flowers for his mum the other week and it wasn’t even her birthday.’
‘He’s probably a mummy’s boy then,’ I say, grabbing hold of the excuse.
‘He is not,’ Jess insists. ‘I can spot those a mile off.’ This makes me smile, because Zach is also a complete mummy’s boy. ‘Come on, Soph, you’ve got to give this one a go. It’s hardly going to hurt just talking to him on Zoom. You don’t even have to wear those painfully high but totally gorgeous new heels you bought last month.’
‘True. They are stunning, but the blisters have only just healed. I suppose if I have to, I could always cut him off and say we got disconnected.’
‘You couldn’t. It says you’ve left the meeting. Besides you won’t need to get rid of him; he’s lovely.’
‘Huh easy for you to say – you haven’t got to meet some random guy who’s practically a stranger on Zoom,’ I say disgruntled.
‘He’s not random or a stranger, I know him. Glad that’s settled then – and I’ve decided, I’m going to go with the more expensive gazebo,’ she says whipping the picture up in front of the screen with a flourish. ‘Zach will never find out the price,’ she whispers.
‘Start as you mean to go on,’ I joke and leave the call, relieved to have got off the line, then realise with a sinking feeling that Jess has taken this conversation as a yes to the Zoom date. Just great.
I look at the pages in front of me and ponder. The kids really have done a terrific job. Obviously these are photocopies of their original artwork as they wanted to take theirs home. I look at Alfie’s, a beautifully drawn sketch. I had no idea he had this talent. He has used various animals, more like the characters in The Wind in the Willows, which he says is his favourite book. Each animal has a tiny face mask and little gloves and in the middle are tidy piles of fruit and foodstuffs, which they are putting into baskets. The slogan reads, ‘If we work together, we can all make things better.’
I wonder if we could use this, putting the number of our local WhatsApp group on the bottom. I could make loads of photocopies and we could get them out to all the flats. Of course the only thing is someone like Jack couldn’t deliver them and I need to think of something he can do – he feels so helpless, I can tell. My eye goes down to Zane’s little rendition of Charlie Mackesy’s mole character – it’s more of a splat, really, but he has drawn little feet and arms and painted over the top in painstakingly big letters, ‘I may be small but I can make a difference.’ I wonder …
I walk out on the balcony. ‘Hey, Jack, you around?’
There’s a moment’s silence, only one moment, I notice, then: ‘Hi, how are you?’ he calls. I’m inordinately pleased to hear his voice. It’s strangely comforting to know he is just upstairs even though I can’t see him.
‘Good thanks,’ I reply. ‘Have you got the emergency supply rope?’
‘Just a mo and I’ll send it down.’ There’s a thump and a scraping sound and soon the trusty Budweiser box bumbles into view. ‘Is it more crispy cakes?’ he asks hopefully.
‘Nope I’m afraid not, though I might be making flapjacks later if you fancy some.’
‘Bit healthy,’ he says, then laughs. ‘Mind you, I really need to get a bit fitter after all this sitting around, so flapjacks would be amazing.’
I roll Zane’s picture into a scroll, and tuck it into the Budweiser box to send up.
‘I may be small but I can make a difference,’ he reads out loud. ‘Thanks … are you trying to tell me something?’
Oops, I didn’t think of that. ‘No, sorry, I mean …’ Epic fail. ‘What I mean is I’ve thought of something you can do from home that might help others. Although you’re already doing your bit by staying in.’
‘I know, my razor wit and bubbly personality is a danger to the public otherwise.’
‘I wasn’t saying that, though you’re probably right.’ I grin to myself. ‘It was just that I had an idea. How are you at talking to people?’
‘Not bad – I’m talking to you,’ he says, and I can tell he’s smiling.
‘Absolutely, and you like working in a bar so you’re perfect for this. How about you become our guy who chats to people who just want someone