by Chloe James
‘Yeah but you’re not exactly meeting many people to compare her with, are you? You don’t even know what she looks like.’ He awkwardly shifts Carrie who has fallen asleep on his arm. ‘Do you know, for someone so small, she gets really heavy.’
‘I can’t wait to have a cuddle with her,’ I say.
‘I know. It won’t be long hopefully, by then she’ll be waving her arms and trying to talk to you. Look, if you really like this girl why don’t you try to find out more about her? She’s bound to have a Facebook account or Instagram or something.’
‘I don’t like to. It’s weird I know, but I feel like we’ve got this unspoken agreement that we’re just going to keep it like this. Neither of us knows what the other looks like. Anyway, I don’t want her to think I’m a stalker.’
‘I don’t see why you can’t just look each other up.’
‘For a start, I don’t know her surname and she doesn’t know mine. I have her WhatsApp now but the picture’s taken so far away I can’t really tell what she looks like.’
‘I thought you said she brings you shopping.’
‘She does, but I’ve missed her both times. Yesterday was so close. I was waiting just so I could get a glimpse and then Dad rang about this problem with his emails.’
Sam sighs heavily. ‘Don’t mention the dreaded emails. He and Mum are being a nightmare with the whole thing. They phoned last night to ask about setting up a Facebook account amongst other things.’
‘Facebook! What do they want with that?’
‘Apparently Mum’s friends are all on Facebook and she thought it would be easier.’
‘Not considering they can’t send emails properly yet.’
‘She was also checking you’re all right,’ Sam adds.
‘Of course I’m all right. I only spoke to Dad yesterday!’
‘I know, but she worries. Apparently she’s sent you a parcel with some of your favourite things in it.’
Now I feel bad for being impatient. ‘That’s really kind of her. It’s just, you know, I don’t want to go back to the whole overstressing thing she does.’
‘She’s your mum, it goes with her job description. Give her a chance. She’s bound to worry about you on your own.’ Sam is always the voice of reason.
‘Okay I’ll give her a call later. I miss them actually.’
‘I know, mate.’
We chat for a little longer before Sam promptly disappears as he reckons Carrie has sneakily filled her nappy whilst asleep. ‘Just ask Sophia what her surname is and put yourself out of your misery,’ is his parting shot.
I’m glad we don’t have smellovision. Babies are all very cute but the nappy thing gives me the heebie-jeebies.
I could ask Sophia for her full name I suppose, but I don’t really like to. I can tell Sam thinks I’ve gone a bit strange during the lockdown, but there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to break the spell of this unusual thing – whatever it is we have going on. Not that it is even a relationship, but it is a kind of friendship. Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of Sophia one day by chance. We certainly can’t risk meeting each other; she works in a school. Besides, even if I like her, what am I going to do about it?
The home phone goes. It’s my dad. ‘Hi, Jack, we’ve got a problem.’
I’m instantly alert. ‘Is everything all right? You’re not ill are you?’
‘No, son, nothing like that,’ my dad says in an exasperated tone. ‘It’s your mother’s emails.’
‘Oh.’ That’s a relief. I really wish he wouldn’t do that; thanks to the incessant daily news updates, we’re all constantly wired for imminent disaster. I could certainly do without Dad ringing up with a tone of impending doom. ‘What’s up? You were sending them out with no problem yesterday.’
‘I know, that’s the flaming annoying thing. There’s no rhyme or reason with these computers. Your mother wanted another email sent out to her friends from her Italian group.’
‘Yes.’
‘So I put in all the email addresses one after the other, as you’ve told me.’
‘So far so good. Did they ping back? Maybe you put a couple of the addresses down wrong.’
‘No they sent.’
‘Well that’s great. By Jove, I think you’ve got it.’
‘They sent,’ he says again, ‘but for some reason at the end of the email there was a photo of your mum and me in Cornwall!’
‘A photo of you on holiday?’
‘Yes but she didn’t attach a photo. In fact she says she doesn’t know how to and besides, she couldn’t remember ever having seen it and was horrified about her hairstyle.’
‘Why?’ I ask, thinking it can’t be worse than my recent one.
‘It was frizzy, she said. But it looked like it always does to me, not that I told her that.’
‘No, that is a bit random. I didn’t think you could attach photos by mistake.’
‘It’s worse than random. She’s had several very angry emails from people telling her she shouldn’t be travelling and worse still, one from her friend – who lives in Cornwall by the way – saying it’s people like us who are not only setting a bad example by moving about during lockdown, but also that going on holiday to Cornwall is unforgivable. Of course your mother said a few things in return and now I don’t think we’ll be going to stay again.’
For the first time today, I have to laugh. I really can’t help it. I’ve heard of communication issues due to language barriers, but during this lockdown it’s the language of computers that’s proving far more tricky.
Chapter 13
Sophia
I’ve gone from not even knowing there’s a guy living above me, to worrying because I haven’t heard anything from him for a while. Well, not since the day before yesterday anyway. It’s really unusual because our evening chat whilst chilling out on the balcony has become a bit of a thing. I now leave the door open all the time when I’m home, as the weather’s still warm and sunny and we sit on our own individual tiny pieces of outdoor space whilst he tells me about a funny incident from his day and I tell him about the kids at school. There’s something comforting and companionable about it.
I’ve been at school this morning but since I’ve been back it’s horribly quiet. Erica is in bed as she was on late shift and came in at silly o’clock completely exhausted. I didn’t tell her the amusing Benny story, just popped her into bed with a mug of hot chocolate. She had barely managed to spoon down the spag bol I had made for her, she was so tired. ‘So many babies all at once,’ she said, ‘including a set of twins, and one was breach.’
‘Don’t even go there,’ I said. ‘Just get some rest.’
She needs to feel lively for later, because tonight it’s Jess’s virtual hen do. It should be a laugh as it’s an ABBA night and I’ve ordered a dodgy set of L plates and a T-shirt saying ‘I was quarantined on my hen party’. And some Team Bride sashes of course. Jess’s has Bride to Be on it and stickers for all the hens saying, ‘Jess’s Lockdown Hen Party’. As well as that I ordered some cute little sparkly pink hats and glasses, which are hilarious. I look like something out of a panto. Sending them out to all thirty of us took some doing but it should be fun.
My phone bings to announce the arrival of yet another message about the wedding.
Have you got any further with the bridesmaid’s dress? Thought it would have arrived by now?
I haven’t broken it to her yet that the one we ordered arrived yesterday, but it doesn’t fit. She is going to go completely nuts. I tried it on last night after my hideous non-date with Benny (am going to have to think of a suitable nickname for him – currently all that springs to mind is dirty Benny, which doesn’t really have much of a ring to it) and the zip didn’t do up more than halfway. I don’t quite know what’s going on in this area, because Erica had helped me do the measurements with the old tape measure from my trusty childhood sewing box and I double-checked the number she wrote down made sense. For some reason or other, my boobs seem
to have grown. I think Erica must have made a mistake with the measuring, but she reckons it’s all the lockdown binge eating mixed with Jack’s cocktails (sadly, she could have a point). Either way, unless I put a large panel of matching fabric in the gap, this dress is a no-go. I am going to tell Jess, honestly, but I’m just waiting for the right occasion. For now, I text back:
Trying it on, will let you know how it goes.
Great, send me a pic.
Okay, will do.
This is a disaster. I can’t send her a photo; she’ll see it doesn’t fit at all. Unless I send a picture taken from the front and leave the back undone? No, it’s no good, I’ll have to tell her or risk it falling off halfway through the wedding ceremony. It reminds me of the time I wore a dress that was too small for me, for dinner out with Ryan. I had managed to squeeze into it and thought I’d got away with it. That is, until I sat down in the restaurant and heard a sickening ripping sound. The whole of the back of my dress had split. It meant at the end of the evening I had to reverse out of the restaurant backwards. Afterwards I had seen the funny side, but Ryan was horrified as we had been meeting with some of our fellow lawyers and in his words, the whole incident was most embarrassing.
No it’s no good, first I need to think of an alternative so she doesn’t panic too much. I mooch into my room and start rummaging in the cupboard for a long dress, which might just do. It’s funny how your wardrobe can be full of stuff but when it comes to it you still haven’t got anything to wear that’s vaguely suitable. Normally this is an excuse to go on a good old shopping spree in the cheapie shops but in lockdown this is hardly possible.
I don’t fancy mail ordering anything – the sizes vary so much and I don’t want to have to send more hideous packages back at the moment; it’s not exactly an easy process. I’m notoriously bad about returning packages at the best of times. I actually have a couple of old parcels in the bottom of my cupboard, which I have never returned and I won’t ever wear. One contains about three pairs of Spanx. I know, three pairs – I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t think anyone had warned me how horribly tight they are and that my stomach would have to go somewhere, and ended up in places it shouldn’t in an extra layer, like a rubber ring. Most unflattering.
I give up; I have no contenders in the bridesmaid dress stakes. Most of my dresses are too short or too long or too just not right.
I am disturbed from my musings by the dulcet tones of a guitar. It’s good, actually. It seems to be coming from outside so I wander out onto the balcony. The old chap I’ve seen meandering through the courtyard with his head down has stopped and is looking up towards me. I smile down at him – I’ve so often wondered who he is and if he is okay during this pandemic. He always looks so solitary.
‘Beautiful playing, isn’t it?’ he says to me.
‘Yes, I’m really enjoying it.’
‘Not surprised – I’d like to have a neighbour play to me in the day.’
‘I bet. Do you live across the way?’
‘Yes number 23 Fairmile Drive, on the other side of the block. Used to live with my wife Elsie but she’s gone now.’
‘I’m sorry. That must be tough.’
‘That’s the way it is, love,’ he says pragmatically. ‘Nothing much you can do about it. People come and people go. But she was the love of my life. Most days I feel like I’ve lost my right arm.’
‘I can believe it.’
‘If you’ll take my advice you’ll make the most of every minute, girl; you never know when it’s going to be snatched away.’
I know this. I have become painfully aware of it since the start of my epilepsy. Before that, I never really thought about life in general or the meaning of it all. But in that moment everything changed. I changed. I no longer wanted to be a top lawyer, cracking cases, wearing sharp suits, getting married to Ryan. I’d had it all mapped out but that first seizure made me realise something was missing … and that something was meaning. That’s what made me change everything. To train as a teacher, try to give something back, make a difference, even though it’s small. It matters.
At first I had hoped Ryan would come along with me. But he made it very clear he had wanted to marry a fellow lawyer. Both his parents were lawyers, he had it all planned for goodness’ sake, so he got left behind too even though he was the one who dumped me. Major stuff happening in your life makes you change your perspective on things.
‘You’re right,’ I say smiling at him, although if he were nearer he would see the traitorous tears glinting at the corners of my eyes. That’s the other thing with serious issues. You figure you have them all neatly packaged away at the back of your mind, carefully labelled ‘dealt with’ and then out of the blue some little thing that you least expect jolts it back to reality. It might just be a tiny word someone says, maybe a stranger, something seemingly unrelated or something you read casually and before you know what’s hit you, the wound is open again, raw and painful as it was before. I believe in time it will get less and less but sometimes it still takes me by surprise.
‘He’s a good looker too and such a nice lad,’ the man says.
‘Who?’ I’m confused now.
‘Jack.’
‘Jack? Is he the one playing?’
‘Of course – didn’t you know? Was always playing the guitar on his nights off at Soho.’
‘Are you taking my name in vain?’
It’s Jack. I’m ridiculously pleased to hear his voice.
‘Hi, mate, how’s it going? Giving the old guitar an airing?’ the man asks.
‘Thought I’d give it a go. Miss having an audience though.’
‘I miss the old place too. Having a pint on your own isn’t the same.’
‘That’s for sure. Still, hopefully won’t be for much longer and we’ll be back with the regulars,’ Jack assures him.
‘That’s what we’re hoping. And at least I get my constitutional once a day.’
‘Seen any of the other boys recently?’
‘Nah they’re all staying in. Place is like a ghost town. You’re lucky though, mate, you’ve got this beautiful young woman living below you.’
I smile and blush. Perhaps he should have gone to Specsavers, but it’s a nice compliment. I haven’t been called beautiful before – pretty, yes, but never beautiful.
‘Sophia?’ Jack asks. He obviously hadn’t realised I’m here and I’m embarrassingly glad he didn’t say someone else.
‘That’s me,’ I say with an awkward smile. ‘And you are?’ I ask, peering down at the man.
‘I’m Bertie. Pleased to meet you, love.’
‘Bertie and I have known each other for a few years,’ Jack says.
‘Yep, I’m renowned in this area for my quick wit and ability to eat fish and chips at any time of day or night,’ Bertie jokes.
I laugh. ‘Sounds good. I really miss fish and chips.’
‘Yeah it’s funny the things you want when you can’t have them,’ says Jack. ‘I miss KFC Bargain Buckets. Though I’ve been very well looked after by Sophia here.’
‘Lucky you,’ says Bertie. ‘Well must be going. Countdown is on and I need to have my lunch first. Got to stick to my routine. Lovely to meet you, Sophia, and keep smiling, mate.’ He nods to us both and walks on steadily, head bowed again and vanishes from sight as he leaves the courtyard.
‘What a lovely guy,’ I say.
‘Yeah he’s the best,’ replies Jack.
‘He must be very lonely on his own.’
‘I think so. His wife died a year ago and this lockdown on top of everything else – it’s terrible really. He was always down at Soho, him and a lot of other great people.’ He sighs and I realise how much Jack must miss his old life. It must be really tough for him staying in all the time.
‘I didn’t know you play the guitar?’ I ask.
‘I’m a bit rusty.’
‘I genuinely loved listening. You should play more often.’ I pause for a moment. ‘Didn’t hear y
ou playing last night.’ In fact it had been unusually silent, as he hadn’t come out at all.
‘No I just got an early night. I was tired.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah sometimes it’s tiring doing nothing.’ There’s an awkward pause. ‘How did your virtual date go?’
‘Best not to talk about it.’
‘Oh … it went well then?’ He sounds flat, disheartened even, or am I imagining it?
‘Well it was very funny.’
‘It’s important he makes you laugh,’ Jack says, misunderstanding.
‘Yes although it would have been better if I could have laughed with him rather than at him.’
‘Oh. You mean it wasn’t in a good way.’ I could swear he suddenly sounds more cheerful.
‘Not at all. He was a complete loser. Rivalled the last two guys to be honest if that’s even possible.’
‘Surely not – they sounded bad enough!’ He laughs.
‘Yep, put them totally in the shade. Whilst he was talking to me his current girlfriend walked in.’
‘Oh no – classic! What did he say?’
‘At first he pretended it was the Indian takeaway.’
Jack snorts. ‘You’ve got to give him points for trying.’
‘Yeah right.’ I tell him the rest.
‘So will you be seeing him again?’ Jack asks when I’m done.
We both laugh hysterically and somehow the bad date doesn’t really matter any more. I really missed our chat last night. Jack always helps put stuff in perspective.
‘Are you busy?’ I ask.
‘Well I’m waiting for the latest instalment of The Little Red Hen, but other than that I’m all yours for the evening.’
‘I could do with some fashion advice. How is little Carrie anyway?’
‘Doing just fine. Even though I’m her uncle and a little bit biased, she’s really cute. What do you mean, fashion advice?’
‘Well I just need to run some outfit ideas for this wedding past you. Not visually of course, but I could put them on and describe them to you. I know that’s a bit weird, but I’ve really messed up – I ordered the bridesmaid’s dress Jess wanted and it’s arrived but is far too small.’