THE TROUBLE WITH LOCKDOWN
Greg Norton was at a loose end and facing far more of them, with the prospect of the pub, the ‘Able Oaks Arms’, being closed. He had come to consult Lena about Lockdown.
‘What’s us ordinary people s’posed to do all this time?’
‘I would say, be kind to people, help with their shopping and such things. But we have to be very circumspect about that sort of thing, don’t we?’
‘Circum what. What’s that?’
‘Thoughtful, tactful. For instance, this social distancing, keeping two metres from people like now. I want you to step back two metres.’
Greg Norton was a local man, born and bred in Milton Stanwick. Before it was discovered that he qualified for a retirement flat at Faradise Park, he had been a leading figure in the protests in the village about Londoners coming and taking the lovely flats. It was only when his granddaughter, Caroline, had married local farmer, Dave Miller, that his own daughter, with whom he lived, had gone to Spain to do to the Spanish what Londoners were doing to the villagers of Milton Stanwick. That was how he had become homeless.
‘How much is a litre?’
Lena refrained from laughing. She realised that the majority of the residents had long left school when decimalisation was introduced.
‘I’ll give you a piece of string that is two metres – not litres – long, Greg – and you can help people understand how far from you is two metres. A litre is different, that’s about amounts of water, or milk or even beer when you go abroad.’
‘Abroad? I ain’t going there, that’s where you get diseases.’
‘Well, to help stop you spreading Coronavirus, I shall be distributing facemasks to everyone, when my order for them finally arrives.’
‘What like them women, them Muzzelings, you mean?’
‘Not as big as that, but what a good idea. Go into purdah.’
* * *
‘Deaths are going up’ Hester said.
‘Especially for older people,’ Tom said.
‘You mean people who are not young?’ Mimi said.
‘Comes to the same thing,’ Tom said.
‘Anyway, I’m doing everything I can not to get it,’ Hester said.
‘It really makes you focus on death. We are all going to die at some time.’ That was Mel.
A heavy silence ensued. All four friends were leaning out of their windows, this being the only way to meet and converse together.
‘You’re a cheerful little – sod!’ Hester said.
‘No, a realistic little sod, Hess. We should all prepare. After all, we’re all hovering on one side or the other of seventy. Look at it like this, in forty years time, we’ll all be dead. Nothing left. Even thirty years time, or perhaps twenty years.’
‘Oh, Mel, do stop,’ Hester pleaded.
‘And death shall have no dominion, that’s from a poem by Dylan Thomas. I would like that read at my funeral. And, Do not go gentle into that good night.’
‘I suppose you’ll want music, too?’ Hester’s question held a note of sarcasm.
‘Oh yes. There are plenty of Welsh songs I would choose. In Welsh, of course. What about anyone else? You, Hess?’
‘Me? OK. As the coffin comes in what about the Ride of the Valkyries?’
Everyone burst out into loud laughter.
‘What’s all the noise about?’ A voice from ground level stilled the laughter. Lena was standing there, her face upturned.
‘Sorry,’ Hester said. ‘We were talking about our funerals.’
‘Oh, don’t apologise. It’s wonderful to see and hear so much happiness. There’s not a lot lately is there? I can’t imagine why funerals are so hilarious. But it’s good, healthy stuff anyway. Tell me, though, why out of the windows?’
‘Because we’re not allowed to meet in each other’s homes, are we? And the Hall is closed,’ Tom said.
‘If you met on your corridor, so long as there’s two metres between members of the two households, I don’t see that would be a problem. Unless, of course, someone wants to pass by.’
‘This isn’t wrong, though, is it?’ Tom said. ‘We see our neighbours. And it’s more than two metres to down there, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Tom. But don’t fall out.’
* * *
Marjorie paced her sitting room. She and Rob had been separated by Covid. In her pocket was her phone. Rob’s phone number was in her mind. Should she phone him? He had last phoned her four days ago. Surely he was expecting a call from her? She was not sure what she should do. There was something she desperately wanted to speak to him about, but she was not sure whether she should broach the subject. This wretched Lockdown had disrupted everything.
She lifted her phone to look at the keypad. She was not very good at this new technology stuff. Her other hand hovered over it. She tapped out Rob’s number. She was shaking so much she had to sit down. But she resisted tapping the send key.
This was ridiculous. How old was she? What had happened to the strong, determined woman who had emerged as a result of her settling at Faradise Park? Had she regressed?
She pressed the send key.
She could hear the ringing tone as she put the phone to her ear.
‘Hello?’
She hesitated, ‘Is that you, Rob?’ So tentative.
‘Marjorie! His voice suddenly exploded down the line. ‘Oh, it’s so lovely to hear from you!’ He was pleased to hear from her! Joy flooded through her, then she was flooded by tears.
‘I didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.’
‘Marjorie, if I could only tell you face to face how much I’ve missed you.’
‘I’ve missed you too,’ she sobbed happily. ‘If only we could meet.’
‘I know, I know,’
‘There are too many interested people around who would love to cause a bit of trouble here.’ She thought of Greg’s mischievousness and of others who were prudish, Nick and Pam Matthews. And of Lena, whose trust she did not want to violate.
‘Everyone hates these restrictions,’ Rob said.
‘It seems we are unlikely to meet until June.’
‘But Marjorie, I am not at all happy about the situation between us.’
‘Neither am I.’
‘I’m glad, I thought you’d given up on me, I know I can be thoughtless –’
‘No, no, Rob. I was just overwhelmed....’ She dabbed her eyes and her nose. He must not realise she was crying. What a wimp he would think her. ‘Can you think of any way round this?’
‘Only if you would be willing to move in with me,’
This was stunning news, but, a two-edged sword. He was willing to live with her, or rather for her to live with him. She wanted to laugh, almost hysterically, yet there was no way she could give up her flat here at Faradise Park. Her independence, now and in the future, was too big a gift to throw away on mere sex, she thought to herself. She should ask him, shouldn’t she, if he would move in with her – if it was allowed, if he qualified. But she feared a rejection. Flat number 17, like most of the flats, was small compared to his present home. He had frequently mentioned this fact to her.
‘I can’t do that. Move out I mean. Lena would explain. Why don’t you go and have a chat with her?’
‘Would she mind?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I must do that.’
She sank back in her chair. ‘I’ll have to say goodbye now, Rob. I have to do something.’ She’d been planning to ask Mimi to come up and talk until she saw her and Tom hanging out of their windows, because visitors of any sort or origin were not allowed in the flats now.
* * *
How could rumour spread if everybody stayed obediently behind their front door, Tom wondered. It must be that they used the once-a-day venture out – alone – to see others, also alone, and two metres apart, however much that was.
He made quite good progress, on his own, up the drive before he encountered anyone else, then, near the entrance, Greg came steaming ahead of him, doing an exaggerated version of what he claimed was a distance of two metres.
‘Where you going, Tom?’ he called out.
‘Up to the Co-op,’ Tom said.
‘What, for more toilet rolls? You ain’t used up all them you got, not already? It was you who started the panic-buying, you know that?’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ Tom panted, furious that Greg was already so far ahead of him. Greg merely grinned over his shoulder and sped on.
When Tom reached the Co-op, he found he had to queue, two metres spaced either side of him, and Greg was only twice two metres in front of him. Ridiculous though it was, Tom felt a twinge of satisfaction. Was it because he was getting old, or what it this bloody Lockdown making him mean-minded?
‘Hello, Tom.’ He turned to see Lucy Dean two metres possibly, behind him. At first he thought she was in some sort of disguise. He stared at her. At her eyes. That was all he could see of her. She was wearing a mask.
She laughed. ‘Lena wants me to distribute these to everyone when they arrive, sometime today. Tom, stay two metres away from me, won’t you?’
Lucy used to be a cheeky adolescent but now she saw herself as an adult, and could be very bossy. The queue shifted forward and Tom found himself in the Co-op. There were markings on the floor and posts holding tape at waist level, and notices – This Way Please – and Keep a Social Distance. Tom was unsure what social distance meant, something else to worry about? It is preferred that you wear a face-mask.
‘I ain’t wearing one of those,’ Greg was heard to say. Tom felt some guilty sympathy.
‘It should cover your nose,’ Tom heard Lucy’s adult voice saying. ‘Excuse me you’re not wearing that mask correctly. It’s got to be over your nose.’ She was speaking to someone whom Tom was unable to see.
‘Mind your own business,’ that someone told her.
‘It is my business,’ Lucy said from among the toiletries and empty toilet roll shelves. ‘You don’t know what I’ve got, or you would wear it properly.’
‘What have you got?’ Greg, her grandfather felt he had a right to know.
‘I’ll tell you what you’ve got,’ said the unseen rebel. ‘You’ve got a bloody nerve.’
Tom heard the sound of a fist colliding with something, then Lucy’s yell and a clatter as she fell amongst the display of canned baked beans.
‘Did you hit my granddaughter?’ Greg was on the muscle now.
‘Yeah, and I’ll hit you as well.’
Tom, not wanting to be excluded from the masculinity stakes, said, ‘Who the hell do you think you are?’
‘The only one in this place who won’t be pushed around,’ the offender said. Then Tom gasped, as did everyone in the Co-op, in or out of their two metre spaces gasped, when another contender in this war appeared from amongst the display of unsold Easter Eggs, to deliver a blow to the brute that matched, or even surpassed, Lucy’s black eye. There was uproar in the Co-op. Chaos erupted around everyone, voices shouting aggressively, nothing making sense any more. Was this alien scene really in the Milton Stanwick Co-op? Things were being lifted from the shelves, people were making for the door. Janey, the Manager of the shop, was phoning the police and attempting to restore order. ‘Police, please. Milton Stanwick Co-op. People are fighting and stealing stuff from the shelves.’ ‘Get two metres apart. Remember social distancing. Quieten down, please. Two metres! Two metres!’
Shaken, Tom retrieved three tins of baked beans to purchase, because he had forgotten what he came in for in the first place.
Lucy allowed herself to be helped to her feet and be ministered unto by the gallant young man. One of the assistants in the Co-op provided a damp towel to hold to her eye.
‘It hurts,’ she moaned, as she was led to a chair. ‘I only came in for a spot of lunch.’
‘So did I,’ said her rescuer.
She looked up at him for the first time. He was tall, dark and handsome. He was smooth bodied, athletic looking, possibly a rugby-player. His eyes gleamed above his mask.
‘I’ve got to get back to work,’ Lucy said.
‘Where’s that?’
‘Faradise Park.’
‘Oh, I know. I’m on my way there myself. I’ve a delivery to make. I can take you, in my van.’
She thanked him. He helped her to her feet. Her legs were wobbly. ‘Did you hit him? Was it you?’
‘Yes, he deserved it.’ He linked his arm into hers. ‘Why, do you know him?’
‘Yes. I know him. Max Parkinson. I was at school with him. He caused a lot of trouble here a couple of years back.’ They had reached the door of the Co-op. People were jostling. She grabbed his other arm as he guided her over the threshold.
‘With the Travellers,’ she finished once outside in the fresh air.
‘Travellers?’
‘Yes. Gypsies. In the village. I work with them. Or I did, before Covid.’
‘This is my van.’ He paused before a large, white van with the name ‘Simon Stanley’ emblazoned on the side.
‘Is that your name?’
He chortled. ‘No, I’m afraid it’s not. I only work for him. I am Bartholomew Smith.’
‘Smith?’
‘Yes, is it so funny?’ He opened the van door and helped her into the front passenger seat.’ I’m Bart for short, by the way.’
Lucy introduced herself. ‘I am Lucy Dean, might be Miller if my mum marries Dave Miller.’
It was great, sitting up high in the front of the van. Bart pulled up at the main entrance of the all-glass and steel extension to Faradise Park that was Milton Faradise. Izzie took delivery of several boxes from the van.
‘Lovely place,’ Bart said. ‘So green. What’s the big house?’
‘That’s Faradise Park.’ Lucy said.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ Izzie said, seeing Lucy with the towel to her eye. ‘What have you done?’
‘Told someone that his mask should cover his nose. I got a black eye for my trouble. Look.’
She took the towel from her eye. Izzie took the towel from her.
‘Lucy, that looks painful.’
‘It is a bit. I only went out for a bite of lunch. So did Bart. This is Bart. He gave the guy a black eye too.’
‘Who was it?’
‘Max Parkinson. Remember him and the Travellers?’
‘I most certainly do. I thought he’d been put away.’
‘For not long enough,’ Lucy said with passion.’
Izzie addressed Bart. ‘Is that all of our delivery? Because you need rewarding for your action. Why don’t I rustle up coffee and cheese rolls? Would that be OK? I’ll get something for that eye Lucy.’
‘Great,’ said Lucy.
‘Thank you very much Mrs.....?’
‘Smith,’ said Izzie. Bart and Lucy laughed.
Izzie came back to administer a soothing balm for Lucy’s eye and a colleague of Lucy’s, Marian, appeared with cheese rolls and coffee. Lucy and Bart sat in the van.
‘I suppose we’ll have to take off our masks to eat?’
‘Essential.’ Bart said. They gazed shyly at each other when their whole faces were revealed.
‘So,’ Bart said, ‘What is this Faradise place?’
‘There are two main parts. The main part, the first part, is a Scheme of Flats for over sixties. It’s managed by Lena Kirwan now. When it first opened, my mother was Manager. Everyone loved her, because, they say she was so kind.’ She made a face. ‘That’s difficult to understand now she is married to Dave Miller. He was a farmer who used to own a large part of the land all this new building is on. She’s got twins now. They’re two years old, and quite a handful. And she’s pregnant again.’
‘In Lockdown? Isn’t that going to be difficult?’
Lucy shrugged. ‘During December. Christmas.’
‘It’ll all be over by then,’ Bart said, ‘the Lockdown and stuff
He told her he was twenty years old. He lived with his parents in South London and didn’t know what to do with his life. ‘You work here?’ he asked her.
‘Yes. I’m a Carer.’
‘I’ll be coming here regularly. Delivering PPE. There’s a shortage and everyone is desperate.’
‘When do you get to come here again?’
‘Dunno. Suppose we exchange phone numbers? There’s no pub open to go to, but we can sit in the van and share whatever I get in the store in the village. Would that be OK?’
* * *
Tom rushed into Flat Four with hurricane energy. Mimi was in the kitchen.
‘There’s been an incident,’ he told her excitedly. ‘In the shop. Here, I got these.’ He thrust the three tins of baked beans at Mimi. ‘I forgot what I went in there for.’
Mimi looked at him in puzzlement. ‘What do you mean, an incident? In the Co-op?’
‘Yes. Some guy was wearing his mask wrong. Not covering his nose. Lucy told him. He told her to mind her own business. She - .’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Mimi said, ‘Lucy said it was her business.‘
Then she said, ‘You don’t know what I’ve got.’
‘She would. What has she got?’
‘That’s exactly what Greg said, and this guy said ‘I’ll tell you what you’ve got. You’ve got a bloody cheek,’ and he gave Lucy a black eye.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘Oh, yes. Some guy, came to her rescue and gave the other guy a black eye.’
‘Oh, I say,’
‘Janey phoned for the police.’
‘Oh, they won’t bother with a little skirmish in Milton Stanwick. There’s been a big demonstration in Sittendon about Lockdown and lots of fisticuffs, not just one. It was on local radio.’
Tom shrugged. ‘The natives are restless.' This morning’s happening in the village was as much excitement he'd had since March 23rd, when Lockdown began.
‘I’ve got a bit of news.’ Mimi said, checking the bubbling contents of a saucepan on the cooker. ‘You know all the notices that appeared all over the place here, ‘Keep Calm and Wash Your Hands’? Someone’s gone round and, on most of them, crossed out ‘Hands’ and written over it ‘BUM’. Because of the shortage of toilet rolls, you see.’
‘I do get it, but who do you think did that? Somebody very witty.’
‘Can’t imagine. Wasn’t you, was it?’
‘Oh, gosh, no. Why, was it you?’
‘No, but I would love to know, wouldn’t you?’
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The characters also do not exist and are not people who are real. There are three books about Faradise Park and the characters who live there. Almost Paradise, Nothing Like Paradise , Planning for Paradise.' [see above for links]
Doesn't exist? Faradise should exist...!.should be willed into life. Funny but kind. I'd like to be thev casting agent for the TV series
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