SHORT STORIES IN LOCKDOWN 1

They came looking for me.

We were six weeks into lockdown and had become used to restful nights without the pounding of the tube trains and free from overflying aircraft. It was therefore all the more terrifying to hear a search and rescue helicopter circling low, very low. We’d heard it many times before, especially when there were news items about terrorists avoiding arrest. We are in the circle that the choppers use whist viewing the two most likely spots for someone to join the M1. I’d not heard news of terrorism during lockdown, what could this be?

The chopper landed in the garden next door. They have a large green space edged with narrow borders whereas we have ponds and raised beds, shrubs, garden furniture and sheds. A uniformed officer descended. Reminding me of Matilda’s Miss Trunchball she blew a whistle to attract attention and demanded that neighbours open their gates to allow free access between gardens.  She began her investigation of our sheds. To no avail she shouted, poked and shone her torch over our camping equipment, arts, crafts and DIY materials, garden supplies and accumulated junk. She moved noisily along these bigger than average gardens with annexed land, once intended as railway sidings. I sat down by our fish pond to wait until she was gone. All the usual sounds of hunting owls, prowling foxes, mice and rats trying to escape.. were obscured by the helicopter blades, whirring away just the other side of the garden hedge. 

Eventually the chopper and it’s officious passenger made a noisy departure, I presumed that officers with more competence, experience and subtlety had been redeployed in the fight against Covid 19 and that she was all there was available. Neighbours returned to their houses and switched out the lights as the helicopters flew away. I stayed awhile to enjoy the garden as the owls took their last swoops, the sun began to peep over the horizon and the dawn chorus began.

There was an unexpected sound. The gasp of a child. I maintained motionless and in silence, wondering what would happen next. Was the child alone or was the gasp a reaction to someone forcing imprisonment or danger? What should I do? My phone was in my dressing gown pocket and I’d heard on the radio that if someone in danger of domestic violence pressed one of the phone buttons repeatedly, it would call the police without the need to speak. Which button and how many times? I wished I’d listened more carefully. 

The sound had come from the one shed the officer hadn’t investigated. It was ramshackle and falling down but the roof was intact. It had been a garden house for my children to play in but when they grew too tall it was moved and redeployed as a wood shelter. It had no front but the remnants of a torn blue tarpaulin, used to keep the timber dry. I maintained my silence whilst waiting to see what would happen. I could hear occasional movement behind the pallets stacked in front of the shelter and was relieved to conclude that this was a child alone. 

Suddenly I remembered that we were in lockdown and I’d no mask or gloves. If I encountered this child at close quarters I could endanger myself or my immune compromised son with whom I was shielding. My natural reaction would be to try to catch and hold the child in safety but this wasn’t possible. I thought of nurses and care workers having to make decisions about wether or not to treat patients without the vital PPE which our incompetent government had failed to procure. I decided to sit and wait and see what happened.

Eventually she emerged. A pretty little thing with a mass of curly black hair. She didn’t notice me but headed for the camping toilet which I use when I can’t get to the house in time. She sat there on the loo, turning her hands over and examining them intently in the pale light. As she looked up, she noticed me, gasped and prepared for flight. I put my finger to my lips, motioning her to keep quiet and signalled her to sit down again. She had no other way out and complied. 

So there we were, an older woman in a fluffy dressing gown and crocks, sitting on a wooden garden chair by the pond, and a young girl with her jeans round her feet, sitting on a plastic toilet by the bird table. 

I whispered to ask if she spoke English and she nodded the affirmative. 

“Speak quietly as the neighbours get up early. Who are you and how are you and which school do you go to?”

“I’m Annalise and I’m 9 and I go to St Mary’s.”

“Hello Annalise, I’m Susan and this is my garden.”

“I’ve been watching you for days. It’s the perfect place to hide. There’s a tap on the shed where I’ve seen the man drink water so I know it’s safe. There’s even a toilet. One day when you’d gone for your walk, I found a mattress and bedding and a cup in the shed by the house. My friend has been bringing me food but you’ve helped, I’m the giant slug whose been stealing your herbs and lettuce and the strawberries from your greenhouse.”

“So why are you here?”

“If I tell you will you help me?”

“Does your mother know you are safe?”

“Yes she does but, I do need your help.”

“Please tell me more.” 

“I’m hungry.”

“If i go to the house to get food, how do I know that you won’t run away?”

“You don’t, but I promise.”

I returned with a big glass of milk and a packet of biscuits. She’d pulled her trousers up and was sitting on a broken brown wicker chair against the fence. It had last been used by my daughter on her Mother’s Day visit, the last time I saw her before lockdown. 

999 words

(C) Jan Loxley Blount 23/04/20