Love in Lockdown

by Chloe James

  ‘How does he do that?’ asks Freya.

  ‘Before the lockdown started, he would leave his finished drawing on the train for the next passenger to find.’

  ‘Like a present?’ asks Milo.

  ‘Yes, exactly like a present.’

  ‘Even though he doesn’t know the person.’

  ‘Absolutely – it’s a lovely thing to do, giving happy thoughts and drawings away to others. Also if we think about helping someone else, it can take our mind off how sad and worried we might be feeling about ourselves or our families and give us a warm sense of giving.’

  ‘Can we do that?’ asks Alfie.

  ‘Yes it’s a lovely idea, isn’t it, Alfie?’ I’m so pleased he’s talking out loud in front of the class – there are only five others but this is still a huge breakthrough.

  ‘Sometimes I feel lost,’ he says sadly.

  ‘I think we all do at times, especially at the moment when maybe we can’t see our friends or our grandparents,’ I say.

  ‘I can’t see my grandma and she gives me sweets and makes sure no one else eats them,’ calls Milo.

  ‘She sounds wonderful. Well the thing is, in one of the gorgeous pictures in the book, Mackesy says that the dark clouds may seem huge, but they will pass and the blue sky is always up there. You just can’t always see it.’

  ‘Like on an aeroplane,’ says Lola. ‘Last time we went to Spain, it was raining when we left the airport in England but then the plane got really high and the sky was all blue.’

  ‘That’s exactly how it is and just like the dark clouds, the virus will go away and we will all be able to see our families and loved ones again really soon.’

  Everyone stares at me transfixed. ‘In the meantime, it’s quite normal to sometimes feel a little sad, or down in the dumps. So, that’s exactly what we’re going to do today. Let’s all think of things we could do to help other people feel good – and ourselves too, when we’re feeling down. Any ideas?’

  ‘Read a book,’ suggests Freya.

  ‘Yes well done, read a lovely cheerful book. Anything else?’

  ‘Do some Airfix?’ suggests Alfie. He’s really beginning to find his feet now.

  ‘Yes that’s a great idea. Do you like doing Airfix?’

  ‘I love it,’ he says, then adds shyly, ‘I could bring some pictures in to show you of the things I’ve built.’

  ‘That would be lovely, Alfie, please do – we would all love to see them.’

  ‘I like to do cooking,’ says Lola.

  ‘Well maybe we could do some more here,’ I say. I’ll just have to think of some social distancing friendly recipes!

  ‘Any other ideas? What about you, Zane?’

  ‘I like cuddling my cat,’ he says quietly.

  ‘That’s a lovely one – animals always have a way of making you feel better. And there’s another thing you can always do: ask someone for help. It could be one of the adults in your life or a friend, or I’m always here if you want to talk about anything that’s worrying you. Now I’ve photocopied some of these pictures and I’m going to place them round your desks and next to that a clean sheet or two so we are all going to think of some more slogans and drawings like Charlie Mackesy’s to make people feel better – or you can simply copy some of his. It’s up to you.’

  I walk around the desks putting out the papers and making sure each child has their own pot of pencils and colours.

  Within minutes the kids are all scribbling away and a contented silence falls on the room except the very slight scratching of pens and pencil on paper. The concept of being kind and thinking of others is already working like a charm, and it gives me the idea that there must be some way of helping both Jack and the rest of the people in our little community to feel less isolated. I just need to work out what it is …

  Chapter 8

  Jack

  I peer at myself in the mirror. This hair has got to go – it’s a disaster. Not that anyone’s going to see me at the moment but I can see my hair whenever I walk past anything shiny, even the kettle. It’s really bothering me now. It’s strange how things don’t get to you when you’re busy going about your usual business, but when you’re stuck in for days on end by yourself, you pick up on every little thing. That’s fine when it’s good things – like sometimes I can hear the faint drift of Greg’s sax or I might notice a beautiful but lost seagull calling overhead – but when it’s the water bubbling through the pipes when the boiler’s heating, or the fact my hair looks crap, it suddenly feels like a problem of gargantuan proportions.

  I wish Greg played his sax more often; he’s a really talented musician. He’s probably at work now. I don’t envy him his job; I’d almost rather be stuck here all day. Almost. I had a chat with him yesterday. I can’t believe how time is passing. We have already been in lockdown more than two weeks and he was telling me what he has to deal with. The kids who are stuck at the care home are really struggling with the restrictions.

  ‘One girl,’ he told me, ‘likes her walk every day – it helps her cope with her anxiety, which is high at the best of times. But at the moment we often haven’t got enough staff to cover taking her out. So she’s got to walk on her own.’

  ‘What does she do?’ I asked.

  ‘Sometimes she still walks, but she says it’s lonely. Other times she’s just too anxious to go out. She says having to worry about not getting near people in case she gets the virus, as well as managing her usual anxiety, is too much. Then she just lies in bed all day as she’s too depressed to do anything else.’

  ‘That’s really upsetting. Isn’t there something you can do?’

  ‘We’re not allowed to do drives, which used to help her so much before. The car’s great because you’re both looking forwards and there’s less eye contact. This can really reduce anxiety for anyone with autism if they enjoy the car. There’s more distraction and less pressure on them to feel they have to make conversation. The student I’m talking about loves the countryside, so I used to take her for drives to see the trees and fields. Being stuck in at the moment, she’s trapped within the four walls, except for once a day when she can walk for hours, but even then she gets distressed as the parks and green spaces around here are busy on fine days and social distancing is practically impossible.’

  ‘Surely these kids should be an exception to some of those restrictions.’

  ‘In theory, yes, but in practice I understand the rules. Anyone could say they’re autistic to pop out to the beach or something.’

  ‘I s’pose, but it seems really hard.’

  ‘It is, but I’m trying different strategies to try to help. Another guy, he likes going out to the pub and gaming at the café round the corner. Of course he can’t do that right now so his anxiety is bad.’

  ‘How do you cope?’

  ‘Well, distraction is good, so we’re trying to do stuff inside like workouts. Routine is key, so we’ve all been doing that first thing in the morning. We try movies, but if they’re really stressed that doesn’t work – exercise seems best.’

  ‘Perhaps I should give it a go. I’m very unfit these days and a bit frustrated at having to stay in.’

  ‘I can recommend it. Also, I’m going to take in my sax. One of the students is really gifted on the piano so it would be good to get jamming.’

  After our chat, I wondered what I could do, whilst I’m here; if there’s some way I can make a difference to other people who are struggling. I’m going to have to think of something. Meanwhile, talking of struggling, I need to do something with my hair.

  I google ‘cutting your own hair in lockdown’ and watch a couple of cool guys on YouTube who had trendy styles to start with, not like mine. They just razor some really great shapes and look quite decent at the end of it. I stand and examine my slightly, okay, completely scruffy hair, which has a habit of standing up towards the ceiling once it gets past a certain length. I’m not sure I should go with the shapes thing. I’ll just try a straight and
neat haircut. I could even film it and put it out on YouTube, do my own version of ‘How to cut your ridiculously long and out of control hair during lockdown’.

  I find a guy with a good, straightforward approach. He suggests a towel round your shoulders to avoid too much mess – and I take his advice as I really don’t want to hoover again – and a pair of kitchen scissors. Has he seen the state of my kitchen scissors? No, fortunately, he hasn’t. I’m really glad I decided not to film this. I scrape a piece of bacon out of the blades and give them a scrub with some antibac liquid. I open them a couple of times having dried them carefully. Hmmm they really are slow; the blades don’t really meet properly and don’t exactly look prepossessing.

  Gingerly, I take a tiny piece of hair and try to snip it across in the way the guy on the video suggests. Nothing happens. Desperately I start to saw and hack. It’s no use; I try to move the blade up the shaft of my hair because these scissors really aren’t doing anything. Oh for goodness’ sake. I fling the offending scissors down on the bed. They are crap and useless, although I guess they were quite good at cutting bacon. Wait a minute – how does that work, surely my hair’s thinner than meat? Shaking off this disturbing thought, I decide I am not going to give up; I refuse to be beaten by my hair.

  I pin the towel round my shoulders and secure it with an elastic band, then arm myself with my beard trimmers. I can do this.

  ‘Start sooner rather than later. The longer you leave it, the harder your hair is to cut,’ the man says. He’s a bit annoying. It’s all very well for him to stand there looking all cool saying that, when he’s a fully qualified hairdresser and has perfectly sharp hairdressing scissors. He’s smug too – very unappealing. Maybe he’s right though – I’ve left it ages; I’m never going to be able to sort this awful wig hair out. Maybe if I comb it with some water it will be okay. I wet my comb and scrape it through my crazy barnet. Great, now I look like my grandad in the pre-war years. I just need a comedy stick-on moustache to complete the look.

  This is ridiculous; it really can’t be that hard. I grasp hold of the beard trimmer and gently prod at the side of my head. I hardly dare look, but something definitely came off. It’s not bad. I have a neat line just above my ear.

  With growing confidence I continue to clip one side of my head – it says to just do one bit at a time and then you can’t go wrong. I take a look in the mirror. I am getting pretty good at this. Yeah, this could be a new sideline when all this is over; I could become the bartending barber – cocktails and clips. I can see it now.

  My phone’s going. I could leave it, but it might be Sam. I peer at the screen from the corner of my eye. Yep, it’s him. I turn off the clippers and answer.

  ‘What the …’ exclaims Sam. Of course, he would keep calling on FaceTime. You’d think being here all alone at least I’d have some privacy.

  ‘I’m cutting my hair,’ I say. ‘It was taking on a life of its own.’

  ‘I’m not going to disagree with you there, mate, but isn’t that a bit drastic?’

  ‘I haven’t finished yet, I was in the middle of the style transformation when you rang.’

  ‘Saved by the bell I should think,’ he jokes. ‘It’s all right, it can wait. I just wanted to show you how much Carrie has grown; but she can’t see her Uncle Jack like that, it’ll give her nightmares.’

  ‘Harsh,’ I reply. ‘Okay, I’ll phone you back in ten.’

  I reassume my position at the mirror. This time I start at the left side above the ear, where the hairdresser bloke suggests. He must know, as he looks good, and I’m pretty pleased with the line. Hey I could even go round offering to do people’s hair for them in lockdown. Although that would be risky. I wouldn’t exactly be able to socially distance. Maybe I’ll scrap that idea then.

  Suddenly, the razor makes a funny little noise, halfway between a bee getting caught in a spider’s web and a hoover sucking up a coin. Then it stops. I squint at it, dust off some hair with my little razor brush (why are they so small? It does barely anything) and flick the remaining hair off with my towel. I put the razor back to my hair and try again. Nope, nada, nothing. It’s totally dead.

  Now I’m beginning to panic. This can’t be happening – it has to work. I turn it on and off again and shout at it in agitated tones, imploring it to work. It’s always been a good trusty razor and has never let me down until now. I bash it on my hand for good measure, just in case I can somehow jolt it back into activity. But it won’t … do … anything. I stand there staring dumbly at it as though somehow by sheer willpower I can make it work. I catch sight of myself in the mirror.

  If I thought I looked bad before, this is something else. I have one side of my head trimmed quite neatly and the other, well one bit near my ear is short, then the rest rises up in one great big tuft, waving triumphantly at the ceiling. I look awful. It’s not even like those cool hairdos people have where they shave one side and the other’s long. This just looks wrong.

  Dua Lipa blasts out again. ‘Sam,’ I answer.

  ‘Hi, Jack. You’ve missed a bit, mate.’

  Chapter 9

  Sophia

  ‘So what do you think of these?’ Jess asks. We are currently on FaceTime and she is wafting gazebo designs at me.

  ‘Erm, lovely?’ I say.

  ‘Sophia, are you concentrating? I need to know which one to pick.’

  ‘I thought you liked the one with the swathed curtains?’

  ‘Yes I do, but it’s over £200 to hire and it seems a bit expensive.’

  ‘What about the lacy-style one?’

  ‘That looks too cheap, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not really, it’s quite pretty and it is less money, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t like the colour. It looks off-white; I think it’ll clash with my dress.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to stick with the one you like.’

  ‘Oh I don’t know, Zach is going to go mad about this.’

  ‘Just don’t tell him,’ I suggest. ‘It’s not like he’s going to look through every account is it?’

  ‘Mad about what?’ I hear Zach ask in the background.

  ‘Nothing, darling, just didn’t want you inundated with presents you might hate like, I don’t know … doilies or something.’

  ‘You are hilarious,’ I laugh. ‘Doilies? They went out at the end of the last century. He’s never going to believe we were talking about wedding presents.’

  ‘It’s worked anyway; he seems to have gone. That’s the trouble with this flipping lockdown, you can’t get away from each other any more.’

  ‘Here speaks the soon-to-be-married woman,’ I joke. But inside I don’t feel half so light-hearted about it. This could have been me if things had been different. I know I need to move on from the constant ‘what ifs’ but the way 2020 is working out, it doesn’t look as though I’ll be able to get out there again any time soon.

  ‘You wait; you’ll see when you find the next love of your life. Speaking of which …’

  Here we go. Sometimes I wish Jess would just stop.

  ‘No,’ I say firmly, before changing the subject. ‘Did I show you these beautiful pictures the kids did at school?’

  ‘Yes they’re very nice, but don’t change the subject. I have a lush, I mean really decent guy from work who has said he would love to meet up with you.’

  ‘No, definitely not.’ To be honest I would like to meet someone, but not anyone Jess recommends. It’s bad enough she tries to manage my life for me without picking my boyfriends as well. ‘Anyway as you pointed out, it’s not possible during a lockdown,’ I add.

  ‘I meant on Zoom or FaceTime, silly. Come on, he’s good-looking, single …’

  ‘That always helps,’ I remark drily.

  ‘Good sense of humour …’

  ‘Hmmm that’s important.’ I don’t add any more because actually maybe he does sound okay, but you never know with Jess.

  ‘… And seems really caring. I saw him with a lovely
bunch of flowers for his mum the other week and it wasn’t even her birthday.’

  ‘He’s probably a mummy’s boy then,’ I say, grabbing hold of the excuse.

  ‘He is not,’ Jess insists. ‘I can spot those a mile off.’ This makes me smile, because Zach is also a complete mummy’s boy. ‘Come on, Soph, you’ve got to give this one a go. It’s hardly going to hurt just talking to him on Zoom. You don’t even have to wear those painfully high but totally gorgeous new heels you bought last month.’

  ‘True. They are stunning, but the blisters have only just healed. I suppose if I have to, I could always cut him off and say we got disconnected.’

  ‘You couldn’t. It says you’ve left the meeting. Besides you won’t need to get rid of him; he’s lovely.’

  ‘Huh easy for you to say – you haven’t got to meet some random guy who’s practically a stranger on Zoom,’ I say disgruntled.

  ‘He’s not random or a stranger, I know him. Glad that’s settled then – and I’ve decided, I’m going to go with the more expensive gazebo,’ she says whipping the picture up in front of the screen with a flourish. ‘Zach will never find out the price,’ she whispers.

  ‘Start as you mean to go on,’ I joke and leave the call, relieved to have got off the line, then realise with a sinking feeling that Jess has taken this conversation as a yes to the Zoom date. Just great.

  I look at the pages in front of me and ponder. The kids really have done a terrific job. Obviously these are photocopies of their original artwork as they wanted to take theirs home. I look at Alfie’s, a beautifully drawn sketch. I had no idea he had this talent. He has used various animals, more like the characters in The Wind in the Willows, which he says is his favourite book. Each animal has a tiny face mask and little gloves and in the middle are tidy piles of fruit and foodstuffs, which they are putting into baskets. The slogan reads, ‘If we work together, we can all make things better.’