Fourteen days

Jo

Jo is lying on the sofa in a two-day Netflix stupor, lazily scrolling through endless options on her aunt’s larger-than-life TV (seen that, looks crap, could watch that if there’s nothing else, seen that etc. etc.). A fan is directed right at her but, even with all the windows open as wide as they can go, it’s essentially just blowing more hot air at her. Ugh. She looks down at the street four storeys down. With lockdown easing, there are a few more people out and making the most of the heatwave. She longs to join then.

It has been two days since she got back from what was supposed to be her (second) gap year but what would now, thanks to the pandemic, be her gap month. And to make things worse, she has to quarantine for fourteen days in her aunt’s flat in south London until she can escape the city and join the rest of her family in the country.

Two weeks of state-prescribed doing nothing. It hadn’t sounded too bad but she’s already burnt through the most popular series on Netflix, and the cliff-drop of indescribable boredom is fast approaching. Last night she didn’t even manage to drag herself the five metres from the sofa to the king-size bed next door. How was it possible to be so tired when you’d done nothing all day? And (she looks around her) make such a mess?

Right. Today, she is resolved to do something productive. First, she needs to shake off the TV-induced inertia. She gathers all her willpower and turns it into a vertically oriented momentum. She turns off the TV and turns on the radio (her old-school aunt actually has a radio) and tunes it to Radio One. The sound of people talking starts to burst her bubble of isolation. She puts some pots and pans in the sink. Then… YES! Her favourite song! She turns on the tap, grabs the marigolds and spins the volume up, up, up…

Faye

Faye takes a deep breath in. One… two… three… four… five. Smiles as she feels the sun kiss her face through the open balcony doors, and breathes out. Five… four… three… two… one. Despite all the uncertainty going on at the moment (one… two… three… four… five.) She’s determined to find some inner peace (five… four… three… two… one). So, ever since she received a letter from her doctor telling her she was especially vulnerable to coronavirus (one… two… three… four… five) and had to stay inside for at least three months (five… four… three… two… one) she has started meditating to keep her anxiety under control.

It’s working, for the most part. Though if she’s really honest with herself, she doesn’t miss that much. She wasn’t big on socialising anyway, and she can’t even imagine cramming herself on to a tube every morning to get into central London anymore. It would just be nice to be able to pop into the library and have a little human conversation.

           So, all things considered and with about six weeks of meditation behind her, she’s feeling pretty zen. Well, she was feeling pretty zen until, just five minutes ago, her neighbour started playing music at a frankly ridiculous volume and singing at the Top. Of. Her. Lungs. Faye takes a very deep breath in, snaps her eyes open and looks out the window. The racket is coming from a flat in the building next to hers. They’re only separated by a narrow alleyway and with all their windows open (owing to the heatwave) it sounds like the ‘singer’ is literally in the next room. Un-ac-ceptable.

Jo

Jo has scrubbed away the quarantine blues. Dishes cleaned, kitchen sparkling and a good singalong later, she’s feeling heaps better. She looks around the flat for the next target of her new-found productive energy and spots something white on the floor. That definitely wasn’t there before. Looks like – a paper aeroplane?! She peers over it. It has some kind of message on it.

PLEASE BE CONSIDERATE OF YOUR NEIGHBOURS AND KEEP THE NOISE DOWN. SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO STAY PEACEFUL IN THESE DIFFICULT TIMES. THANK YOU.

Somehow, all caps undermines the use of any ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s and Jo feels, well, violated. Reluctantly, she turns down the music. Then she peers out the window. Bingo. Right opposite is a small balcony covered with plants, all overgrown. She spots a figure on the other side of the open doors, sitting cross legged and unnaturally upright. Staying peaceful, are you? she grunts inwardly.

“Hey!” Jo shouts.

Nothing.

“Hey, you there – the little buddha.”

She spots movement. The figure gets up slowly.

“If people need to sing to keep their spirits up, let them sing!”

The figure – it’s a woman, tall and, Jo has to admit, quite striking – stands up and walks to the edge of the balcony. They’re now only a few feet apart and this woman’s face tells her nothing. Jo loses some of her nerve.

“People in Italy are singing from their balconies and everyone joins in. Haven’t you seen it on the news?” she adds, the hard edge of her voice softening. She half smiles, trying to break the tension.

“I don’t have a TV,” the woman replies bluntly.

“Well, online, then.”

She shakes her head. “I basically steer clear of all technology.”

What?

Faye

Faye can tell by the look on her loud neighbour’s face that she doesn’t know what to say. Some people are so obsessed with technology they don’t even know who they are. Laptops, smartphones. Nope. No, thank you. Give Faye a good book and the Sunday papers and she knows everything she needs to know about the outside world.

“How do you even know what’s going on? Like, with coronavirus and stuff?” the stranger asks. All concern about Faye’s passive aggressive note seems to be forgotten.

“I prefer to get my news from reliable sources. Like the actual newspaper,” Faye explains. Normally she wouldn’t engage in this kind of neighbourly chat, but it’s been quite a long time since she spoke to anyone (supermarket delivery drivers aren’t known for their small talk) so she’ll take what she can get.

“Wow, you don’t even look – old!”

Faye raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, just because that sounds like the kind of thing my gran would say.”

“Yeah, well, constant updates and access to any and all information… We think it’s pinnacle of modernity but it’s really robbing us of what makes us human.” There, that’ll burst her candy-coloured bubble of instant gratification. “Don’t you think?”

“I mean, jeez. I’ve never really given it much thought.”

“My point exactly. With Google, no one needs to think for themselves anymore.”

Jo

This conversation was not going the way Jo had planned. Well, planned maybe wasn’t the right word for it – she’d just acted on impulse (classic Jo!) – but intended or not she’d never have expected a casual exchange with a woman across the street to get so deep.

But hey, she was bored and these were unprecedented times (as everyone kept saying). Plus, she was pretty taken in by this beautiful would-be philosopher.

“My name’s Jo, by the way,” she ventures, trying to steer the conversation to shallower, more comfortable waters. “And sorry about the singing. I’m not used to having so many neighbours.”

Faye

“I’m Faye.” She lets herself get drawn in. Gives the hint of a smile, they both sit down.

Their conversation drifts from subject to subject. Faye finds out all about Jo’s failed travel plans, how she worries about “getting stuck” in a “boring office job” and feels strongly that life is “out there for the living”. (Faye disagrees, of course, and says so. If you’re not finding peace and happiness at home, then nothing “out there” is going to change that.)

And then she’s telling Jo all about last year’s diagnosis, how she turned her back on all the false trappings of capitalism to live more authentically. But it all sounds a little bit pretentious when she says it out loud to Jo – as though Jo can see right through the pristine exterior she has crafted.

It strikes Faye that perhaps both of them have been well, maybe a bit… lonely.

Jo

“Oh wow, it’s late!” Jo hadn’t noticed the creeping darkness until she found herself squinting to see Faye. She stretches, also now realising how sore her body is from sitting by the window all afternoon – and most of the evening.

Faye yawns. “Yeah, I guess. I should head to bed.”

“It was so nice to, er, meet you.”

“You too.”

A car passes, a dog barks.

“So, tomorrow, I guess… Well, I mean, I’ll just be around doing nothing – like everyone else.”

“It would be nice to hang out again tomorrow.”

Jo smiles, in the dark. (She can’t see, but Faye is smiling too.)

Faye

The next twelve days pass in almost exactly the same way. Faye and Jo chat for most of the day, every day. It’s like they’re flatmates – just living in different buildings. (They even try to ferry parcels between them, though after losing a few books and some food to the alleyway below, they decide not to repeat this.)

The night before Jo is due to leave for the countryside, Faye orders a takeaway to arrive at both their flats at the same time.

“A goodbye meal!” she calls to Jo, trying to sound cheerful. The truth is, she can’t imagine surviving the rest of lockdown without Jo to talk to. Actually, she can’t imagine surviving life without Jo to talk to.

Jo

Fourteen days in quarantine. According to the guidelines, she’s officially COVID-free – and, that means, free to leave the flat, to leave London. To leave Faye, she adds.

That doesn’t feel like being free at all.

Jo zips up her bag. Everything in it feels weirdly unfamiliar to her. Like objects from another life. From life-before-Faye.

One last look around the flat, one first step out into the world. She’s watched life go on from her window for so long, it’s like she’s walking onto a film set.

The train station is to her left, but at the last moment she turns right. Across the narrow alleyway. She rings Faye’s flat from the street.

“Hello?”

“It’s me. Can I come up? I wanted to see you before I go. I figured that since I’ve been quarantining, it would be safe to hug you goodbye.”

The door buzzes open.

Jo runs up the stairs, passes Faye’s flat in her haste, then doubles back on herself. Number 12. She’s breathing hard. Pauses.

Faye

Faye waits behind door. Her heart is beating so fast. She’s thinking about everything and nothing.

Suddenly, a sharp knock.

Jo

The door opens. She’s even more beautiful close up. Too beautiful to just hug.

They kiss.