Love in Lockdown

by Chloe James

  ‘I’m sorry, that must have been difficult to cope with.’

  ‘Yeah it was. But Mum was so much happier – no more rows over her late shifts and Mark is really supportive. To him, it’s just part of the deal and he’s more than happy to cook as well. His own business means he’s able to be pretty flexible.’

  ‘That’s good. He sounds like a decent guy.’ I pause, reflecting on my parents’ marriage in a way that I very rarely do. ‘To be fair my parents row quite a lot. Especially at the moment, in lockdown. I think it’s driving them to the edge of tolerance. They were arguing about the way my dad eats his peas the other day.’

  Sophia laughs. ‘I suppose if you’re together twenty-four seven you are going to row about pretty much everything … You’ve got me wondering now. How does he eat his peas?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ I shrug. ‘I think he scoops them up and Mum says he should prod them with the end of his fork.’

  ‘Oh my gosh, I’m really worried now. I’m trying to remember how I eat my peas. I’ll have a look next time.’

  I laugh. ‘How could it ever matter to anyone but my mum?’

  ‘It does, if I ever come round to dinner with your parents.’

  There’s a silence.

  ‘Not that I, er …’ She breaks off awkwardly. ‘Hey look, Jack, I’m sorry – I mean, I sound like some kind of stalker. You’ll probably want to get well away from me after this. Back to Greece or somewhere far away.’

  Is that what she thinks? Or does she want to get away from me and doesn’t know how to say so? ‘Not at all,’ I say lightly, not wanting to come on too strong since she turned down my offer of a date. ‘I love our chats. I can’t imagine being without them now or you.’ I hope I haven’t overstepped the mark. My feelings just tumbled out in spite of my best intentions.

  ‘Me neither,’ she says quietly, so quietly I can’t pick out the words but they are there hanging in the air between us like beautiful crystal rainbows and I hold on to them because they make me feel so happy, even if I have only imagined them.

  ‘That’s it then,’ I say after clearing my throat. I never could do anxious pauses, and anyway who on earth makes out on separate balconies apart from Romeo and Juliet? And that was rather a long time ago. And I bet they could see each other. Or maybe they couldn’t. Perhaps I should have paid more attention at school. ‘It’s settled – when this is over you are invited round to meet my crazy family and I’m sure my mum will not mind at all how you scoop your peas. If you do, that is.’

  ‘I think I probably do,’ she says guiltily.

  ‘Do you know, I was hoping you’d say that!’ I laugh, but then wonder if I’m taking all this too seriously. She’s probably only joking. When this is all over, she will be able to find someone far more interesting than some random guy she’s been having a laugh with. Good old Jack, I’ve always been great at the banter, but when it comes to making someone happy in a serious relationship, I’m just not sure I’m much of a catch.

  Chapter 29

  Sophia

  As I’m getting ready to go to bed, I ponder Jack’s words. Not about the peas, but just generally. Lately I’ve begun to realise I can’t imagine life without him now. I can’t remember what it was like not knowing him. He’s changed the way I see things. The balcony has morphed from someplace I barely even went – in fact I used to forget it was there for weeks at a time – to an extension not only of my living space, but the centre of my whole social life.

  There’s a strange part of me that doesn’t want this lockdown to end although I long for normality. I’m frightened it might end this almost-relationship we have going on. There’s a peacefulness, a restfulness to the routine of it, each day I work and come home, cook dinner for Erica and sometimes Jack too. We all sit out on the balconies eating our dinners, plates precariously balanced on laps. The weather has continued to be bizarrely clement, granting us all some slack from the current situation that rages invisibly out there beyond the streets, beyond these buildings where individuals carry out their own routines, their own coping strategies to simply get through this.

  One evening Jack cooks me a lentil dahl and lowers it down and we talk and laugh, whilst Erica is out on shift, about everything and nothing whilst eating our dahl and scooping up the delicious remnants with some slightly charred naan that he’d forgotten to remove from the grill.

  As I’m going through my usual night-time routine, i.e. feel too tired to remove make-up, wonder momentarily whether I can get away with leaving it on, decide I can’t unless I want to look like some kind of nightmarish monster in the morning, which will terrify my school kids, blunder back out of bed, find cotton wool pads, remove make-up, haphazardly slather moisturiser over my face and then decide actually now I’m wide awake.

  My eye travels to where I had carefully stored the separate sides of Elsie’s writing box, which Bertie had placed gently on the doorstep for me to pick up, wrapped in tissue and then enshrined in a reusable Save the Planet bag for some reason. I lift it down, holding the two sides and placing them on the bed, one at a time. It’s an incredible piece of workmanship. One of the corners is split where the box would have been joined, but the hinges are still there, a little tarnished perhaps, but I am hopeful my stepdad’s friend will be able to fix it.

  I run my fingers along the slightly tarnished wood, through which tiny glimmers of the beauty it used to have shine tantalisingly, offering a hint of how precious it must have been. I wonder if it was originally a present from a new husband to his beloved wife, or a gift between close friends. I have a fascination for vintage things and love seeing them restored and imagining the stories such objects could tell if only they could talk. This box has seen several generations I’m sure and I wonder as I gaze at it how many female writers have used it to pen the story of their everyday lives or even love letters.

  I turn the box over carefully. It obviously once opened to remove the papers and envelopes within, closing neatly to make a base to write the letter on. It could then have been quickly opened and the letter speedily hidden if someone came into the room.

  As I examine the box more carefully, I notice it’s a lot shallower than it would seem from the outside. It’s as though the bottom is thicker than it needs to be for such an ornate and delicate object. I’ve seen things like this before on restoration programmes. The exciting part where the presenter or at least the restoration person, I can’t think of another name for them, maybe it’s restorateur? Anyway, I’ve seen items like this where the expert reveals that there is a secret compartment at the bottom of the box. I remember one was a puzzle box, which had a certain clever way of opening, but the puzzle needed solving first.

  I study the base of Elsie’s box, but there are no buttons, or gaps to push my finger in. No hinges or obvious things to press. How disappointing, although Bertie would have told me if there had been any secret compartments.

  I sit on the bed and stare at the case. I touch just inside the edge, near the corner, inside the box, enjoying the feel of the smooth walnut when suddenly the wood moves under my hand and a small square drawer pops out. I gape at it in surprise for a moment and then put out my hand gingerly. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I can see a corner of paper neatly and compactly folded peeking out from the edge of the recently revealed space. Carefully so as not to tear it – the paper looks old and a little fragile – I pull out a letter that has been folded over many times. I unfold the pieces of paper. The writing is in fountain pen, beautifully scrolled in an old-fashioned style, carefully etched out across the slightly faded cream paper.

  To my darling Bertie,

  I am aware that if you’re reading this, I’ve probably gone to the great stomping ground in the sky and you are having the awful task of having to go through all my stuff, which is probably a right old nuisance as I know I’ve always been a terrible hoarder. I remember you saying that you would manage to help me become tidier if it was the last thing you ever did, but you obviously di
dn’t succeed, though you did in everything else. You’ve been an amazing life partner and I couldn’t ask for a better friend and companion. You are my everything.

  I stop reading for a moment as my eyes are blurring with tears and I realise with a start I shouldn’t be reading this. I find myself looking furtively over my shoulder as though I’m doing something wrong, which I am because this isn’t my letter, it’s Bertie’s.

  I start to fold it back up but as I do so, a stray sheet floats to the floor in a zigzag trajectory, which is odd really as there’s no window open or a breeze. I shiver. I need to get to bed. I always did have an overactive imagination. I bend quickly and pick up the paper but as I do so, its words catch my eye. I know I should have told you and now I realise it was the wrong thing. We never did have any secrets, but I was worried if you had discovered I had a daughter you would have judged me. Please believe that I was young and inexperienced and it was never meant to happen. The lad in question was passing through and I guess one thing led to another.

  I stop reading and sink onto the bed. Elsie had a daughter and Bertie didn’t even know? That’s terrible. But why didn’t she give him this letter? Did she mean to and maybe didn’t get a chance? Perhaps she thought Bertie would find it in her box, or maybe she died before she could move it from its secret compartment? I don’t know what to do. I need to give this letter to Bertie but somehow I feel bad about it. Did Elsie change her mind and decide to keep it secret? Should I keep her secret too?

  I fold the letter together quickly and carefully, pushing it back into the small hidden compartment and shut it as if somehow this will solve the problem. But a secret can’t be unlearned; this Pandora’s box has shared its inner knowledge with me and now I am in a quandary because I just don’t know what to do.

  Chapter 30

  Jack

  ‘Jack?’ I wonder if I am dreaming someone calling my name. I look up and the stars are twinkling and I’m lying on my back on the balcony lounger. I must have fallen asleep out here and it’s cold now. I shiver involuntarily. ‘Jack!’ Okay, I definitely heard that.

  ‘Sophia?’ I reply groggily.

  ‘Yes it’s me. I was hoping you might still be outside although I thought you’d probably gone to bed.’

  ‘No I fell asleep out here – must be all the fresh air! Is everything all right? I mean are you okay?’ I’m instantly awake, worrying maybe she isn’t feeling well or something.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just I don’t know what to do. I’ve found something and it’s made me really stressed because I don’t know what to do with it.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing.’

  ‘Yes it is, but I don’t know where to begin. Are you sure you’re not too tired now to listen to me blathering on?’

  ‘Of course not. How about a whisky chaser to warm you up? It’s chilly out here now.’

  ‘Ooh yes that would be amazing. I do feel a bit shivery.’ I can tell from her voice that whatever it is, it’s shaken her up.

  While Sophia goes back inside to grab a jumper and a rug, I hurry in and pour a generous measure into a glass and warm some nuts in the grill. ‘Okay are you ready for your drink, madam?’ I ask, back on the balcony.

  ‘You bet. I thought you’d never come back,’ she says.

  ‘Coming right up – or down, if we’re going to be technical. Stand by!’ I lower down the precious cargo, which is met by a ‘yay’ of approval from Sophia. As I pull the basket back up, I notice she’s popped in some little hot sausages.

  ‘Thanks, these are perfect!’ I say appreciatively biting into one.

  ‘No probs,’ she replies. ‘This whisky is pretty spot on.’

  ‘I try my best,’ I say. ‘Feeling better now?’

  ‘I am a bit thanks, although I’m not sure if it’s the drink or just talking to you.’

  ‘I can take credit for both,’ I say glibly and we both laugh. ‘So?’ I prompt her, not wanting to rush her, but wanting Sophia to know I care.

  ‘So … how well do you know Bertie?’

  I wasn’t expecting that but it sounds ominous. ‘Fairly well, why?’

  ‘It’s just … oh gosh, I’m making a right mess of this,’ she says, and I half worry she’ll clam up and leave me in suspense.

  ‘You’re not, but just start at the beginning and I’ll pick it up as you go along.’

  ‘Well I’ve found this letter, whilst picking up Elsie’s writing case. And I was just looking at it, and maybe exploring it too, wondering if something that old would have a secret compartment … and then whilst I was running my fingers along the base, a button popped up, revealing a small drawer that came out.’

  ‘Sounds like something out of a movie.’

  ‘I know and of course when I saw the corner of a piece of paper, I couldn’t resist pulling it out.’

  My heart goes out to her – she sounds so ashamed of herself. ‘You’d need superhuman self-restraint not to.’

  ‘I couldn’t help reading the first few pages. I didn’t mean to. Now you’re going to think I’m as bad as Marge.’

  ‘No one’s that bad, Soph!’ I laugh. ‘Anyway, I would have done the same.’

  ‘That makes me feel a bit better,’ she admits.

  ‘So, what did it say?’

  ‘It says something about Elsie having a daughter before she met Bertie.’

  ‘Wow that’s heavy. I only met her a couple of times before she died. She was a wonderful woman.’

  He sounds rather emotional, so I give him a moment. ‘I know, I mean I may have got the wrong end of the stick as I haven’t read the whole letter.’

  ‘So you think he doesn’t know anything about this?’

  ‘That’s the thing; I think Elsie meant to tell Bertie, but I presume she didn’t as the letter was concealed. Maybe she decided she wouldn’t.’

  ‘Maybe she died before she could give it to him,’ I suggest.

  We’re both silent for a moment. ‘That’s an awful thought,’ Sophia says at last. ‘Do you think we should tell him?’

  ‘We have to,’ I decide. ‘He needs to know. I mean he might have a stepdaughter somewhere out there he doesn’t even know exists. And when he’s such a lonely guy, I just don’t think we should keep that from him, do you?’

  ‘No, I don’t think we should.’ Sophia sounds relieved. I’m guessing she wouldn’t relish keeping a secret from someone she cares about, and I’m hit with guilt all over again that I took so long to tell her about Laura. ‘So how am I going to tell him? Maybe you should, as you know him best?’

  I pause for a moment. ‘I don’t think I should tell him just randomly over the phone, do you? He’s probably going to be really shocked and upset. He might need support.’

  ‘Okay, well you could tell him over the phone that I’ve found something he might want to see in Elsie’s case and I will drop it over to him if he would like to read it?’

  ‘I guess.’ I’m not sure how we should handle this to be honest; it’s such a difficult situation without adding a pandemic and the need for social distancing into the mix. ‘I think you should be with him whilst he reads it or at least nearby. In case he takes it really badly. What about the dog thing?’

  ‘I think maybe we should leave it for now,’ Sophia says sadly. ‘There’s so much going on and it complicates things.’

  ‘As if they’re not complicated enough already,’ I mutter. ‘I’m just not sure how Bertie’s going to take the news that Elsie had a child. He and Elsie were never able to have kids and this is going to be an almighty shock, especially as she potentially never confessed to him.’

  ‘I know, but I guess she must have had her reasons?’ Sophia always sees the best in people. ‘And you never know, it might help Bertie to know he has a little part of Elsie left.’

  Chapter 31

  Sophia

  You would have thought Jack’s whisky chaser would have given me a good sleep, but instead it just seemed to give me weird dreams. I wake with a start, having had a
restless night with writing cases and letters swirling round my head, Alice in Wonderland like, and I am relieved to find myself in my own bed. The writing case on the edge of my dressing table catches my eye and the events of last night crowd back into my head. Poor Bertie, I wish that had all been a dream.

  I think the plan I agreed with Jack will have to do, but it seems a little flawed in that Bertie is going to be left to deal with this upset on his own due to the whole social distancing thing.

  ‘Soph!’ Erica bangs on my door and walks in unceremoniously. ‘I’ve made vegan banana pancakes if you fancy them?’

  ‘Ooh sounds good,’ I say, before pausing, confused. ‘Have you become vegan then?’ It seems a sudden change from the chicken-thieving Erica of just weeks ago.

  ‘No,’ she scoffs, ‘it’s only because we’re out of milk and I found a recipe on the internet. It’s nice actually, if you add enough maple syrup.’

  ‘Anything tastes good if you add enough maple syrup,’ I point out.

  ‘Anyway,’ Erica says, flopping down on the end of my bed on top of my feet, ‘what’s up with you? Been up partying with Jack all night?’

  ‘Something like that. I do feel tired.’

  ‘Well at least it’s no work for you today. By the way, the hospital phoned.’

  ‘Maybe I forgot an appointment,’ I worry, ‘or they’ve cancelled one.’ I start rummaging about the bed for my T-shirt and leggings so that I can start getting ready.

  ‘Anyway,’ Erica says again, not to be derailed, ‘I have news and I know how you like news!’

  ‘I’m not sure about anything today,’ I mutter.

  ‘Oh, well I won’t tell you then. I shall keep it to myself.’

  ‘Oh stop playing hard to get.’ I laugh. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I thought you said something about Bertie,’ she starts, and I jump at his name like a scared rabbit. Honestly this espionage, secret letter thing is making me a nervous wreck. ‘Are you all right, Soph? You look a bit pale.’