Carrie Myers could barely supress a smile when she, and the rest of the staff, were informed by the CEO of GW Publishing, that from tomorrow everyone would be working from home. He made the announcement as if it were a concept, he had personally devised whereas she had been advocating such a change for the past two years. She was tired of travelling 5 days a week on crowded tube trains squashed against her coughing, sneezing and, often smelly, fellow commuters. Working electronically would suit her down to the ground. She and authors, whose work she edited, could communicate via WhatsApp or Facetime. Oh, yes, it was going to be great. She imagined having her morning coffee on the patio with her husband Adrian, listening to the birds singing. They would have time to indulge in conversation something their lives had lacked for several years. She would also re-discover the joys of cooking a proper evening meal instead of a take-away. She might even bake cakes and Adrian might be persuaded to dig out her longed-for pond and help create the vegetable patch she had planned.
Carrie was singing as she stirred the sauce simmering in the pan when Adrian opened the front door, threw his jacket over the newel post, and came into the kitchen-diner. He went straight to a cabinet and poured himself a glass of whisky that he drank in one gulp. As he poured another into the glass he said, “Can’t think why you’re so happy.”
“It’s because I won’t be commuting on smelly tube trains and we’ll have time to do things together.”
He perched on a stool and leant on the breakfast bar.
“This is an over-reaction to a stupid virus. Anyone would think we’ve never had one before.”
“This one’s a killer,” she said.
“So was the 1958 Asian flu epidemic. It killed thousands, my grandfather and two of my Dad’s cousins were amongst them. There was no lockdown then. Everyone carried on as normal. The government hasn’t thought this through. This lockdown will create economic disaster. Businesses, large and small, will go to the wall. Unemployment will soar.” He frowned and stared at his empty glass. “Damned ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous or not we have to make the most of it. Just think what we can do together.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“We can create the vegetable patch and you can dig out the pond I’ve always wanted.”
“Thanks for nothing,” he growled.
Carrie embraced working from home, but Adrian was less amenable complaining that he needed the input and connections with colleagues to work efficiently.
“It just doesn’t work,” he moaned. “We feed off each other minute by minute in the office. In isolation I’m like a bit of flotsam on an empty sea. The market’s flattened out. We’re heading for financial disaster.”
While Adrian sank deeper into depression she flourished. Her work as an editor increased. With considerable persuasion and plenty of sunshine Adrian eventually ventured into the garden where Carrie handed him a spade and told him she had marked out the area for the pond.
“I can’t create a pond,” he protested, but she insisted he could and told him to look on U-Tube. To his surprise he enjoyed the physical effort, tolerating the initial aches and pains, and enjoyed, even more, watching the wildlife it attracted. He needed no persuading to weed the area designated as a vegetable plot and plant seeds that he watched as they sprouted into tender vegetables.
Carrie’s expectation for conversations did not materialise as Adrian was glued to his laptop when he wasn’t weeding, digging and planting, trying to identify the creatures, large and small, that were attracted to the pond or sourcing plants and equipment he deemed necessary for his new-found hobby. He walked a mile to the shop everyday to purchase newspapers and milk. This was unheard of as Adrian never walked if he could drive somewhere. He became fit and lost weight.
One evening he looked up from his laptop.
“I’m getting a bike and one for you as well. A bit of exercise will do you good.”
“I don’t want a bike and I get enough exercise doing the housework and if you don’t believe me check it out on the Internet.”
He did and was surprised by what he discovered. Maybe he should take over the vacuuming – but, on the other hand, maybe not. It was pretty boring whereas there was so much to see outdoors. He also realised he did not miss the office and without the inevitable interruptions achieved more electronically in less hours. Lockdown had its compensations.
Carrie sank into depression. She lost her enthusiasm for cooking. There was a limit to what you could do with a tomato or a cauliflower. She had turned out and sifted through all the contents of wardrobes, chests of drawers and cupboards. The house was immaculate. She was bored. She missed the discussions with authors in her office and the banter and conversations with her fellow editors. It simply wasn’t the same on WhatsApp. She felt as though she was under house arrest but hadn’t committed any crime to warrant that. She missed meeting friends for coffee. She missed the meals in restaurants, with the accompanying laughter, and visits to theatres and concerts. Her hair was a mess and she desperately wanted her stylist to cut it. She wanted to go into a shop, touch the goods and feel the fabric of clothes and try them on before purchasing. Online shopping was soulless. Would life ever return to normal, she wondered.
“Depends what you call normal,” said Adrian as he tapped away on his laptop. “Life certainly won’t be the same. Many high street shops won’t re-open and online purchasing will be the norm. God knows when concert venues will re-open, always assuming we’ll still have the orchestras.”
“Don’t, Adrian, you’re depressing me.”
“You’ve no cause to be depressed. Unlike many, you’ll still have a job. You’ve proved you can work electronically. GW won’t go under. More people are reading hence an increase in the demand for books of all kinds.”
“But I can’t live like this. I need the physical contact with people. I want to chat with, laugh with, and even cry with them and hug them. If you hadn’t noticed, that’s what human beings do.”
Adrian looked at her and smiled.
“Tell you what, we’ll get a dog. How about a cockapoo? You like them. You can hug and cuddle it and take it for walks. It’ll be good company for you.”
Carrie glared at him.
“I don’t want a bloody dog,” she cried. “I just want my life back.”