by Chloe James
I dial the number for Bertie.
‘Hello,’ he answers, but sounds quite unlike his usual self, really down and flat, instantly dampening my own buoyant mood.
‘Hi, Bertie, how’s it going?’
‘Oh hello, young man … Well, it’s going I’ll give it that.’
‘One of those days?’ I ask.
‘You could say that. I have managed to have a little amble round the block.’
‘The daily constitutional?’
‘That’s the one. But my back is painful – it’s a real nuisance and stops me doing as much as I’d like. I managed to get some tomatoes potted up and a few geranium cuttings started but I feel tired today.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. I think that’s the effect of lockdown. You can feel exhausted at the slightest thing.’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been doing all right. But these updates, the sheer numbers of people dying. It’s a bad business.’ He sighs heavily.
‘I know. I’m afraid I’ve stopped watching it, which feels selfish. But right now it’s a bit like self-preservation; it’s about protecting my mental health. Maybe you should turn it off.’
‘Perhaps you’re right, Jack. I can’t do much about it, that’s for sure.’
‘But it sounds as though you’ve got a lot done in that garden of yours. I’d love to see some pictures if you fancy sending them over. I miss seeing flowers and greenery in this flat, although I do have some tomato seedlings coming up and a couple of cucumbers.’ The cheery little plants gently waving in the breeze catch my eye out on the balcony. The sight of them makes me feel slightly sad as they remind me of Sophia. I miss the sound of her voice.
‘That’s a good start!’ Bertie continues. ‘Of course, I’ll email you some photos across. Garden’s not doing too badly even though I say so myself. The spring has been the most beautiful I’ve seen for years. Just a shame about what’s going on.’
‘True – and I bet you miss the old cricket.’
‘Yes, nothing to watch on the television. Thought I’d do some tidying up today and I found Elsie’s old writing case.’
‘That’s really nice,’ I say hesitantly. I have no idea how it must feel to suddenly discover your wife’s favourite things after she’s died.
‘Yes it was,’ Bertie assures me. ‘Brought back so many memories. I opened it up, just to peek inside. I haven’t looked since she went; I couldn’t face it you know. But as I managed to get the top open, it overbalanced and fell on the hard floor, breaking the hinges totally, papers and half-finished letters scattered everywhere.’
‘Oh, Bertie, that’s terrible. Is it fixable?’
‘I don’t know, Jack. I don’t mind telling you I felt so fed up; I just left it there. For the first time in ages I just sat down and cried whilst holding a letter she had been writing to her niece. The way the writing stopped, it’s as though she has just popped out of the room to grab a cup of tea and the letter’s still waiting there for her to return. Just like me.’
I stay quiet for a minute, sensing that he needs to breathe. ‘That’s tough, Bertie,’ I tell him at last. ‘I’m sorry. You must really miss her, especially at the moment. Did crying make you feel any better?’
‘Not really, but I’ve managed to pick up the writing box. Badly damaged though.’
‘I’ll think on it. There must be something we can do.’
‘It might be easier to fix than me, eh?’ He chuckles.
My heart fills with tenderness for my old friend. ‘You’re doing pretty well really, Bertie. You’re like a rubber ball – there’s no keeping you down.’
‘Not usually, mate, but this has knocked me a bit. This whole lockdown thing is a curve ball.’
‘I’m not surprised. How’s the practising going for “I’m Still Standing”? That should be a good evening; something to take your mind off things.’
‘I’ve nearly learnt all the lyrics. Could be ready to rumble by Wednesday.’
‘Great, we’re all looking forward to it!’
‘Yep I’m not sure how a balcony choir is going to work but hey ho!’
‘The balcony choir, that’s it – that’s what we’ll call ourselves.’
‘Whatever floats your boat,’ he says and with that wry comment, he rings off.
Chapter 21
Sophia
I can’t believe how quickly human beings can get used to something, even something you would never imagine being normal, such as a lockdown. We adjust to it as though this is how it’s always been, like moles or solitary beings who live alongside rather than with their fellow creatures. Not at first – of course there was that strange period of adjustment, that unreal feeling, the silence, the quietness. It was all so surreal, the daily briefing, the feeling of quiet camaraderie; we’re all in this together.
I remember the first evenings whilst Erica was at work were filled with uneasy busyness, phone calls to Jess to discuss the latest developments on Love is Blind. Calls to Mum to check she was okay. In spite of this, every moment seemed to have lasted for hours, yet as time has gone on, after the first few weeks of lockdown, a routine has built up and I feel in some strange way this is our new way of life.
When I had first gone out of the house to work in the mornings, the streets were deserted, apocalyptic, with queues of people waiting to get into the shops, all at an orderly two metres apart. It was like something out of a sci-fi movie titled The Germ. The masks, which we were used to seeing in hospitals, or other countries, are now commonplace. If someone had told me last year, that in 2020 we would be living like this, each in our own sterilised, antibacced world, I would never have believed them.
Yet conversely, even though somehow it feels like it’s gone on forever, in other ways I don’t know where the time’s gone. It’s already nearly the end of April and I can’t even pinpoint what I’ve been doing except existing. The days and hours have become short chunks of activity, each day simply putting one foot in front of the other. I catch sight of my 2020 diary, which sits mostly blank. I haven’t filled anything in since February. I flick back through the last few weeks and except for Jess’s wedding, it’s as though they haven’t even happened.
Weirdly when I passed the local pub, The Greyhound, on my way to school yesterday, the front billboard had ‘Book now for Mother’s Day,’ all over it. Mother’s Day was back in March, yet no one was able to go out except for essentials, let alone to a pub. It all sits derelict, ghostlike, abandoned, the sign for potential Mother’s Day celebrations that could never happen swinging sadly in the breeze.
Perhaps I’ll phone Mum. The evenings seem so quiet when Erica is on shift, Jess is on her virtual honeymoon and I miss Jack and his banter. I look at the door to the balcony, which still stays shut. Somehow it feels like a safety barrier for the things I can’t deal with right now and sadly Jack is one of them.
I dial Mum’s number. I don’t think she’s working this evening. ‘Hey, Mum! How are things?’
‘Sophia! I’m glad it’s you.’
‘You answered quickly. Were you expecting a call?’
‘Not really, I just thought it might be Uncle Jim again.’
‘Oh no, is he okay?’ I ask.
‘Well I wouldn’t go quite as far as “okay”, but he’s reasonably well, which is the main thing.’
‘Definitely, but I expect he feels lonely in his flat.’
‘I think he must do, but he has two carers coming in as much as they can and I phone him most days.’
‘I guess that helps. Is he any less confused?’
‘Not really, that’s the problem. He doesn’t really understand why I can’t visit him even though I’ve explained so many times,’ she sighs.
‘I guess it is hard if he forgets what’s going on.’
‘That’s partly why I bought him the talking clock.’
‘A talking clock?’ I say with a smile. ‘Sounds like something out of an Enid Blyton book.’
‘Didn’t I tell you about it?’<
br />
‘No, I’m sure I’d have remembered.’
‘Well it’s one of my bright ideas … Which, of course, turned out to be not so bright.’
‘Couldn’t he work it?’
‘Oh yes, he could work it. It announces the day and time every hour and I’d thought it would be a good plan for him so he could remember what day it is and what time.’
‘Sounds ingenious.’
‘That was the idea, but he got rid of it.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Did he give it away?’
‘No, it’s worse than that. He actually phoned me up and said, “Don’t you like me?” Totally took me aback because he didn’t even say hello first or anything. I didn’t even know who it was for the first few minutes.’
‘That must have been a bit unnerving.’
‘You’re telling me. Then I said, “Of course I like you, Jim. We’re all very fond of you. Why do you ask?” And he responded, “I thought you must be trying to punish me – giving me this clock. It’s enough to drive anyone mad. Figured you’d only give such a hideous thing to someone you really dislike.” Just like that!’
‘That’s a bit much,’ I say, starting to laugh. Poor Mum, she always tries so hard with Jim and whatever she does, he always manages to find a way to ruin it.
‘Wait until you hear what he did with it. Apparently he went on his usual walk on the cliff top and put it under the bench on the Sandy Ledge Viewpoint.’
‘What?’ I laugh. ‘He left it at the top of the cliff?’
‘I know.’ She laughs too. ‘Can you imagine, hidden behind the bench, it’ll make people jump out of their skin hearing, “It is now 2 p.m. on Wednesday 22nd April”.’
‘Enough to make them fall off into the water! They won’t know who is speaking to them either. That’s hilarious.’
‘I know, if it’s one thing you can say at least Uncle Jim still has a sense of humour.’
‘True. And surprisingly you have too, after a day’s work. How’s it going?’ I ask her.
‘Busier now, but still much quieter than it was before this outbreak. Lots of disinfecting and rules to be followed. At least we can do most of our work on the phone and online. Makes me glad the surgery is ahead of its time and had organised online accounts for many patients.’
‘I guess, for those who can work it.’
‘Yes, that’s the only thing,’ she agrees. ‘The older generation tend to phone and in any case they like the personal approach. I don’t blame them. We all need to keep talking or we’ll end up forgetting how to interact. That reminds me, is that neighbour of yours still phoning vulnerable people for a chat each week?’
‘Yes I believe he is,’ I say shortly. I really don’t want to talk about Jack right now.
‘Such a great idea and so important. I’ve asked for people to volunteer at the surgery to do the same to support isolated patients. It’s all about making people feel they matter.’
‘What about you, Mum? I hope you’re looking after yourself.’ I constantly worry about her working in a doctor’s surgery. It must be one of the highest risk places to be right now.
‘Yes, I’m about to sit down and watch something relaxing, probably about gardening, with a glass of chilled white wine.’
‘Sounds like bliss.’ I smile. ‘I’ll let you get on then.’
‘Aren’t you having your usual chat with Jack upstairs?’ she asks, just as I thought I’d got away without discussing him.
‘Maybe. We’ve kind of not been doing that at the moment.’
‘That’s a shame. He sounds such a nice lad.’
‘Maybe,’ I hedge. Then I come out with it, even though I know my mum will worry about me. ‘I just feel men are perhaps all the same.’
‘Sophia, that’s a terrible thing to say,’ she scolds. ‘They are most definitely not. Much as I couldn’t stay married to your dad, I did love him. And it all led me to Mark in the end.’
‘I suppose – it’s just I don’t want to get hurt again. Ryan was my everything, yet look how he behaved.’
‘I know it was hard. But Ryan was confused. It was a terrible shock to him – your illness,’ she says, softening. I try to breathe calmly and count to ten. Mum always defends Ryan; she absolutely loved him. ‘But if you don’t ever trust anyone again, how are you going to move on? Besides, Jack’s just a friendly neighbour. You’ve been much more cheerful since you’ve been speaking to him. Give him a chance to at least explain himself. We’re all in lockdown for goodness’ sake; don’t shut yourself off to deal with everything alone. No man or woman is an island. There’s a reason why they say that. Ooh …’ She breaks off, distracted. ‘It’s eight o’clock and Gardener’s World is starting. Love you, bye.’
‘Bye, Mum.’
‘Remember what I said.’
‘Yes, Mum, bye!’
As I’m pondering over Mum’s words, I meander towards the balcony doors. Perhaps I should let some air in. Jack probably isn’t there anyway and the flat’s stuffy as it’s a suntrap. The sun has been peeping through the venetian blinds all day.
Something outside catches my eye, a movement out in the courtyard. Intrigued, I open the door and step out onto the balcony. Down below, a van is parked. That’s odd. I wonder how it got there; nothing usually comes through the archway into the courtyard. I watch as a couple of people in black leggings and black tops with ballet pumps get out. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if they’re going to come and burgle someone by walking on a tightrope. I’ve never seen delivery drivers dressed like this. As I watch, another person with a dark bun gets out and with the help of a guy unclips something at the top and bottom of the van. I watch amazed as they pull out a vast screen.
As I stand there watching, more figures wheel lights in front of the screen and efficiently they all disappear behind the van. Romantic music comes on, the lights dim and then to my amazement, a shadowy figure of a man appears behind the screen sitting on a sofa surrounded by other bits of furniture and a window, all created by the shapes of shadowy dancers. The man moves from side to side, as though he is lost. He peers out of the window but is totally alone.
The image transforms to two balconies – there’s a girl in the lower one, sitting reading a book and the man stands in the top looking out. I can tell the shapes are formed by the movement of the shadowy figures, but they are so quick and move so adeptly it is hard to tell. Then all the shadow hands start clapping and the girl leans across the balcony, her head in her hands. The man calls to her and sends down a shadowy box on a rope. She then puts something in it and sends it back up. He dances happily and so does she. But then another woman within a photo frame at the back of the screen puts her arms out to the man – the girl below walks inside and her balcony is empty.
I am spellbound.
The man above sends away the woman in the frame sitting with his head in his hands, then he writes a letter and lowers it down to the balcony below, but it remains empty. He comes down the rope himself, dances outside her balcony, with his hands to his chest, then outstretched towards her as if to say he’s sorry. The girl comes back out and puts her hands out to him and all around there are lots of hands clapping.
Then the music stops and a group of eight men and women come running out from behind the screen and take a bow. Everyone is clapping. All the neighbours who have gradually filtered out onto their balconies cheer and wave at the performers.
‘Woo!’ shouts Greg from his balcony on the side.
Down in the courtyard I can see Bertie waving his cap and Mavis is there at two metres’ distance in a deckchair. All round the edge there are little clusters of people, all socially distanced.
‘Good evening!’ shouts one of the dancers. He has a thick Greek accent. The clapping and cheering dies down. ‘Thank you so much everyone for your wonderful applause. It has been an absolute pleasure to perform for you this evening. Of course I must thank Jack who lives in the flat up there – hi, Jack – for inviting us to come and perform for you all. An
d most of all hey to Sophia – to whom this performance is dedicated, with thanks from Jack for all her support over the last few weeks. Are you there, Sophia?’
Totally embarrassed I step forward a few steps to the edge of the balcony and give a little wave.
He waves back. ‘I must add,’ he continues, ‘that we are a group of performers, called The Shadow Dancers. We are originally from Greece and we all live together in one student house in Braxton, so no social distancing necessary for us. If you would like to see us perform again, we have a variety of routines. I have left a pile of leaflets for you in the courtyard to take. We are not able to perform in the usual way at the moment, but are hoping when the lockdown eases a little, we may be able to tour and perform to people outside their communal buildings and hospitals, retirement homes and those sorts of places.’
‘Hear hear! We all want more!’ shouts Bertie.
Everyone claps.
‘Encore!’ shouts someone.
‘Okay, one more!’ calls the man.
The figures all run back behind the screen and within minutes they have merged together to form a new scene of a hillside, with trees and plants and a bird flying across the top. The man and the woman come from either side of the screen and run to each other – embracing and dancing together until they both form a heart with their arms. I stand completely motionless, transfixed by what I have seen. There’s another great cheer from all the balconies.
‘Thank you for watching and goodnight!’ The group all bow and with graceful moves, retreat behind the screen to more applause. I am still completely stunned at what I have just seen; it all feels surreal and almost as though I’ve walked out into a different planet.
‘Man, that was something,’ says Greg. ‘The kids at my college would love this. I wonder if they can set up the screen anywhere?’
‘I guess,’ I reply. I’m still dazed.
‘Hey, Jack, that was really something, mate,’ calls up Bertie, ‘and all for your Sophia. You must be an exceptional young lady.’