated; the risks are incalculable.

  ‘What, on your delivery rounds?’

  ‘Yeah, we stay at least a couple of metres away.’

  ‘I know, mate, but I just can’t risk it,’ I repeat almost as though I’m convincing myself. It would be so nice to have Dan here. We could have a real laugh. It would be someone to watch TV with, help cook, and besides I miss him. I don’t even know when I’m going to see him again. But no, it’s too high a price to pay. ‘I’m really sorry. What about Matt?’

  ‘I could ask him I s’pose, but he’s a terrible snorer.’

  ‘Desperate times,’ I say.

  Dan has to go after a bit more chat. It’s one of the horrible things about this virus – it puts you in awkward situations where you really want to help, especially people you care about, as well as do something that you know will help your own mental health, but you can’t.