Alice went to the kitchen cupboard, took down the tea tin and carefully measured out the right amount of tea leaves into the pot, then added water. The tea was getting low, she would have to remember to get some the next time they ordered shopping. It was lasting remarkably well, but they didn’t want to run short. Her daughter Sophie had brought them their shopping every few days at the start of the lockdown, but now felt it was too big a risk that she might infect them. Alice had tried to argue, not so much because she cared about the shopping, but because she treasured those fleeting moments when she could see her daughter in real life, even if it was only at the end of the garden path. But her husband Frank had agreed with Sophie. Later, he said to Alice that it was too big a risk of them passing something on to Sophie, given her vital job as a doctor in the local hospital. Alice was a little confused as to how it could be that she had to be protected from Sophie while Sophie had to be protected from her, both at the same time. But the feeling of guilt at the thought – ‘what if?’ – she did make her daughter ill, leaving the hospital shorthanded while Sophie recovered, or triggering an outbreak among the patients or – or even worse – what if Sophie was one of that minority of young people who became seriously ill from corona…had burrowed into the back of her mind, stopping her from pushing matters further. Probably Sophie knew best. She was, after all, a doctor. And Frank was also better about understanding such things than Alice. She was painfully aware that her scientifically trained husband and daughter both regarded her as emotional, flighty, unreliable. Too prone to following her feelings instead of thinking things through logically.
Thinking about her daughter made her long to talk to Sophie. It was her day off from the hospital, the chances were good that she would be able to spare some time for a chat. Alice left the tea to brew, picked up her walking stick, and made her awkward way down the hall to the living room. Switching on the computer that stood on the desk in the corner, she waited patiently for the inordinately long time it took to start up. Placing her reading glasses precisely on her nose, she followed the list of instructions Sophie had neatly written out for her on a piece of paper, for how she could call her via the internet. But, instead of Sophie’s smiling face, a pop-up appeared with an unpleasant dissonant sound, stating there was no connection. Again. Alice sighed, and switched the computer off.
Making her way to the conservatory, carefully balancing two mugs of tea on a tray she held in one hand while she clutched her stick in the other, she found Frank already there, seated in his favourite chair. She carefully placed the tray on the table, then settled herself down opposite him. With a curt nod of thanks, he reached for his cup of tea, then frowned in disapproval. Alice knew immediately what the problem was. ‘Sorry dear, our usual cups came out of the dishwasher still dirty. I had to use these instead’. ‘Typical of this modern rubbish’, he grumbled. ‘Probably needs salt, or rinse aid, or else the filters are all gunked up again. I spend so much time cleaning that dishwasher, I might as well do the dishes by hand’.
As he continued in this vein, Alice simply listened, amazed as always that he could get so worked up over something so little. Perhaps it was his character, perhaps it was the result of a lifetime spent in the Army, but in either case, Frank found it very important to have everything in order. You could set a clock by his daily routine, even since retiring he always got up at 6am every morning. Minor disruptions such as not having his favourite mug, a delay in lunch, the wrong parts being delivered, upset him inordinately. Alice had never been able to stand him being angry or upset, and rarely argued with him. At the same time, she had quietly continued doing things the way she wanted. When they had both worked, it had been very easy to live parallel lives, particularly as he was often away on a mission for months, during which time she ruled the roost at home. In the brief periods that they were together, she had found it easy to bow to his preferences, knowing she would soon again be free to decide for herself. She had worried that retirement would bring them into a headlong collision. But actually, it had worked out very well. Frank’s hobbies were centred round the home – repairing antique clocks, reading, doing crossword puzzles. Whereas Alice had revelled in the freedom of her retirement to go anywhere she wanted, spending hours combing the beaches along the coast, exploring the tiny villages scattered around the nearby countryside, discovering burial mounds in the woods. Visiting friends, going to the theatre, and finally fulfilling her dream of taking a nature photography course. After a busy day out and about, she found it very comforting to return to a home where everything was in perfect order, where Frank always awaited her with a gin and tonic and nibbles. Only now that they were both confined to the house the whole day…
Frank had reached the point in his usual monologue at which he railed at the flakiness of computers, and how they had infiltrated so many household devices that you now couldn’t even wash your dishes without a computer chip trying to think for you. ‘Speaking of which’, Alice interrupted him diffidently, ‘could you take a look at the internet connection please? I wanted to talk to Sophie and it wasn’t working’. Frank’s gaze dropped down to the cup of tea in his hands. ‘I could do perhaps’, he admitted grudgingly. ‘But usually those things just solve themselves. Just wait a bit and give it a try later, that’s the best thing to do’. His eyes remained fixed on his cup. ‘But it hasn’t been working for a long time’, protested Alice. ‘I haven’t spoken to Sophie since, since…’. She struggled, trying to remember when it had been. That was the trouble with lockdown, all the days just ran into each other. Frank glanced at her briefly, then his eyes quickly slid to one side, and he turned away from her, digging in his newspaper rack. ‘It hasn’t been that long’, he said, brusquely. ‘It’s just your memory playing tricks on you. You really should train it you know, otherwise you’ll end up with dementia. It’s just like training your body, the way we did in the Army. Keep it strong and healthy. You mind needs exercise too.’ He fished out a magazine full of mental puzzles, and handed it over to her. Unenthusiastically, she took it.
Sitting with the magazine on her lap, a pencil in her hand for verisimilitude, she pretended to read a few of the puzzles. But she had no interest in them. It was so dull, mental exercises with no other point than to exercise. It was like those boring people who went to the gym, doing press-ups and lifting weights, repeating the same actions over and over again to stay fit. Alice had always preferred her exercise to be in the service of a more interesting purpose. Cycling over to visit Sophie or to go to the museum, going for a walk in the nearby nature reserve to photograph the birds. Much more interesting and stimulating to be actually doing something, going somewhere, seeing new things. But her hip operation had landed her indoors, and then corona – or rather, Frank’s strict enforcement of the government mantra ‘stay home, stay safe’- had imprisoned her there. And now all she saw was the same house, kitchen, bedroom, living room. It would take more than a crossword puzzle to make up for that. At least the conservatory gave her the feeling of being outside, and let her look out at the ever-changing natural surroundings. Gazing out through the patio doors, she searched the flower beds for shoots of spring flowers. Spring seemed to be a long time coming, they seemed to have been stuck in the shank end of winter forever. Still, at least it gave time for her hip to heal, which also seemed to be taking forever. With any luck, by the time Spring properly came, she’d be more mobile – and maybe even the whole corona panic would be over, and she could go out walking with Sophie.
Having fruitlessly scanned their own garden for signs of new life, she lifted her eyes to scrutinize the neighbour’s forsythia. The sight of its yellow buds was always a joyous moment, the intense golden colour seeming almost impossibly bright after the subdued tones of winter, never failing to lift her spirits. But it also seemed to be late this year. Craning her neck, she tried to see if their neighbour was in the garden. If so, then she might try to sneak out for a chat over the garden fence. Frank was very disapproving of her doing that – as if the virus would cross a fence and two flower beds! – but it pepped her up to talk to someone else, even if it was only about the weather and the state of the weeds. But she hadn’t seen her for a while. Quite a while, it seemed. ‘Frank?’, she said. Deep in his newspaper, he grunted inquiringly. ‘Have you seen Maggie recently? She couldn’t be ill, could she?’. ‘Not at all’, he said, absentmindedly, apparently engrossed in his article, ‘you spoke to her just a few days ago’. Funny, thought Alice, it really didn’t seem such a short time ago. ‘Perhaps I could just pop round’, she said, ‘just to be sure’. He peered at her over the top of his paper, his eyes contemptuous. ‘Pop round’, he repeated, making it sound like she had suggested pruning the roses in the nude. ‘In the middle of a pandemic? Stay home, stay safe, remember? It’s people like you who are spreading the virus. No self-control, can’t hold out for just a few weeks, even to save lives. They wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in the Army. ‘Sorry Sergeant Major, I know I was meant to be guarding the compound, but I just had to ring home to my mum, haven’t spoken to her in days. Sorry that the whole unit got slaughtered by the enemy’’. As always, his sarcasm was withering, and quelled Alice immediately. She gathered up their cups, and silently took them to the kitchen.
Staring out of the kitchen window, she looked in vain for passers-by on the path outside their front hedge. Their house was at the end of a very quiet street, backing onto the woods. No one came down it except for the neighbours and the occasional delivery. Not even the milkman now that the supermarkets had taken over. She longed to see someone. After her hip operation, her usual activities had been curtailed, and she had had trouble finding things to do at home. The only thing that really interested her was the garden, and she wasn’t in a condition to do more than potter around it. At least she had had regular visits from Sophie and her friends. But corona had put a stop to that. Now every day was in the orbit of Frank’s routine. Breakfast at 7am, lunch at noon, biscuits at 3pm, dinner at 6. In the morning he did crossword puzzles, after lunch he worked on his clocks, in the evening he read. Like his clocks, he marked time precisely, and, like his clocks, he began every day right back where he had started. And his conversation was similarly unchanging, the state of modern technology, the youth of today, the stupidity of politicians. Alice was desperately bored and lonely, longing for a change of scene, for different faces and a conversation that didn’t follow the same well-worn course. To have something that marked out each day as different to the others, instead of them overflowing their boundaries and merging into one vast grey pool. But she knew she couldn’t discuss her feelings of entrapment and suffocation with Frank. He wouldn’t understand. He had never been keen on socializing, quite content to be with his wife and daughter at home. And now the pandemic had given him his utopia – no interfering visitors, no interruptions from the doorbell, no need to make excuses to avoid going out. He would probably be heartbroken when it was over.
Struck by a sudden thought, she felt strangely troubled. Walking over to the kitchen table, she lowered herself into the chair. Even for lockdown, they were unusually isolated. She couldn’t remember when they had last seen anyone at all. Not Sophie, not Maggie, not even a postman… Her mind went back to when she suggested going over to see Maggie, and the way Frank had reacted. Beneath his irritation and sarcasm there had been something else. Almost as if he was nervous… as if he was hiding something from her. Or was it her that he was hiding? Cutting her off from the outside world, keeping her to himself. Talking her out of visiting the neighbours – perhaps even telling them not to come near? – definitely encouraging Sophie to stay away… And what about that internet connection? She knew nothing of technology, it would be child’s play for him to disable it. A chill of fear filled her. They had no phone anymore, Frank had got rid of it once he discovered they could call for free via the internet. At her slow pace, she would not be able to get far down the road without him noticing, probably he would be after her as soon as he heard her turn the handle of the front door. She sat at the table, trembling, trying to suppress the unreasonable suspicions filling her. This was crazy, Frank was her husband. But unwillingly, she was forced to remember various comments her family and friends had made about Frank over the years. How he was egotistical, domineering, controlling. She had always defended him, claimed that others didn’t understand him. But now, all of a sudden, she started to wonder if she was the one who hadn’t understood.
A scrape in the doorway made her look up. Frank stood there. ‘Time for lunch?’, he asked, the way he always did, as if it were an option, whereas in reality any dissent was always met with a storm of disappointment and disapproval. Taking a breath, she steeled herself. ‘No’, she said. His head jerked back. ‘No?’. ‘No’, she repeated. Taking another deep breath, she continued, staring down at the kitchen table, pushing toast crumbs together with her finger. ‘I’m going over to Maggie’s. And I’m going to ask to use her internet to call Sophie. It’s not right, that I don’t see anyone, don’t talk to anyone. It’s all a bit too strange, that no one’s come near the house, that the internet isn’t working. It’s more than strange – it’s suspicious’. She finally lifted her gaze from the table, to see his face a mask of cold rage. Her breath caught in shock. Then the mask dropped, and she saw what was behind it – naked fear. Frank’s upright bearing vanished, he seemed to fold in on himself, to become older all of a sudden. Walking over to the table, he dropped heavily into the chair, and covered his face with his hands.
‘It’s not just that’, he said, his voice muffled. Then he lowered his hands and looked at her, his face bewildered, lost, frightened, like a little boy’s. ‘When was the last time we had shopping delivered?’. She frowned, trying to remember. He interrupted, ‘I can’t remember when. And yet the food’s not running out. I took over mowing the grass after your operation, the damn thing always needed doing every couple of weeks. I can’t remember the last time I did that either and yet it’s not grown an inch. Yesterday, you know when I was working in my study?’. She nodded. ‘I wasn’t working. I stood the whole time looking out of the window, and I never once saw anyone go down the path, not Maggie, not the postman, not a jogger, not one single human being. Hours I stood there…’. He fell silent for a few moments, his breathing ragged. Then he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘During the Second World War, in the Pacific, there were Japanese soldiers left behind on some of the islands. They didn’t know the war was over, they were cut off. Some of them were left for decades, thinking they were fighting a war that was long gone and done with…’. He looked up squarely at her. ‘Somehow – it’s crazy – but I have this feeling. Somehow we’ve been cut off, left behind. Stranded on our own little island while the world has moved on. I didn’t say anything to you – I didn’t want to scare you’. Alice’s heart was thumping painfully in her chest, and her mouth was dry. She had to clear her throat before she could speak, in a frightened rasp, ‘But how could that be? Have you tried just going over to the neighbours, walking down to the village…?’. ‘I’m afraid’, he admitted, his voice filled with shame and defeat. ‘I’m afraid of what I might find’.
What might he find? Scenes from books and films ran through Alice’s mind, The world laid waste, an empty mist beyond their garden fence, an invisible barrier that they couldn’t pass. All ludicrous, insane, unthinkable – yet hadn’t the past year been all of those things? Sitting across from Frank, seeing the fear in his eyes, she suddenly couldn’t bear it. Frank, always so strong, her rock, her touchstone. Who had returned home from missions suffering nightmares and flashbacks, yet got up each morning without fail to make Sophie her breakfast and listen affectionately to her prattle. She took his hand, offering him silent comfort. The way she had held his hand when his parents died, when Sophie had been so sick in hospital with meningitis that time and they had been terrified they were about to lose her. No explanations given, no solutions offered, just the wordless knowledge of her presence and love. Slowly, she realized that this was all either of them had to give. Whether they were going through a pandemic or something infinitely stranger, they were equally powerless against it. All that mattered was that they had each other.
Briskly, she stood up. ‘We’re being silly’, she said. ‘It’s the lockdown, it makes everyone a little doolally. Probably our memories are just playing tricks on us. Every day seems so much like the rest, it’s not surprising. And neither of us is getting younger, after all. Perhaps we should do some of those puzzles together. Why don’t you look for some while I make a cup of tea?’. Opening the cupboard, she added, ‘You were right with what you said earlier, it would be foolish to risk infection out of lack of nerve when we’ve held out this long. Stay home, stay safe, eh?’.
Relief flooded his face, and he stood up, straightening his posture. ‘Quite right. Can’t let the side down. Don’t know what came over me’. Passing behind her as he left the room, he gently grasped her shoulder. Usually a gesture of reassurance, this time it seemed to be more of gratitude. She tenderly placed her hand on top of his, and they stood close together for a moment. Then Frank turned and made his way to the conservatory. Once the kettle had boiled, Alice went to the kitchen cupboard, took down the tea tin and carefully measured out the right amount of tea leaves into the pot, then added water. The tea was getting low, she would have to remember to get some the next time they ordered shopping.