1.
Jeremy Clovenhoof was standing outside the Southview Care Home, vuvuzela and party poppers at the ready, when the ambulance drew up. His neighbour and confederate in chemistry-based mischief, Persephone, had been in Good Hope Hospital with a nasty bout of the COVIDs since midsummer and was only now being released back into the wild. Why she wasn’t
being allowed straight back home to four-hundred-and-something Chester Road was unclear but Clovenhoof had wheedled and needled and uncovered that she was going to be moved into the care home for rehabilitation and he had come down to be her welcoming committee.
As the back doors of the ambulance were opened and a ramp lowered, two beefy care home employees came out, swaddled in PPE aprons, masks, gloves and visors. One of them glared at Clovenhoof and his party accoutrements.
“You’re not about to play silly buggers, are you, sir?” she asked.
“I’ve forgotten how that one goes, but if you start I’m sure I’ll pick it up.”
Her perspex visor made her scowl all the deeper. “Mrs Buttwater doesn’t need any alarming surprises.”
“It’s Miss Buttwater actually,” he said.
The carer gave him a look which silently raised the question of whether Clovenhoof perhaps saw himself as a future Mr Buttwater. Considering there was only a letterbox rectangle of her face visible, it was clearly a powerful look.
“I am married myself,” he told her. “But it’s only a marriage of convenience.”
The carer didn’t seem to care, a fact that struck him as wholly unprofessional.
A wheelchair was brought slowly down the ramp. Persephone Buttwater, forthright and smart as a whip septuagenarian, looked shockingly frail, thin as a bundle of twigs and appeared to shrink into the seat. She wore a mask that swamped her face.
Clovenhoof was so surprised that he forgot to blow his vuvuzela and pop his party poppers.
Persephone’s eyes widened with delight at the sight of him and raised her hand in a regal wave towards his celebratory gear. Clovenhoof hurriedly popped all his poppers and gave an ear-splitting toot on his horn. Persephone’s smile was evident, even behind the mask.
“Sir!” said the carer. “There are people sleeping inside.”
“It’s gone noon. Lunchtime. Time to wake up,” he said. “Speaking of which, Persephone, you need to get in there, get your glad rags on and come out with me. We’ve got a table booked at the Boldmere Oak. They’ve got that Eat Out to Help Out scheme on.” He turned to the carer. “I didn’t realise that Eat Out to Help Out was about
encouraging people to go to restaurants. When I heard ‘eat out’ I assumed they wanted us to help lonely women who needed some —”
“Sir!” the carer cut in. “Miss Buttwater needs to be able to settle in. She’s not going to the pub. We have strict rules in place to protect our residents.” She gestured at her protective attire. “No trips out. No visitors. It’s sad but that’s the way it is.”
“But I had a whole day out planned,” he said.
“He is a sweet thing,” said Persephone weakly.
“And you’re not wearing a mask yourself, sir,” said the carer.
“I might be,” he said. “Just not anywhere you can see it.”
The ambulance driver wheeled Persephone into the care home. One of the carers followed. The other stayed to ensure Clovenhoof didn’t follow. He expected a stern rebuke from her but he didn’t get one.
“I know you want to see her,” she said, “but we just can’t risk their health at this time. I’m sorry. No one comes in. No one leaves.”
Clovenhoof sagged, dispirited.
“Now, I’m going to have to ask you to go,” said the carer. “Some of our dafter residents have got it into their heads that the Grim Reaper himself has been seen around the place. We don’t need weirdos like you hanging around, adding fuel to the fire.”
“Me? Look like the Angel of Death?” said Clovenhoof. “I’m affronted at the very idea. I’m far more handsome.”
The carer looked at his careworn face and his bulging waistline. A summer of multiple takeaways and little exercise had put a few excess pounds on Clovenhoof’s belly.
“Yeah, whatever,” she said, and went inside.
Clovenhoof trotted off, not best pleased. His phone buzzed. It was a text from Persephone. By her standards it was emotionally gushing and, frankly, quite saucy. Apparently, her own near brush with Death had brought out a zesty passion for life. Clovenhoof texted back on his way to the pub.
2.
The Boldmere Oak was very busy for a Tuesday lunchtime.
Lennox, his niece Florence and a couple of temp staff were doing their best to cater to all the diners. In the middle of a pandemic and despite the landlord’s best efforts to create safe social distancing, people were crowded into booths and around tables and calling out impatiently for service.
“Do you remember when the world used to be normal?” Ben said to Nerys across the table.
Nerys seemed to think on this for a while.
“No. Not at all,” she said honestly. “Wearing a mask everywhere and queuing to get into shops and… I don’t think we’ll ever go back to the way it used to be.”
“I might never open my bookshop again,” said Ben. “Just become a virtual on-line business.”
“Are you making any money with the on-line business?”
He chased the last of his gravy round his plate with his final bit of sausage. “Actually, if you took away the cost of shop rent and the bills and that, I’m actually probably making more money by not having a shop.”
“But working from home’s not the same. You must miss the social aspect of having an actual, physical shop.”
He nodded and then shook his head.
“What? No customers coming in and asking me to make them a cup a tea while they wait for the bus? No customers coming in, accidentally ripping a book and then telling me I should give them a discount because it’s damaged? No customers coming in, seemingly only to tell me that they don’t read books, that books are rubbish and didn’t
I know that there’s this thing called television now? No, sometimes I don’t think I miss it at all. I’m going to apply for one of those government pandemic grants to expand my on-line business.”
Lennox came over, a beer-soaked tea towel tucked into his apron and a harassed look on his face. He nodded at their plates.
“All done? Everything okay?”
“Lovely thanks,” said Nerys.
“Are you going to apply for one of those government grants for struggling businesses?” Ben asked him.
Lennox’s mind was clearly elsewhere and it took him a moment to focus.
“Business grant?” He huffed. “Sometimes I think I might just jack it all in.”
Nerys gestured to the rest of the room. “Business is booming at the moment.”
“Only because the Chancellor of the Exchequer is picking up half the bill. What is it with people? You give them something for free and their sense of entitlement shoots off the scale. This lot, demanding we serve them now and bow and scrape while we do it. Just because they can get their grub half-price! They shout when they have
to wait for a table. They shout when they have to wait for their food. And they pay their share like they’re being robbed. It’s disgusting. I tell you, I’ve had it up to here.”
The pub door banged open and Clovenhoof strode in.
“Give me food and give it now, for your lord and master is here!” he declared.
Ben reflected that it was probably a good job that the only thing Lennox had to hand was a damp tea towel and not something heavy like a dinner plate. Otherwise, the overwrought barman might have ended up in court on an assault charge. Or worse.
3.
Nerys stood at her flat window and watched the intermittent stream of school children move along the pavement below.
“There they go,” she said. “Heading home from their first day back at school.”
“Is that what passes for entertainment now?” said Ash.
Nerys turned and looked at Dr Ash on the laptop screen. “Hmmm?”
“Watching the comings and goings on the street?” said Ash.
“There’s not much in the way of entertainment these days. There’ll be these tier level restrictions coming in soon, whatever that’s meant to be. And another lockdown before you know it.”
Ash’s expression was wryly amused.
“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” said Nerys. “I was so bored the other day I started watching the live feed of Ben’s chickens in the back garden.”
“He’s the one who did the Sex Goblin video on the internet?”
“Yeah, but that was a phase. It’s not like that’s his ‘thing’. And how’s the world of saving lives in A and E?”
Ash was on her break and calling from some tiny staffroom. Her long face was beaded with sweat. There were red patches on her forehead from her protective visor. Even bedraggled, Nerys felt a mighty tug of affection for that face.
Had pandemic boredom turned her into a lesbian? Or was this a phase too, like Ben’s sex goblin antics? Or was she mistaking the attractions of friendship for something deeper? Or (and Nerys felt a weighty truth here) was Nerys such a lonely, attention-seeking, relationship-focussed individual that her sexual desires could spread to
anyone and everyone and, in the absence of the usual diet of male companions, she had turned to this tall and beautiful woman instead?
Ash blew out her lips and tucked a stray hair away.
“Busy, busy, busy. People are still injuring themselves in the most stupid manner. You’d have thought they’d have realised they was a pandemic on and try to stay safe. Had a bloke in today. Chopped the end of his finger off. Said he doesn’t like it when onions make his eyes water so he closes them when he chops
them.”
“Fairly stupid,” agreed Nerys.
“Thing is, I remember him being here in January for exactly the same thing.”
“He’ll run out of fingers eventually.”
“And the supplies…” sighed Ash.
“Running low.”
“It’s astonishing. Plastic aprons. We used to be able to get them for pennies. Now, we’re apparently paying over a quid per item from this JB MediTech company. I tell you, someone’s making a killing selling this PPE stuff.”
“I should go into the PPE business.” Nerys remembered something. “Oh, you know I was going to book us tickets to see Winter’s Tale at the Royal Shakespeare in Warwick?”
“Yeah, about that…”
“It’s all been cancelled. All live performances. No night at the theatre for us.”
“Probably for the best,” said Ash. “With all the Eat Out to Help Out stuff and the kids going back to school… You think we’re not going to see a spike in cases?”
“The kids are all in bubbles or something though.”
“Not actual bubbles.”
“That’d be something,” agreed Nerys. She could easily picture the teenage tyrant, Spartacus Wilson, and all his classmates, bouncing down the street in their own giant hamster balls. “But still… theatre… it would have been nice.”
Ash shook her head in rueful agreement. “It would. But no theatre. No panto this year. No school nativity plays even.”
“Oh. Small mercies,” said Nerys, who felt that one of the perks of not being a mother was never having to face the awful prospect of watching children fumble their way through a tedious recreation of the birth of Christ.
“Maybe we’ll have a vaccine soon,” said Nerys, hopefully. “All be back to normal by Christmas.”
Ash laughed. “Someone’s been listening to the Prime Minister. They’ve already suspended one trial. These things take time. Maybe instead…” She paused, supressing a laugh.
“What?” said Nerys.
“Maybe this weekend, you should stage a one-woman play over Zoom for me.”
“What?”
“I mean, you’re no stranger to public performance. I hear your role as ‘Woman forgets to wear trousers in a work Zoom meeting and gives everyone a flash of her twinkle’ was a tour de force.”
“For the last time, Twinkle is my dog. It’s not a euphemism. And I was wearing pants!”
“You can wear what you want,” said Ash.
4.
Clovenhoof rang the doorbell at Southview Care Home and then stepped back.
As he waited for someone to answer, he checked that his stuck on beard and moustache were still in place. He dropped his hand smartly as a carer opened the door. It might have been the same carer he’d spoken to previously. It might not have been. It was so hard to distinguish between one powerful looking woman and another with only
a sliver of face to work with.
“Oh! Buenos dias, bambino!” he said. “I am a-being Dr Julio Fabio Sexy-Topless. I have an appoint-a-ment with my patient, Miss Persephone Buttwater.”
The carer simply stared at him. Was it possible that all that PPE was making her deaf?
“If-a you could show me to her right away, zat would be-a lovely.”
The carer didn’t invite him in or move to get out of his way. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and scowled deeply.
“You think we’ve got time to play silly buggers, sir?”
“Zere’s a-always time for music, signorina.”
“And stop it with the stupid accent,” she snapped. “My granddad was Italian and I think that accent is very racist.”
“I am a-not Italian, miss —”
“Spanish?”
“I am a-from ze general… er, Mediterranean area.”
“Oh, happy to be racist to all of Europe, are we? You’re not Doctor whatever. You’re wasting my time. The rules are very clear and are in place to protect all of our residents. You can’t come in. You can’t pretend to be her husband. You can’t pretend to be her accountant. You can’t wrap yourself up in a cardboard and have yourself
delivered to her by courier. You’re not allowed in, Mr Clovenhoof.”
“Who-a is zis Mr Clovenhoo—ow!” He yelped as she ripped off one half of his moustache. He clutched his sharply stinging upper lip. “That really hurt,” he whimpered. “You took some of my own hair with it.”
“Now, clear off. We’ve got a lot to do before lunch. I appreciate that…” She waved her big arm up and down. “… whatever this is, comes from a place of love but — God, I swear — if you try anything like this again, I will call the police and have you arrested.”
She shut the door in his face.
“But,” he said, miserably. “I just wanted to see her. Cheer her up. Maybe get her to tell me how to make some fireworks for bonfire night…”
With half a moustache on his face, Clovenhoof began to trudge down the driveway but then a slightly open gate at the side of the building caught his eye and his goaty stubbornness kicked in once more. He went to investigate.
5.
The bar of the Boldmere Oak was as quiet as ever for a midweek afternoon. After the Eat Out to Help Out scheme had ended (and Lennox had torn up the advertising posters with something akin to vicious glee) trade had slowed to its usual trickle. The social distancing measures that prevented people standing at the bar or congregating
in large groups had also undoubtedly contributed to the quietness. It was hard to feel the cosy welcome of your local when everything was shielded in plastic or screened off.
Ben Kitchen sat at one table with a cider and black. Animal Ed sat at another with a pint of IPA. Both were staring at screens. Ben was checking his accounts on his laptop. Ed was scrolling through pictures of dogs for sale.
“Don’t you two have shops to run?” said Lennox from behind his bar.
“I’m all on-line now,” said Ben. “Even thinking of stopping renting the shop.”
“Closing Books ‘n’ Bobs? Like forever?”
“It’s where retail’s going,” said Ben, not particularly sad about it. “Sure, it’s okay for big shops like M&S and Debenhams but for the rest of us… the internet’s the future.”
Animal Ed grunted. “Oh, I’m keeping my shop but mostly just for storage.”
“And is the pet trade thriving?” asked Lennox.
If Ben had been paying full attention, he might have noticed a wistful and bitter note to Lennox’s voice, a jealousy that anyone could be doing well at this time.
“Couldn’t be better,” said Ed. “I’m diversifying, of course. My cut-your-own toilet roll enterprise was good while stocks lasted. Now, I’m making PPE aprons out of some cheap ponding lining plastic.”
“Oh, you’re one of those pandemic profiteers we’ve been hearing about,” said Ben. “Raking it in while the nation suffers.”
Ed slapped his chest as though mortally wounded. “I’m selling them for practically cost. Fifty pee per unit to a multinational, JB MediTech. Doing my bit for the cause. Now, this is where the money’s at right now,” he said, holding up his phone.
“Dogs?” said Lennox.
“Puppies to be precise. People stuck at home want a pet to keep them company but traditional dog breeders are struggling to meet demand due to pandemic restrictions. Prices for a pedigree puppy have shot up to two grand apiece.”
“For a dog!” said Ben.
“For a pretty dog. Yes, my friend.”
“I am in the wrong business.”
“Me too,” agreed Lennox.
“Of course, when there’s a profit to be made, unscrupulous types start moving in.”
“Like you, you mean.”
Another mortally wounded chest slap. “I always give the customer what they want. And I believe I’ve just sourced some beautiful little newborns.”
Ben rolled his eyes. Ed was a friend, of sorts, but he had the word ‘unscrupulous’ stamped through him like a stick of rock. It was hard to imagine anyone less moral.
The door swung open and Clovenhoof strode in. He wore a set of doctor’s scrubs and had half a false beard stuck to his face.
“Lambrini me, Lennox, my man,” he said.
“I will if you stand behind that line,” he said, indicating the yellow taped line on the floor.
“What?” said Clovenhoof. “Can’t a man drink a manly drink and lean against the bar like a proper man these days?”
“Says the Lambrini-drinking weirdo dressed in pyjamas.”
Clovenhoof tutted. “I’m sure this is against my rights or something.”
“It’s the rules.”
“It’s an infringement of my civil liberties,” said Clovenhoof.
Ed jumped up like he’d been given an electric shock. “Crap!”
“What?” said Ben.
“I forgot. I’ve got to deliver some premade placards to Jacob Bloom.”
“The ex-mayor’s husband?”
“Ex-mayor’s ex-husband. She tossed him out after his fling with Tina. He’s now on his own and currently busy organising them anti-mask protests.”
Ben blinked. “You’re selling placards to anti-mask protesters? I thought you were selling PPE aprons, to ‘do your bit for the cause’.”
Ed sniffed and adjusted his collar. “A man can help fight the pandemic and support the fight for civil liberties at the same time, can’t he?” he said and slipped out before anyone could answer.
Lennox sighed. “See? That’s the kind of man who’s making his fortune right now. The honest publican doesn’t stand a chance.”
“We’re here for you,” said Clovenhoof, quaffing his fizzy drink.
“And you applied for government support, right?” said Ben.
“That is not going to save the hospitality industry,” said Lennox with a dark finality. He chewed his lip and Ben could see that their barman was not just engaging in socially acceptable levels of moaning but was genuinely and deeply worried about the situation. Lennox caught Ben watching him, made a poor attempt at a smile and
turned to Clovenhoof.
“So, Jeremy, no doubt this get up of yours has some ‘fascinating’ and ‘hilarious’ story attached to it.”
“It does!” said Clovenhoof, oblivious to the sarcasm and relayed an account of how he had tried to get in to see his friend and co-conspirator Persephone at the local care home.
“But I wasn’t about to give up the fight just because the wily woman had seen through my clever disguise,” he said.
“You? Give up? Never,” said Lennox.
“No, indeedy. I sneaked round the back to see if I could get in that way. But that place is locked up more tightly than a bank vault. I did get to see Persephone though.”
“Oh? And how is she?” said Ben.
“Fine. I think. It was hard to communicate through the glass.”
“Glass?”
“They’ve got a long row of patio windows in their day room, overlooking the lawn. I knocked and I waved at her until the bloody carers shooed me away.”
“Since when did shooing ever drive you away?”
“They threatened to hose me from an upstairs window.” Clovenhoof sighed and downed the rest of his Lambrini. “But I reckon I could take my deck chair round and sit in the garden and at least we could see each other. I could just watch the oldiewonks, maybe try to do a bit of communication through charades.”
“Watch the oldiewonks?” said Lennox, unimpressed.
“That window. It’s as big as a cinema screen. It’s just like watching the big screen, ‘cept it’s a really boring film about old people who don’t do much. When was the last time any of us could actually go to the real cinema?”
Ben clicked his fingers. “You could do that, Lennox.”
“Watch old people?”
“You’ve got the beer garden out back —”
“A concrete wasteland.”
“Exactly. Put up a big screen. Put on some outdoor cinema. Serve people pints and chips. There’d be no need for social distancing outside.”
“It’s already autumn,” said Lennox.
“You’ve got some patio gas heaters. And a marquee. Folks can wrap up warm.”
Lennox paused and then nodded slowly. “That could work. That could actually work. My brother-in-law knows someone who hires out projection equipment.”
“See?” said Clovenhoof. “Aren’t you glad that I come in and give you all these brilliant business ideas.”
“I think I came up with that idea,” said Ben.
Clovenhoof gave him a shrewd look and stroked his half-moustache. “Did you, Kitchen? Did you?”
6.
Spartacus Wilson and his sister Bea had lodged with Clovenhoof for much of the early part of the year while his mom cared for his nan, Stella. The fact that Stella was as tough as a veteran cage fighter, pickled and fortified with a diet of cheap wine and takeaways, made Clovenhoof think that Stella didn’t need any looking after.
But he hadn’t argued with the situation.
During the summer months, when the virus seemed to ebb away a little and the ‘war-time’ spirit of the pandemic had lost its novelty, the kids had moved home. However, Spartacus popped round to the house more than a few times, mostly to either use Clovenhoof’s computer or Nerys’s sewing machine.
Spartacus was now in Year 10. Clovenhoof, despite having worked in various jobs in education, didn’t grasp what all the different years were, but he vaguely understood that Year 10 was when the teenagers started studying for their GCSE qualifications. Clovenhoof was only mildly surprised that Spartacus had picked Textiles as one of
his options. He was much more surprised that Spartacus was throwing himself into his qualification subjects with a good deal of enthusiasm.
“I need to set myself up with a video conferencing account,” he said to Clovenhoof as he turned on the computer.
“You don’t have a computer at home?” said the devil in surprise.
“Got an X-Box One and we’re getting a PS5. Got two phones, a tablet and a smart TV but no computer. School says I need to use one in case our bubble gets sent home.”
“Is that likely?” said Clovenhoof.
“Well, we’re all in different bubbles depending on our sets.”
“Right,” said Clovenhoof.
“So, my bubble stay together for all their English, Maths and Science.”
“So you don’t spread the virus to other students.”
“Except we all get mixed up for options anyway. They say we’re meant to sit apart but there’s thirty of us in a class. The teachers open the windows to keep the air circulating which just means it’s really cold while we’re breathing each other’s air.”
“You don’t have much faith in the bubbles,” said Clovenhoof who thought he vaguely understood.
“I reckon someone’s gonna get it and then we’ll all be sent home and have to do virtual learning on the computers.”
“Video conferencing from my flat?”
“Exactly, so you’ll need to stay out of the way and — Jesus! Fuck!” Spartacus put one hand to his eyes and held out another to ward off Clovenhoof. “Put some clothes on, perve!”
Clovenhoof was, as he often was, hanging around the flat in his favourite quilted smoking jacket and not much more.
“I am wearing clothes,” he said.
“Put some pants on!”
“You mean these delightful, thigh-hugging flesh-coloured underpants?”
“Why? For the love of —?” The teenager rubbed his eyes as though trying to claw out the offensive sight of Clovenhoof’s lower half. “Why, man?”
“Mostly for the reaction it gets,” Clovenhoof conceded.
There was a knock at the door. It was Ben, wearing a mask as he always did when entering other’s flats.
“Ah, two wise men to help me,” he said, spotting Spartacus. “Lennox has asked me to help select what film or films he could show at his outdoor cinema experience at the end of the month.” He had a paper list in his hand. “I’m thinking some upbeat crowd pleasers might be what’s needed. Maybe a musical or
two?”
“End of the month is Hallowe’en,” said Clovenhoof. “It’s got to be horror.”
“I’ve seen enough horrors for one day,” said Spartacus, pointing indirectly at Clovenhoof’s flesh-coloured groin before taking a look at Ben’s list.
Ben pulled a face. “Disturbing underwear, Jeremy. I’ve seen some people wearing flesh-coloured masks so it doesn’t look like they’re wearing a mask. You can even get them printed with your own smile on top.”
Clovenhoof stared into the imagined distance. “You mean… I could get flesh-coloured pants printed with a picture of my own swinging man-dangle? Cor.”
“No one wants to see that,” said Ben. “Not even doctors who specialise in rare and unusual diseases would want to see that.”
Spartacus tapped the list. “You should put on a pandemic triple bill.”
“What?”
“You know. Films about disease outbreaks. And zombie films. We’ve lived through one now so maybe it’d be fun to see how people handle it in the movies.”
“I don’t recall the pandemic movies where everyone panic-buys toilet roll and takes up baking,” said Ben.
“See?” said Spartacus. “We can see how the movies got it wrong.”
“Yeah,” agreed Clovenhoof. “I bet there’s not a zombie movie where people claim the zombies are hoax created so Bill Gates can inject us with microchips.”
“And march through the streets defending their rights to get bitten by zombies,” said Spartacus.
“I don’t know…” said Ben. “This cinema experience is meant to be a happy and uplifting event.”
Clovenhoof scoffed.
“I’m surprised you didn’t suggest to Lennox that he just shows a live-stream of the security cameras around your chickens in the garden.”
“And what a pleasant and relaxing show that would be,” said Ben sniffily.
7.
“I’ve got us tickets,” Nerys said.
In her own tiny kitchen on the video screen, Ash put down her glass of wine.
“RSC? I thought they’d cancelled?”
There was such a look of unexpected delight on Ash’s face that Nerys didn’t want to break it, but break it she did.
“Er, not Shakespeare, I’m afraid. It’s an outdoor movie thing at the Boldmere Oak.”
“Oh?”
“A triple bill featuring…” Nerys checked her phone. “Dawn of the Dead, Shaun of the Dead and Twenty-Eight Days Later.”
“Hot diggety-dog,” grinned Ash.
“You all right with that?”
“Who doesn’t love a zombie movie?”
Nerys, who had hidden behind cushions when watching Doctor Who as a child, was not sure that she could ever love zombie movies.
“It’s not exactly The Winter’s Tale, is it?”
“I’m sure he would have written ‘Exit stage left, pursued by zombies’ if zombies had been invented then.
“Well, if you’re sure,” said Nerys. “I know the cinema isn’t as immersive an experience as theatre.”
“It will be great. When is it?”
“Next Friday.”
“Then I’ll try to get at least some sleep next week if the job allows.”
“Still busy?”
Ash stirred the steaming thing in the saucepan on her hob. “It’s settled into a routine. At least I’m not a teacher.”
Nerys laughed. “You think they’ve got it harder than you?”
“In terms of chances of catching the damned thing I wouldn’t swap with them for the world. You can talk about your bubbles and safe distancing but I’ve seen children. Filthy faces and clawing hands.”
“We’re not still talking about zombies here, right?”
“At least we have the decent PPE here, even if we’re paying some profiteering spivs top dollar for it. And we don’t have to worry about sharing a social bubble with thirty kids. And their parents.”
“Yeah,” said Nerys and decided it was time to broach a subject that had been on her mind for a while. “Speaking of bubbles…”
“Oh, and have you heard the rumour that the government is going to let multiple households join bubbles for Christmas?”
“Yes, about that…”
“Like the virus is going to take the day off or something. Ha! Morons!”
“Er, yes,” said Nerys. Maybe now wasn’t the time to suggest that Ash might like to be part of her festive bubble.
“It’s going to be a quiet Christmas this year. No big family dinners. No massive turkeys on order. No nativity plays. No church services.”
“Bah, humbug,” Nerys threw in.
Ash stopped in her cooking and look at Nerys.
“It’s one bloody day,” she said. “We don’t need to break social distancing rules just because it’s Jesus’ bloody birthday.”
“But the cinema thing…”
“You and me, two metres apart, enjoying a drink and a movie or two.”
The suggestion that the two of them could snuggle up together beneath a blanket for the outdoor showing died in Nerys’s throat.
“Sounds wonderful,” she said and tried not to seem disappointed.
8.
Clovenhoof saw a row of police vehicles parked along the high street as he walked towards Southview Care Home. A bunch of coppers lounged against the side of a van. He didn’t know what the collective noun was for police officers. He wondered if it was a ‘plod’ but didn’t ask; he had places to be today and didn’t want to be
arrested.
“Coppers’ work social?” Clovenhoof asked the police officers.
“Chance’d be a fine thing,” said PC Pearson. “We’re policing an event later.”
“I didn’t know the Boldmere Oak’s cinema event was that big.”
“I mean the anti-mask march coming through here later.”
“Going to arrest them all, are you?”
Pearson laughed bluntly. “You know full well, Mr Clovenhoof, that we’re all in favour of people exercising their right to protest. I recall your one man Black Lives Matter protest earlier in the year.”
“Indeed! I have vivid memories myself. Still got some of the bruises even.”
PC Pearson looked to some of his more confused colleagues. “Jeremy thought that it would be appropriate to…” He mimed rubbing make-up on his face. “… in solidarity with the black community.”
“It did not end well,” said Clovenhoof cheerily.
“We had to put him in protective custody,” said Pearson.
“That mob would have killed me,” Clovenhoof agreed. “But you have to admit, it really did bring the community together.”
“Oh, yes. Black, white, Asian. That was definitely a multi-ethnic mob.” He shook his head. “I don’t think we’ll have the same level of violence at this evening’s march. As long as they follow all the rules and public health guidelines.”
“You’re expecting anti-mask protestors to follow the public health guidelines they’re protesting against?”
“Them’s the rules,” said the constable, smiling. “And where are you off to with those?” he said, nodding at the deck chairs and the bulky bin-liner in Clovenhoof’s arms.
“Care home,” he said. “I like to sit in the garden and talk to my neighbour through the window.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“I say talk but it’s double-glazed and she can’t hear me. So it mostly ends up as a game of charades. The care home don’t seem to mind. I think it keeps the residents entertained.”
“As long as it keeps you off the streets,” said Pearson. “And the bag?”
Clovenhoof raised the bin liner and its bulky but light contents.
“A little costume I’m wearing later,” he winked and sauntered off.
Clovenhoof walked along to Southview and nipped through the gate to the rear garden. He had two deckchairs with him. They were the ones he had found in Persephone’s shed and still bore the labels Jeremy’s chair and Persephone’s chair. He set them out on the lounge in front of the day room window.
If asked why he had brought two seats, he would have told anyone that he brought Persephone’s to show her that he wished she was sat beside him. In the imaginary conversation that followed, he would have told his interlocutor that, no, he wasn’t being sappy and sentimental and just wished that Persephone could be next to him so she
could whisper secrets of explosives and other alchemical mayhem in his ear. And, no, he’d tell them, he wasn’t soft on the old woman and would you just leave me alone and stop asking these questions. Who are you anyway, eh? Clear off!
Persephone was by the window in an armchair. Her stay in hospital had left her looking frail and bedraggled but the care home staff had given her a haircut, reinstating her severe square fringe. Clovenhoof thought that the woman had regained a bit of the fiery spark in her eyes. She was not alone at the window. Clovenhoof’s visits
were now a fixture in the care home’s schedule and a baker’s dozen of old folks sat along the window front to see him.
Clovenhoof spent the best part of the afternoon trying to converse with Persephone through the window, principally by mime.
He explained that Spartacus’s bubble had been forced to take two weeks off school due to an infection among the year 10s and Spartacus had been round at Clovenhoof’s every day to use his computer to connect to the remote lessons. Clovenhoof had been forced to promise to stay off screen and remain appropriately dressed for
the duration of those lessons. Clovenhoof had mimed some big yawns to express his feelings on that matter.
He had gone on to explain (through ever more elaborate charades) how he had recently read that mouthwash was very effective at killing the virus in some instances and queried whether Persephone was interested in going into the mouthwash manufacturing business with him. He had clearly startled some of the watching residents and he
realised that his gargling mime could be mistaken for an oral sex mime so he showed everyone both mimes so that the distinction was clear.
He went on to ask Persephone how things were and what the meals were like at Southview. Persephone evidently did not have Clovenhoof’s innate acting skills and her response was quite baffling. For several minutes it appeared that she was suggesting the meals were so awful that she was either throwing them up or throwing them away.
Only when she added a little reeling mime did he see that she was pretending to be an angler and explaining that they had had fish for lunch.
Eventually, after several hours silent but energetic cavorting, Clovenhoof realised he had to go. The Boldmere movie event was starting soon. He attempted to mime the concepts of cinema, of zombies and of outdoor drinking but wasn’t entirely sure he had conveyed it well enough. Nonetheless, when he picked up his deckchairs and
waved goodbye, the seniors gave him a round of applause.
His phone rang as he walked away from the care home.
“You know, you are allowed to telephone me,” said Persephone.
“I know,” he said, “but where’s the fun in that?”
“We are all mightily entertained,” she said and then there was some hushed chatter. “Yes, yes. The others want to know when you’re coming round again.”
“Oh, I’m your clown now, am I?”
“Aren’t you always?”
“I’m sure I could rustle up a full programme of entertainment for you. Now, what did you think about my business suggestion?”
“Business suggestion?” she said.
“Yes. Making anti-viral mouthwash.”
“Oh! That’s what that was! I thought you were miming something else entirely. And I was going to say, I’d struggle with something like that at my age and with my back.”
“Yes, well —”
“I thought, does Jeremy really want me to help him out with a sword-swallowing act.”
“Right! Yeah, no. Not that,” he said.
9.
On the street corner, Clovenhoof stopped to open the bin-liner and slip into the new outfit he’d sourced for the occasion before heading off to the film event. As he approached the Boldmere Oak he realised that Lennox had gone all out trying to sell the last few tickets to anyone passing. Not only did he have pre-show music
blasting out so loud that you could hear it a hundred yards away, he had also set up a one way system that cunningly funnelled all pedestrians off the pavement and into the beer garden back yard.
Clovenhoof trotted through the funnel, constructed from orange plastic barriers that looked very much as though they had been borrowed from some roadworks. He followed a woman pushing a pushchair and gazing round in confusion. She didn’t look as though she was going to the movie event, simply trying to make her way along the
road.
“I like this,” Clovenhoof said, his arms taking in the fairy lights that marked out the entrance to the marquee. Lennox had set up an outdoor bar and a food ordering point as well. Florence collected tickets and showed people to their seats. Households were grouped together, everyone in distanced clusters. “It’s like a drive-in
movie.”
“Except there are no cars, Jeremy,” said Lennox.
“An environmentally-friendly drive-in movie. Makes you wonder why we don’t have loads of drive-in movie theatres in this country like they do in the States.”
“Maybe because it’s rainy and cold half the time and no one wants to try to watch a film through a heavy drizzle and a fogged up windscreen. But what we do have, to combat the inclement weather, is protective parasols and plenty of patio heaters.”
“It’s looking good,” agreed Clovenhoof.
“More than we can say for you,” said Lennox with a nod to Clovenhoof’s attire.
Clovenhoof peered into the marquee, where he could see Nerys with the tall doctor lady, Ash. Ben and Animal Ed were in there too.
“You’ve got the Lambrini out here, I hope?” he asked Lennox.
Lennox kicked a box underneath his bar table. He poured a plastic glass for Clovenhoof and shouted to another confused passer-by. “Cinema event tonight! We’ve still got some tickets left. Support your local business!”
“I just want to know how to get out,” said the passer-by, his voice edging slowly towards the hysterical.
“Past the bins and turn a sharp right,” said Lennox.
“You’ve made it deliberately hard to find the exit,” said Clovenhoof.
“It’s like Hotel California,” said Lennox with a wink.
“Figures,” said Clovenhoof, watching a small group milling about, searching for the alley, “the building regulations are probably less stringent in the States.”
He wandered across to the marquee.
“What the hell are you wearing Jeremy?” called Nerys as he overturned chairs and knocked into people on his way through.
“It’s my new social distancing bumper,” said Clovenhoof. “It turns out that I’ve spent so long lying about my manhood being eighteen inches long that I still don’t actually know what two metres looks like. Spartacus did this as coursework. Apparently it covers textiles, maths and citizenship.”
Dr Ash peered at the giant circle suspended around Clovenhoof’s waist. “Pool noodles, yeah?”
A series of the bendy foam pipes were threaded together in a single loop that was held in place around Clovenhoof’s body by a complex arrangement of elastic that was fifty percent trouser braces and fifty percent spider’s web.
Clovenhoof stood tall and tried to pat his bumper circle, but his arms weren’t long enough. “Pack of five in this baby, yeah! Who knew that pi was so demanding? He’s some Greek guy who says that circles have to be much bigger than you think.”
Nerys studied it. “Yeah. If you got Spartacus to add some stripy fabric you would have actual clown trousers.”
“That’s version two, coming next week when I’ve pinched a shop awning,” beamed Clovenhoof.
He moved over to where Ben was sitting. His pool noodles grazed the heads of several members of the audience as he pushed down the aisle.
“Do keep your distance! It’s your social responsibility,” he called as he knocked them askance.
Ben rolled his eyes, (almost certainly because he was jealous he hadn’t thought of it himself!) and leaned back in his seat to avoid the waggling circle of foam.
“Isn’t this more suited to outdoors?” Ben said.
“We are outdoors!” said Clovenhoof.
“It doesn’t look all that stable to me.”
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.” said Clovenhoof. “I’ve added straps down to my ankles to help with stability, so it’s fine, actually.”
Ed gave the circle a tentative pull. Clovenhoof teetered briefly and then sat heavily on a chair on top of something very squishy.
“My cake!” Ben shouted.
Clovenhoof stood up and wondered how he could get to the cake on his bum without being thwarted by his own apparel. He went and found a seat behind Ben and Animal Ed directly beneath one of the patio heaters. The lamppost-shaped gas heater had a conical cover that reflected the heat from the flames down onto the patrons below.
Clovenhoof mused that if he could set up a dozen of these on maximum setting, he’d be able to recreate the toasty warm feeling of the Old Place. The cooler portions of the Old Place.
“I’ve got cake in my pants now,” he commented, squirming. Not complained, just commented.
“Pair of scrubs trousers, Jeremy?” Ed said, over his shoulder. “Twenty quid to you.”
Clovenhoof definitely preferred cake in his mouth to around his nethers, so he called over to Ben. “Pay the man, will you Kitchen?”
Ben scowled. “I have no cash. I haven’t used it for months, for reasons of hygiene.”
“Paypal is fine,” said Ed. “I’ll send you an invoice.” He threw the trousers to Clovenhoof, who failed to catch them, and had to work out how he might stoop down to retrieve them with his pool noodles getting in the way.
Ben huffed and pulled out his phone to pay. “Why have you even got a pair of scrubs trousers, Ed?”
“A sample from a business meeting,” said Ed. “The PPE and medical supplies are big business at the moment.”
“Ladies and gentlemen!” said Lennox through a microphone and PA up by the big screen that had been erected at the far edge of the beer garden. “We’ll crack straight on with our first film of the evening. Settle into your seats as I dim the lights for Dawn of the Dead! Remember I will be bringing chips and ice creams around the
auditorium during the film. Have your contactless payment card ready.”
Clovenhoof wriggled out of his trousers as the film started, projected from a first floor window of the pub. He pulled on the scrubs before sampling the smeared cake in the arse seam of his trousers. Coffee and walnut if he wasn’t mistaken.
While the film was enjoyable enough, Clovenhoof felt that the accuracy of how the world would react to a global health threat was clearly lacking. There was much more of a focus on gore and violence, and less about denying science and making sourdough bread.
A child appeared on screen with a feral smile and blood smeared liberally around its mouth.
“Lennox!” called Clovenhoof. “Have you got raspberry sauce to go with that ice cream?”
There was an intermission between films, and Lennox spun it out, insisting that they would all surely want to buy food and drink while they could.
Clovenhoof couldn’t choose between Lennox’s various food offerings, so he ended up having chips with a scotch egg and ice cream, all liberally slathered in ketchup and raspberry sauce.
“That’s a zombie apocalypse right there,” he declared, leaning over to show Ben and waving at Nerys. “Or would you call it a crime scene? Follow me for more recipes.”
Nerys nipped over to steal a chip as the undead began to devour the living during the second movie. “You’ll never be able to run away from zombies if you scoff this lot,” she said.
“While you and Ash are on your second bottle of Chardonnay,” Clovenhoof pointed out. “At least I might remember which way I’m supposed to be running.”
“If you have to run, it’s probably a sign that you made a poor choice in life.”
10.
Nerys settled down in her seat. Ash had wisely brought blankets for them to put over their knees in the deepening and cooling night. Chardonnay and stolen chips and Shaun of the Dead was a delightful break from the routine but Nerys kind of wished she and Ash could at least sit a little closer. Here she was, on the cusp of
switching teams, or at least enjoying in some bi-curious fun, and she couldn’t even touch the woman she was with. It was like — and this was a mental image that had plagued Nerys in the last few weeks — it was like they were a pair of celibate nuns with impure desires, forever kept apart by their vows. Thinking about it made her feel quite hot under the collar (although that might have been because Clovenhoof had cranked up the nearest patio heaters to their maximum setting).
There was growing noise from the rear of the event. Nerys turned to see a milling, shambling crowd groaning and moaning their way into the beer garden. Nerys was about to tell them to shush when a woman stood up and shrieked and a man yelled, “Zombies!”
This was patently stupid but ideas, even stupid ones, had a way of speeding through a crowd. In seconds, many people were on their feet, some to watch, some ready to flee, some picking up chairs and bottles ready to fight.
A big chap in an ugly knitted jumper staggered in his haste to get away, nearly crushing Nerys’s legs in the process.
“Get off me, you buffoon,” said Nerys but her voice was lost in the hubbub.
Everyone was shouting. Some were shouting in panicked alarm at the arrival of the zombies. Some were shouting for everyone else to shut up so they could watch the movie. Clovenhoof was shouting for more food and drink.
“Did they decide to lay on some actual zombies?” said Ash. “Maybe they heard you say cinema wasn’t as immersive as theatre.”
Bottles and glasses were thrown and chairs waved threateningly. The zombie horde retaliated with their placards.
“Those zombies have placards,” Ash pointed out.
“And they’re quality placards too,” said Ed proudly. “None of your cheaply produced tat.”
“Is this the anti-mask lot?” said Ben.
“I think they might have come in here by mistake,” said Clovenhoof. “Funnelled by Lennox’s barriers.”
The crowd of protestors fought their way forward through the event, driving a wedge of angry individuals towards the stage.
“Oh, those anti-mask types don’t like being funnelled,” said Nerys.
“Or generally told what to do,” agreed Ben.
Social distancing almost entirely forgotten, the knot of protestors pushed forward against the confused crowd.
A silver-haired man took the stage and beckoned his little mob to accompany him in front of the screen. Somehow he’d found Lennox’s microphone.
“I see a gathering of scared sheeple,” he said and grinned.
“That’s Jacob Bloom,” said Nerys.
“Who?” said Ash.
“The ex-mayor’s ex-husband,” said Ben.
“My best customer,” said Ed.
“I want to share a few thoughts with you about our current situation,” continued Bloom. Boos came from the audience, as the unwatchable film continued behind the group.
Bloom’s supporters stood jiggling their placards with slogans like ‘I will not be masked, tested, tracked or poisoned’ and ‘Freedom maters!’
“I have never worn a mask or socially distanced, and yet here I am, right as rain!” said Bloom. “Maybe I’m just tough, or maybe this thing is being blown out of all proportion by snowflake libta —”
“Hey! You lot!” shouted PC Pearson from somewhere in the dark. “Back out onto the agreed route, now! Lennox, I will be back to talk to you later about interfering with the public highway!”
“See?” said Bloom. “The voice of authoritarianism. They want to control us but we must have the strength to live free!”
11.
Right next to Clovenhoof, Dr Ash stood up and yelled at Bloom in a voice that took everyone aback. Clovenhoof decided that it must have been honed over years of yelling across the A&E wards ‘Clear!’, ‘Get me a pint of ‘o’ neg, stat!’ and ‘Service!’ (or was that chefs?).
“How dare you stand there and boast about such irresponsible behaviour as if it’s admirable?” Ash shouted.
“I see we have someone whose opinions differ from mine,” said Jacob Bloom with a smile. “It’s a good job we have freedom of speech in this country.”
“You can talk bollocks all you want,” yelled Ash, “but when your actions affect the rest of us then it becomes my business.”
“I hardly think —”
“It is literally my job to try and deal with the harm you’re creating!”
“She’s a doctor, ladies and gentlemen!” Nerys shouted and Ash was treated to an unprompted and enthusiastic round of applause which she just seemed to find embarrassing.
“I have nothing but respect for the medical profession —” Bloom said.
“You are a selfish oaf!” said Ash.
“— but doctors do not have a monopoly on the truth.”
Clovenhoof’s eye was drawn to Nerys, who was clearly incandescent with rage on Ash’s behalf, and looked as if she was nearing some sort of tipping point.
Jacob Bloom failed to spot any warning signs. In the gloom, how could he see?
“It’s fine to have unpopular opinions,” he said. “Being in a minority doesn’t make you mad. Some of you will be free thinkers like me. Why should we believe scientists and medical people? They aren’t always right. Who put them in charge of us, eh?”
Nerys gave a roar of outrage and charged the stage.
“Social distance, Nerys!” called Ash.
“Fight!” yelled Clovenhoof in delight, and jumped up to join in. He had forgotten about his pool noodle circle in his excitement to be a part of the fracas, and tumbled forward, as someone snagged on the outer edge of it.
He regained his feet, and the circle rose with him. Unfortunately, he had trapped a number of the other protestors inside the circle of foam and elastic with him. He backed away, but they all did a rapid shuffle to avoid being tipped over. He moved in a different direction and again they shuffled with him. It was weirdly like being
a puppet master or a dance troupe choreographer and Clovenhoof wondered what other things he might be able to make them do. He tried to do some moonwalking, but their efforts were lacklustre.
“Oh wow, it’s gotta be the Hokey Cokey!” he yelled. “This really is what it’s all about!”
Lennox was somewhere behind him shouting about something, but Clovenhoof was having way too much fun now. He realised that some of the cinemagoers, encouraged by Nerys, were shoving the trapped protestors when they wobbled into range.
Lennox shouted again but then turned and ran off somewhere.
“It’s pretty cosy in here!” declared Clovenhoof. “It must be the glow of warmth I’m feeling from my performing artistes.” He waved an arm across the protestors, who were looking a little queasy as they were shoved back and forth in their foam prison.
“No, Jeremy, you’re feeling a glow of warmth because your pool noodles have caught fire from the patio heaters,” called Ben.
There was a funny smell. Clovenhoof tried to see the back of the circle, but he wasn’t able to twist round far enough. He moved round to look, but then ended up like a dog chasing its tail, spinning on the spot, the flames always just out of his peripheral vision and the trapped protestors squawking in panic. He had an idea. He
stopped and span the other way, with the idea that he would catch it out, by his sudden change of direction. No, that didn’t —
“Aargh!”
Lennox had returned with a hosepipe and he doused them all liberally with cold water. It seemed to Clovenhoof that he carried on way past the point when the flames must have been out.
On the stage, PC Pearson had collared Jacob Bloom.
“Police brutality! Oppression! Oppression!” squeaked the lead protestor but the fight had gone out of his followers who were variously soaked, battered or just embarrassed.
As the crowd was cleared, Clovenhoof heard a crunching noise from a dark corner, and he realised that Nerys had taken all the placards and was stamping on them to break them up.
“Quality placards them,” tutted Ed. “What a waste.”
“I’ll restart the film when you’ve all charged your glasses and bought whatever snacks you might like,” said Lennox, spotting another opportunity to chalk up a few sales. The crowd hastily downed their drinks and queued up for more.
“You’re soaking,” said Ben to Clovenhoof.
“Good job I have spare trousers!” said Clovenhoof. He sat down and nibbled the rest of the cake from his original trousers and slipped them back on to enjoy the rest of the film.
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