Love in Lockdown

by Chloe James

  ‘No – the baby might well be born in the next hour or so, although it’s a first-born and they can be unpredictable.’ Erica is matter-of-fact.

  ‘But I don’t know what to do with myself until then. I’m all over the place,’ says Jack, sounding more restless than one of my reception students.

  ‘Why don’t you go and grab your shopping from outside the door and then come back and we’ll all have a drink?’ I suggest.

  ‘Excellent idea.’ We hear Jack walking inside his flat.

  ‘What can I do to help?’ calls Greg.

  ‘We could put on some relaxation music, whale sounds or something,’ suggests Erica, although she doesn’t sound too enthused about it.

  ‘Please don’t.’ I laugh. ‘Whale sounds always make me ridiculously stressed.’ I love relaxation music and have got quite into mindfulness when I get a minute, especially during the lockdown. I find I need it. But whale sounds, they’re like a really horrible eerie shrieking; makes me feel really tense. Who on earth first thought they were relaxing in the first place? Thinking about it, who even discovered whales make a sound, as they’re not discernible by the naked human ear? Even more puzzling, whoever that person was felt it was important to not only encourage other people to listen to the hideous sound, but worse still, that it was necessary to record it for innocent people going about their daily business who would never ordinarily listen to whale noises. It’s worrying really.

  Before we can discuss the choice of music any further, the dulcet tones of a saxophone lilt over the edge of the balcony and waft towards us on the afternoon breeze. Erica and I both stand transfixed, wrapped in the chocolate velvetiness of the sound. For a moment we are transported far away into another place, another world where there isn’t a pandemic. A perfect time and place – it’s like a really mellow version of ‘Perfect Day’. Now this is my kind of relaxation music.

  ‘Is that Greg playing?’ Erica asks peering over the balcony rather pointlessly. She can’t possibly see anything of him, as his flat is to the side of another part of the building, which juts out obliterating the view.

  ‘I guess it must be, unless he’s put on a CD.’

  The music ends and we both feel a sense of regret, bereft almost.

  ‘Hey, Greg, was that a disc?’

  ‘No, it was me,’ he replies. ‘I like a bit of a blast on the old sax.’

  ‘Man, you are talented.’ Jack has obviously returned.

  ‘It’s just a few notes all thrown together,’ says Greg.

  ‘Play us something else,’ I urge throwing myself down in a chair and making myself comfortable.

  ‘I’ve got the rest of the shopping to unpack – I could do with some accompaniment,’ Jack adds. ‘Thanks so much for this, Sophia,’ he calls down. ‘You’re a lifesaver.’

  ‘Don’t worry; I was going to the shop anyway. You really need to give me a list each week and I’ll sort it.’

  ‘Yeah she loves shopping,’ says Erica, sarcastically.

  ‘I hate food shopping,’ retorts Greg. ‘You can go for me too.’

  ‘Course I will,’ I say.

  ‘Nah you’re okay.’ He laughs. ‘I’m allowed out – when I’m not at work.’

  ‘You still working, then?’ Erica asks.

  ‘There’s no rest for the wicked.’

  ‘That good, huh?’

  ‘Yeah, but I love my job, hard though it is sometimes.’

  ‘Are you a medical worker then?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’m a carer at the local autism residential college for young people.’

  ‘Whoa, that’s tough,’ says Erica.

  ‘It can be, but also really rewarding.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I say. ‘Why haven’t they gone home to their families?’

  ‘Many of them have, but for some it’s just not possible. Either the family don’t want them, or in some cases they desperately do, but can’t cope with them.’

  We are all silent for a moment. Lockdown is incredibly tough for so many people and makes difficult situations for many even more complicated. I think of all those who are struggling – those living on their own, people with health conditions, elderly people, the kids in the residential colleges, who already have anxiety and struggle with the complexities of life without a lockdown being thrown into the mix. I feel as though we should be able to do something to help them. I need to think of something, however small, to try to make a difference.

  Whilst I stand there, Erica disappears inside to call her mum, and Greg’s saxophone starts again, weaving its magic once more.

  I think about the old guy who I often see walking through the courtyard, treading slowly as though he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  ‘That’s it,’ I say loudly.

  ‘That’s what?’ I jump, as I hadn’t realised Jack was back out up above.

  ‘I’ve had an idea.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Helping people. I’m thinking I could get some messages around on WhatsApp to get in touch with anyone like you who’s struggling with getting shopping, or who’s lonely?’

  ‘You really are a glutton for punishment.’ He sounds impressed.

  ‘I know, but I’d hate to be bored.’

  ‘Like me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it like that. You can’t go out – you have an excuse.’

  ‘That doesn’t really help. I hate it. I feel so powerless.’ His words pull at my heartstrings, but at the same time, I’m amazed how honest he is being about his feelings. Ryan convinced me that all men are emotionally unavailable, but it looks as though maybe he was wrong.

  ‘There must be something you can do,’ I muse.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Just give me time. Are you on WhatsApp?’

  ‘Yeah of course.’

  ‘What’s your number? I’ll add you.’

  I feel kind of excited about this. I might get to see what Jack looks like. I’m not shallow, I’m really not, but it would be nice to see him so I can put a face to the name.

  Jack tells me his number and I pop it in, a feeling of exhilaration rising up in me, which I can’t quite quash.

  His number bings up. Hi Sophia, thanks for inviting me to the group!

  I quickly press on his profile picture. It’s of a flipping cocktail. I don’t believe it. It’s a very attractive one, but even so.

  Give me some time and I’m going to think of some stuff you can do to get involved. Meanwhile, enjoy having a break! I message back and press send. This is kind of sad, messaging when we’re able to call up or down to each other. But he can get hold of me when he needs to now, and somehow that’s strangely reassuring.

  ‘So you can message me any more shopping lists direct,’ I say, pocketing my phone.

  ‘Great. I’ve already started scoffing the crisps. They are just the best. Can I pass you some down?’

  ‘No I’m good thanks. I’m on the hard stuff: Dairy Milk.’

  ‘Sam’s calling,’ Jack says, suddenly sounding really tense.

  ‘Go answer it!’

  ‘Have I missed anything?’ asks Greg, who has stopped playing and is obviously intrigued.

  ‘That baby must be on its way by now,’ Erica says, reappearing with a couple of glasses of ice-cold wine.

  ‘I don’t normally drink on a week night,’ I protest.

  ‘You have to celebrate,’ calls Greg. ‘Unless of course it’s not born for another day or two.’

  ‘He or she will be along before then,’ Erica says. ‘First babies may be late, but once they start coming there’s no stopping them.’

  ‘Thanks for that,’ says Greg. ‘In that case, I’m breaking out the scotch.’

  ‘She’s here!’ Jack cries, interrupting our conflab on the ins and outs of childbirth, but his voice cracks and he breaks off, clearing his throat. ‘The baby’s here. It’s a girl.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ I shout in delight, torn between tears and laughter. Jack is making it sound as thoug
h he’s the father in the birthing room.

  ‘Congratulations, Uncle Jack,’ Erica tells him. ‘What’s her name?’

  ‘Yes, we must know the name,’ calls Greg, his enthusiasm for the whole situation makes me smile.

  ‘Carrie Elizabeth,’ Jack manages to say. It sounds suspiciously as though he’s crying. ‘Sorry, guys, I’m just a bit emotional.’

  ‘Take your time,’ Erica says. ‘Babies can make you feel like that.’

  ‘They don’t usually.’ Jack laughs. His voice sounds stronger now.

  ‘I love her name. Carrie is gorgeous – it’s unusual,’ I say. ‘How’s Tina?’

  ‘And Sam?’ asks Erica. ‘Dads are often totally exhausted by the whole process, as you can imagine!’

  ‘I’m totally exhausted just hearing about it,’ jokes Greg.

  ‘They’re all doing really well. He’s sent some pictures. I must show you.’

  Within minutes, thanks to the wonders of technology, we are all admiring a tiny pink-faced bundle, her eyes, two gossamer slender curved lines, edged by fairy-tale-long lashes and a tiny rosebud mouth.

  Greg bursts into ‘All That She Wants Is Another Baby,’ on the sax.

  ‘Have you got a drink, Jack?’ I ask.

  ‘You bet,’ he says. ‘Well … here’s to Carrie.’

  ‘To Carrie,’ we all echo from our individual balconies. Toasting a tiny little miracle, born in the most trying of circumstances. We sip our drinks and bask momentarily in the warmth and happiness that only the hopeful joy of a new birth can create, along with a shared sense of feeling amongst those who otherwise must stay apart.

  Chapter 6

  Jack

  Today is kind of a weird day. I feel randomly cheery and hum to myself whilst showering, which I haven’t done for ages. I’ve printed out the picture of Carrie and put it on the notice board in the kitchen. Sam’s been on the phone twice today, first to tell me that Carrie has got through three nappies already and that he’s sure she has almost smiled, even though the midwife says it’s wind. Google says babies can’t smile until six weeks of age, but it’s a nice thought and that’s what matters.

  I flick on the kettle and open the instant – and nicely caffeinated – coffee Sophia bought for me yesterday. I’m so grateful to her. I also have a fresh baguette and some strawberry jam – it feels very continental. As I sit to eat my breakfast with the balcony door open, I wonder what she’s doing. I’m struggling to remember which day it is. I glance at my phone. It’s Tuesday and lockdown has been going on two weeks already. The days are beginning to blur into one.

  I’ve checked my phone a couple of times, in case she’s had any more thoughts about the WhatsApp help in the community thing, but so far it’s quiet. I click, not for the first time, on her profile picture. I’d like to know what she looks like, but unfortunately the photo is taken from miles away and I can’t really see her properly. Frustrated, I try to enlarge the picture but it won’t work. I can just about make out she’s got dark hair, I think, or it could just be she’s standing in the shadow. She’s outside somewhere, maybe on holiday but I’m not sure where. It looks sunny and she’s standing under a tree. For goodness’ sake, I can tell more about the tree than her.

  Why would she use a profile picture like this? I suppose she could be shy about her looks, perhaps self-conscious. I imagine she’s pretty but it wouldn’t matter – she’s such a nice person and has a bubbly voice. And it’s not like I need to think about it anyway, as I’ve had enough of women for the time being. Although Sophia seems different somehow. More straightforward. Perhaps that’s just because I don’t really know her.

  My phone blasts out. I’ve changed the ringtone to Dua Lipa just because it makes me feel happy. I answer it. ‘Hi, Sam, what’s up.’

  ‘Nothing, I’m about to set off to pick up Tina and little Carrie.’

  ‘That sounds so nice: Tina and Carrie. Listen to you.’

  ‘I know.’ I can tell by his voice he’s grinning from ear to ear.

  ‘Seriously, I’m so happy for you.’

  ‘I know, Uncle Jack – you have already been put at the top of the babysitting services list and you’re down for our first Mummy and Daddy weekend trip away.’

  ‘A whole weekend – when?’

  ‘I thought in a couple of weeks; should give Carrie long enough to get into a routine.’

  ‘Yeah right, you had me going there!’ I hesitate for a moment, before adding, ‘But seriously, I can’t wait to see her.’

  ‘I know, mate, we’ll Zoom you later so you can get a look. Also Tina will want to say hi.’

  ‘Bless her, I would think she’d rather sleep after all this.’

  ‘Well, that too. She’s fond of you though. Can’t think why! And I mean it, when this rubbish is over we will need you to help out. We’re going to need a break by then.’

  ‘You’re not even a day in yet!’ I laugh, but I’m secretly really chuffed. It’s so good Sam feels he can rely on me, even after everything that’s happened in the past. ‘Have you got everything you need?’

  ‘Yep, I have a list.’ I can hear Sam rustling his to-do list. I can picture him in his snug Victorian hall, papers everywhere, family photos all over the wall, and feel a wave of homesickness to be there with him and his little family. ‘Baby seat, that’s already in the car. You need a blinking degree to fit it as well.’

  I laugh. ‘I’ve heard that – complicated things. What about baby clothes and stuff?’

  ‘Tina’s had what she and Carrie are wearing planned for weeks; you’d think the media were going to turn up at the door, as though she’s Princess Kate, she’s put so much thought into it. She even had a blue baby suit ready in case the baby was a boy.’

  ‘Brilliant.’ I laugh. ‘It’s good she’s got it all sorted.’

  Sam goes and I smile to myself at the thought of him trying to bundle the list of necessities into their car, which is pretty compact. As I wander towards the balcony, the stack of plant pots Sophia left outside my door this morning attracts my notice, complete with various packets of seeds – tomatoes, chilli plants, cucumbers, mint rosemary and thyme (for cocktails of course) – and a bag of compost.

  I haven’t grown anything for years, not since living at home with Mum and Dad. I remember sowing seeds in the garden with Sam when we were kids; it was fun actually, maybe I’ll give it a go. Three-quarters of an hour later, I stand back to look at my handiwork – the balcony now has several pots of flattened earth, bare as yet, but I have carefully labelled each and watered them, ready for the magic to begin. They make the balcony look more lived in somehow. I have made a satisfying amount of mess on the floor, but it’s soon swept up.

  As I meander across the room to make another coffee, my eye falls on my old guitar case, half hidden down the side of the sofa. Perhaps Sam’s right; I should give it a go. I haven’t really touched it since over a year ago, long before the lockdown started. Somehow it feels like part of my old life. I pull it out and cough from the piles of dust, which rise up and engulf me. Maybe I forgot to clean behind the sofa – will put that down on my to-do list for later … or never. Fortunately, tucked away in its case, my guitar is pristine, the dark chocolate brown rosewood reassuringly shiny.

  I sit and tentatively pick out a couple of notes. It’s really out of tune. I mess about with the tuning pegs and try again. Within moments my fingers, albeit a little rusty, find the familiar notes and I lose myself in the old tunes from summer in Crete. I thought these songs would make me sad, but actually they simply remind me of the exotic warmth, the gentle breeze, the misty islands shimmering on the horizon and I escape for a while, far away from my flat to the sandy shores of Agios Nikolaos. I can almost smell the bougainvillea.

  Chapter 7

  Sophia

  ‘Who’s Charlie Mackesy?’ asks Milo, except he pronounces Mackesy as Matesey.

  ‘Charlie Mackesy is a famous artist and writer. I don’t know if any of you have heard of his beautiful bo
ok, The Boy, the Mole, the Fox and the Horse?’ I hold up my copy for everyone to see.

  ‘I’ve heard of it,’ Lola says. ‘Mum has that book.’

  ‘Well my lovely sister Jess gave it to me for my birthday,’ I tell them.

  ‘My sister gave me some sweets for my birthday and then ate most of them,’ Milo says sadly.

  ‘That’s a shame, but little sisters often do things like that.’ I smile.

  ‘Mum got me some more though,’ he says.

  ‘Well that was good.’

  ‘Not really … my dad ate those ones.’

  I laugh. ‘Poor Milo. Okay, back to Charlie Mackesy. He creates pictures showing the journey of a boy, a horse, a fox and a mole, which show us how we can be kind both to others and to ourselves.’

  ‘I can’t see, Miss Trent,’ whispers Zane.

  ‘That’s okay, just come forward and kneel down here; make sure you leave enough room for a whole long brush handle between you and the others.’

  ‘Is something bad going to happen if I don’t?’

  ‘No,’ I say simply. Poor kid, he’s anxious enough already. ‘But it’s important you leave a space around you so that you don’t catch the virus from other children and they don’t catch it from you.’

  ‘But I don’t have a wirus,’ he says looking even more confused. Oh dear, we’ve been through this several times, but it’s really tough for the little ones to understand.

  ‘Imagine it’s a game. Haven’t your mum and dad got a Wii at home that you can play on?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nods.

  ‘So there’s a game on it where you have to make shapes to fit in the bubble, isn’t there?’

  He nods.

  ‘And you have a big bubble round you and you just have to make sure you don’t burst that bubble or the game’s over.’

  ‘I’m good at that,’ says Zane with a small smile.

  ‘Okay then, let’s see if you can sit where you can see my book without bursting your bubble.’

  Zane arrives at his allotted space and sits down, extremely pleased with himself.

  ‘So, Zane, you have been kind to your friends by not bursting their bubbles and kind to yourself as you haven’t burst your own. Charlie Mackesy is such a kind man that he gives away his beautiful drawings, which are now worth a lot of money, to people he doesn’t even know.’