My brother picked up almost immediately. ‘Hey Zoe.’
‘Hey Vik, I got a half day off!’ I said happily.
‘Nice,’ he said, ‘are you coming over?’ His tone was upbeat; it looked like today was a good day.
‘I’m not sure, what are you up to? Do you know anything about this new virus?’ I asked.
‘Not much, I’ve only just had breakfast,’ he replied. The household generally rose about midday as my brother was a computer geek who worked from home, staying up half the night talking to America, whilst mum loved to sleep in. ‘How did you get the day off?’ he asked.
‘Half the school was off ill with a new virus, so we closed early,’ I responded, ‘I was off yesterday but seem okay today. Have you had it?’
‘No, but we’ve not been out much.’ he said, ‘the car still needs to go to the garage’
We discussed scrapping the old Toyota, the advantages of having Friday afternoon off work, and the symptoms of the virus. I said I’d look it up and let him know, and then asked for mum. After a couple of seconds I heard her voice and then a long yawn, ‘Hey mum, did I wake you?’ I asked.
‘No, no, I’ve got to get up anyway,’ she said, ‘I’m just enjoying the sunshine.’ Mum’s bed caught the morning sun and she loved lying there in the mornings soaking it up. ‘How come you’re not at work?’
I explained the school closure again and we chatted a bit about nothing. I ended the call and lay in the sun thinking about the virus. Then I decided to go to the shops… just in case.
There is a section of society called preppers, you never hear much about them, as (just like fight club,) the first rule of prepping is that you don’t talk about prepping. I once saw an eye-opening film in which there is a week-long power cut in the UK. In the film, several scenes focus on a prepper who lives in central London. He cooks on a barbeque in his tiny garden, whilst smugly gloating to his wife about his foresight at stocking up, but his neighbours see the food and come over, so he has to share what he has. In the evening, he turns on his generator so they can have light, and during the night has it stolen. Violently. He did the opposite of what a prepper generally does. In reality, preppers mostly believe that resources should be hidden; otherwise desperate stronger people will take them. I was all in favour of helping others in need, but if it came to the crunch, survival of the fittest seemed only natural. Stock up on resources and hide… it was a good plan for someone like me.
I had an emergency kit in the loft; it seemed silly not to. Just some sugar and salt, a bag of rice and some lentils, a load of vitamin pills and some painkillers. One birthday Vik had bought me a lifesaver bottle that purified water. I’d never used it, but it was reassuring to know I’d always have access to clean water. I looked through my cupboards, checking my supplies. Urgh… nothing, just some sweetcorn, and a solitary tin of mushroom soup. How had my stock got so low? Ok, so I was busy with the exams, but really? When was the last time I had cooked? Fillet steak… was that last week? Or the week before… anyhow, I’d obviously used up everything. Off to Tesco, to stock up before the crazies started panic buying.
It’s funny how you think you are being clever until you realise that almost everyone else is doing the same thing. It wasn’t panic buying, not yet, but I could see other people had had the same idea as me. Tesco’s car park was almost full. On a Friday afternoon I kind of expected it to be busy, but this was different. Lots of crying kids, parents looking stressed.
I grabbed a trolley and headed for the tinned food. This aisle was mostly empty, only a few other random professionals like me, given the afternoon off work, winding their way down the aisle. Were they also teachers? I smiled at a couple as we manoeuvred around each other. I filled my trolley with tins of sweetcorn, baked beans and pulses, and packets of dried soup mix and barley, not enormous amounts, stuff I would eat anyway.
I lingered beside the couscous; this would be great for meals; tasty and quick. I began loading up my trolley with one of every type and brand; coriander and lemon… roasted vegetable… tomato and chilli. Soon there were over twenty packets, was it too much? I rifled through my choices, it was more like taste testing the different brands, not panic buying. I grabbed some more sugar, and was happy to see that Cadbury’s hot chocolate was on special again. I took down a jar, and then another, and then one more, why not? It would be used eventually. The confectionery aisle was next. I wheeled my trolley down the aisle, piling in one of everything that was on offer. A pack of four Whispers for a pound. Nine Twix fingers for one twenty five. If the shops ran out of food, I would need a decent chocolate supply.
I paused and looked down at my trolley. I was going to get so fat if I ate all that… and my resistance to chocolate was almost zero, if we were back at school on Monday how long would it all last? About a week probably. I almost put it all back, but left it in the trolley and added a couple of bags of toffees and some Malteasers. If the worst happened and there was serious panic buying then I wanted to be prepared.
I wandered around the shop, picking up items that had a long shelf-life; foods that I could just added water to, like dried pasta and porridge, and things I liked snacking on; crackers, Baby Bel cheeses and cartons of pineapple juice. When I’d filled my trolley, I stood in the shortest queue I could find; it still stretched up into the aisle and I was jostled several times by impatient shoppers, pushing to get past. A baby near the front was crying; piercing shrieks that were making everyone restless. Eventually I reached the checkout, paid, and wheeled the trolley out to the car park. The atmosphere was even more chaotic than earlier, with horns sounding long hoots of the truly frustrated, as cars queued to get in.
I looked to see the cause of the blockage; up by the entrance there were two police cars and an ambulance. Something had obviously happened, although I couldn’t see exactly what. Shoppers were pausing to watch, some looked concerned, but others seemed animated by the drama; chattering into their phones, and snapping pictures. I quickly turned the other way and pushed my trolley over to my little black Corsa, which I had parked near the exit. The urge to avoid trouble was deeply ingrained; I just wanted to get home, where it was calm and safe.
Home was in Carpenders Park; a quiet suburb of Watford that was technically outside of London, but inside the M25. I lived by myself in a two-bedroom bungalow. Unlike most people, I was naturally happy alone. As long as I had mum and Vik, my tai chi group and my friends on Facebook and Whatsapp, I was content. My mum was going crazy over my single state. She was convinced I must be lonely, but I wasn’t. For ages I didn’t really know what loneliness was, until someone explained it in a way that I finally understood. I had a friend; a lovely older lady from my tai chi class. She lived alone; her husband had passed away, her children grown up and moved out.
She explained to me that she enjoyed going out with friends, or to church events and concerts, but when she walked through the door, and sat on the sofa in her empty flat, a lump would grow in her throat and she would feel like crying. She missed having people to come home to, and felt lonely. I was the opposite, when I came home, I would flop into a chair and sigh with relief, I loved being home on my own.
I parked in the drive and unlocked the front door, picking up the four heavy bags and shuffling sideways into the narrow hallway. I walked past the spare room and living room; cosy rooms with large bay windows overlooking the front drive. At the end of the corridor were three doors; my bedroom overlooking the garden at the back, a tiny bathroom, tiled all in white, and a large kitchen/diner, full of warm pine cupboards. I levered down the door handle with my elbow and gently shouldered the glass paned door open, then dumped all the shopping bags on the kitchen counter.