It was too early to phone home, so I walked down to the local shops, to see what was happening. My bungalow was on a corner plot near the southern end of the estate. There were four distinct areas in Carpenders Park, the bungalows in the middle and running south, the blocks of flats at the northern end, and the houses to the east. To the west was the railway, which divided it from the ex-council estate of South Oxhey. To the north were woods, with overgrown paths that eventually led to Watford. The other sides were bounded by two wide roads, beyond which lay open fields.
I sauntered past bungalows and neat front gardens, and in less than eight minutes, I was walking past the pub, towards the couple of shops that made up the hub of the estate. There were cars everywhere… not just in the normal spaces, but also on the double yellow lines, the bus stop, and up on the grass verge.
The main shop was a co-op, and I could see, inside the store, that people were obviously panic buying; packets of meat and fresh vegetables were scattered over the floor. I walked towards the entrance but paused as I looked in. What was this? A middle-aged woman, on her knees amongst the scattered packets, looking up at another, similar aged woman who was standing over her, clutching a packet of sausages. I could hear fragments of the conversation, ‘sorry, but you shouldn’t have pushed me… I had it first….’ There was a crowd surrounding them, shocked faces, looking on in fascination, their purpose forgotten for a second. A few people edged past them, deeper into the store, grabbing stuff off the shelves as they went. The tableau broke and the woman surged to her feet, shoving the other away.
I backed up and walked round to the chemist where there was another altercation going on, this time between the pharmacy assistant and a large man holding a crying child, with two kids crowded beside him, eyes wide, looking from their dad to the petite lady in front of them.
‘I’m really sorry sir, but there is none left in the stock room either,’ said the assistant, giving a patient, but impersonal smile. As I watched, several agitated-looking parents, clutching kids, entered the tiny shop, and made a beeline for the counter, I quietly backed out; the situation was starting to look tense, and if it was tense here, in calm, peaceful, Carpenders Park, what on earth would it be like in London or Watford? I googled ‘London riots’ on my phone and was reassured when the top results were all about 2011.
More cars were pulling up, double-parking. It was getting crowded. I looked around at the anxious faces, the crying children and shouting adults. My gaze fell on a group of three; an older man waiting patiently at the bus stop, along with two elderly women who were looking nervous. As I watched, I saw them confer and shake their heads, then they stepped away from the bus stop, walking away from the chaos. They had it right; I would be better off at home. I walked slowly back up the hill towards my bungalow. For some reason the situation felt much worse than 2011; immediate and real, rather than a news item. Just as I arrived, I saw my neighbour getting into her shiny electric-blue mini. She waved as she pulled out of the driveway. ‘I’m off to stay with my son and the grandkids for the week.’ she called out of the window, ‘Take care of yourself.’ I waved weakly as she drove away.
Back in my kitchen, I called mum. She was awake, which was good but getting ready to go to the library, where she volunteered a couple of times a week. ‘But mum,’ I said, ‘have you not looked at the news? This virus looks really bad… there’s panic buying in the shops… it’s not safe to go out.’ I should have saved my breath; my mum totally believed she was invulnerable.
‘Really Z!’ she huffed, ‘don’t be silly, I’ll just walk down to the library, I told Rose I’d do the 2 to 5pm slot.’
‘Mum, I’m serious, it’s dangerous out there; people are desperate. I think someone died here last night… there was an ambulance and police and everything. A lady was screaming and yelling for at least an hour. You shouldn’t go out.’
‘I said I’ll go, so I’ll go, it will be fine, I’ll get Vik to walk down with me.’ she responded. I’d made it worse. Now it wasn’t just mum at risk; my little brother Vik, who disliked confrontation and hated going out, would be at risk too.
I was kicking myself even as I said the words: ‘I was thinking of coming round, how about I give you a lift down instead, then I can have a look at the new library, see what they’ve done with it.’ I hadn’t been thinking of ‘coming round’ at all, but that was the way things went in our family.
‘We’re having a Caribbean show-and-tell this afternoon,’ said mum, ‘you can stay and help if you want.’ Her voice was light and enthusiastic - she was happy I was coming over.
I doubted very much that there would be any sort of show-and-tell but kept quiet, I felt enough of a killjoy as it was. ‘See you in twenty minutes then mum. Bye.’
I picked up my bag and grabbed the keys. Yet again I had volunteered to do something I didn’t really want to do. But family was important, and if they weren’t going to properly take care of themselves, then it was up to me to do so. I stomped outside and got in the car, turning the radio on loud.
The twenty-minute drive to mum’s house was busy and slow, there seemed to be more cars on the road than normal, and I counted five ambulances. There were a lot of young people on the streets, gathered in small groups. The mood was quiet and slightly sombre, none of the usual laughing and clowning around. I turned the radio off; it didn’t seem appropriate somehow.
I took mum to the library, which was insanely, still open. She hadn’t believed me about the virus, but when I went to pick her up, a couple of hours later, she reported that Gillian, another member of staff, knew someone whose child had died, ‘It was so sad, only four years old, this flu is really serious!’ she said. I sighed; she believed her friends absolutely but never me. When would I learn that she would never change? I took myself off for a chat with Vik, while she made dinner.
‘Vik,’ I said, ‘we need a plan.’ His computer screen looked like gibberish as usual; some forum post in the top half, with a load of code beneath. ‘I know,’ he replied but didn’t say any more. This was typical, Vik was smart, incredibly smart, but he wouldn’t volunteer ideas or suggest a plan himself, he was very good at analysing and evaluating, but he was passive. I had to be the assertive one, organising, and even a little bit bossy perhaps. Even if sometimes I didn’t feel like it.
‘Perhaps you guys should come and stay with me?’ I said tentatively. My place was much smaller, but somehow I felt it would be safer.
‘Mum won’t leave; come and stay with us if you’re worried.’ he responded.
‘What do you think is happening? Do you think we should be worried?’ I asked. ‘This area has way more people than Carpenders Park and if we get riots and stuff…’ I tailed off; I didn’t really know how to explain the unease I felt, or how to talk about an epidemic without sounding stupid. He shrugged in response. I went down to do the crossword with mum, ate dinner when it was ready, then left, mum waving bye from the door like she always did.
That evening, as I watered the forty or so pots of potato plants, I listened to the sirens wail nonstop. The pots were tucked all around the house against the walls to stay warm during the night. They were all first-early varieties, I had a lot of Epicure, which was cold tolerant, and had been planted at the beginning of March. But I also had Kestrel, which were nice potatoes with smooth skins, and Yukon Gold, which tasted delicious. Most of the plants were a foot high, at least, and growing spectacularly well in the heatwave. It wasn’t forecast to rain for a while, so I topped up the water butts, and then went online again to see what I could find out.