38
Nancy walked into the kitchen at Dashford Grange to make another cup of tea. How many was that now? At least four this morning, and it was only 10 o’clock. This whole lockdown thing was bloody ridiculous, being stuck in this huge house with no one to talk to. What a way to spend your 76th year on the planet.
Don’t wallow in self-pity, Nancy Smith. At least you’re not Em. The poor girl was having to isolate at home. She’d been so excited at being pregnant, and now this damn virus was potentially a threat to her and the baby, as if pregnancy wasn’t worrying enough.
Come on, Nancy. Yesterday wasn’t too bad. After the prime minister’s announcement on Monday night, Nancy had received an influx of emails from guests requesting to cancel their spring breaks or asking how lockdown might affect their summer holidays. Replying and sorting out all their refunds had kept her busy for most of Tuesday, but now that the flurry of activity was over, she was twiddling her thumbs.
The Dashford Women’s Wild Swimming sessions had been suspended, Julie had phoned to say Pilates was off until further notice and, to top it all, she’d just received an email saying her hang gliding weekend next month had been cancelled. An hour’s walk a day was no substitute for all that.
And then there was Klaus. They’d both been hoping he could visit her in Devon soon, but that was out of the question now. Yes, they could carry on talking on the phone like they had been doing virtually every day since she’d come back from France, but it wasn’t the same as physically being together. She felt a warm glow at the memory of that last night in Paris. Don’t think about what you’re missing! How bloody cruel life was, allowing them to find one another again, only to keep them nearly 800 miles apart.
It would be just after 9 am in Berlin. He’d apologised for being too busy for a phone call yesterday. Perhaps he was around now. She texted him.
Good Morning, darling. Have you got time for a chat? Xx
The message status changed to “delivered” almost immediately but he didn’t reply. Nancy sighed. It had been rather optimistic to expect him to be waiting by the phone.
She started tidying the kitchen. As she was removing an out-of-date bag of salad from the fridge, she heard her phone buzz. At last! She eagerly pulled it out of her pocket. But it wasn’t Klaus.
Clive, the decorator, wanted to confirm that the paint colour he’d got for Rose Cottage’s living room feature wall was correct. Strictly speaking, he shouldn’t be working but they’d agreed as he was alone in the cottages and he could walk there from his house, it made no sense for him not to finish the refurbishment project. It wasn’t as if it was putting anyone at extra risk of catching Covid.
Nancy headed outside and knocked on the cottage door, then stood back.
The door opened, and a few seconds later Clive emerged, holding a paint pot lid in each hand.
‘Left or right?’ He asked.
‘Do you mean your left or my left?’
‘My left.’
‘In that case, your left.’
‘The blood red one? Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. We’re going for strong colours now, not the wishy-washy ones we’ve had for years. And blood red can be an engaging wall colour.’
He didn’t look happy. ‘Alright. As long as you’re ok with it because it will take me a good few coats of paint to cover it up if you don’t like it.’
‘I am 100% sure,’ Nancy said.
‘I guess it will be practical if you have a serial killer come to stay,’ he muttered as he went back inside.
‘So that’s my in-person human interaction for the day,’ Nancy said to herself as she headed back to the main house.
Stop wallowing in self-pity, Nancy Smith. Draw up a lockdown plan.
Nancy finished drinking her tea, then made a fresh mug and took it into her study. She took a blank piece of paper out of the printer and put it on the desk. In the centre, she wrote PROJECTS TO COMPLETE DURING LOCKDOWN then she sat back and stared at it, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Nancy was still staring at the almost blank sheet of paper ten minutes later. How many things had she thought of doing over the years but dismissed them because she hadn’t got time? Now she had all the time in the world nothing seemed important enough to bother with any more.
The doorbell rang.
Clive again, no doubt. Probably still fretting over that red paint. She got up and headed for the front door.