do for two nights, then I could have a night off tomorrow.
As I pootle about, clearing things off counter tops and sorting clothes, I wonder about the guy from last night. I haven’t heard anything since I got in, but I guess that’s not surprising, given Erica was here earlier, crashing about with her stuff before rushing off to her shift, and then I’ve been on the phone. I open the door, wander out onto the balcony and stand there looking down into the courtyard. It’s all quiet. I consider going back inside and watching something on TV but it’s a warm evening and it seems a shame to spend it indoors. Then I hear a noise. Up above.
It sounds as though his balcony door is opening. ‘Hello?’ I call quietly.
Nothing.
‘Hello?’ I call a little louder this time.
‘Hello?’ comes the voice from above.
‘Oh, hi.’ I smile, ridiculously pleased that he’s there. ‘You’re back.’
‘I haven’t really gone anywhere,’ replies the voice.
‘No … I guess it’s quite difficult at the moment,’ I say.
‘How were the kids today?’ he asks.
‘Great, thanks.’ I feel inordinately pleased he remembers our previous conversation. ‘We all made chocolate crispy cakes.’
‘Sounds delicious.’
He sounds wistful, hungry even. ‘I wish I could send one up to you, but I’m not sure how.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m okay – I have my emergency packet of crisps left.’
‘Is that all?’
‘I do have an Old-Fashioned as well.’
‘I’ve never tried one of those,’ I admit.
‘Well it’s not a proper one – I haven’t all the ingredients – but it’s refreshing.’
‘Ooh I’m jealous,’ I say.
‘I’ve had an idea. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be back.’
I smile to myself, wondering what his idea could be; there aren’t really a lot of options currently. As I stand on the balcony an older guy, still fairly upright, with a silver moustache and wearing an old green jacket combined with smartish trousers, walks across the courtyard and through the archway across the other side. I’ve seen him walk through here before but I don’t know where he lives. I know pretty much all the residents in this block so I don’t think he lives in the flats. He must come from one of the nearby houses. He seems to go out about the same time every night. It makes me feel sad for him somehow; he cuts a lonely figure, in spite of the purposeful nature of his walk. I wonder if he has a wife or if he lives by himself. It must be so hard for anyone coping with this lockdown living in total isolation. I would hate it.
The man upstairs has only been gone a minute or so – I have time to pop on the veg for the cottage pie while I wait. I go in and peel, rinse and chop the carrots, then soften them with the onion and a clove of garlic. The mince is just browning nicely and I’m about to add the tomatoes when I hear a noise from outside. I go back out onto the balcony.
To my amazement, a box has appeared, just below the parapet of the upstairs balcony. It looks like the end of a cardboard Budweiser box, hanging from what appears to be a bright yellow skipping rope.
‘Have you got it?’ calls the voice.
‘Just a mo, keep it steady,’ I say, trying not to laugh. I rush forward to grab the box, which is dangling precariously and at high risk of tipping out its contents, which on closer inspection turn out to be a glass of something with a slightly old-looking piece of lemon and a cherry on a cocktail stick. Miraculously it hasn’t spilt.
‘Oh wow!’ I exclaim and carefully remove the glass, placing it on the little table on the balcony. ‘This looks amazing.’
‘Hope you like it!’ There’s a warmth to his voice and I wonder if he’s smiling.
‘I’m sure I shall.’ The box starts to rise up again towards the balcony above. ‘Hold on a minute!’ I call. ‘Don’t pull it up yet, incoming!’ I rush into the lounge and grab a handful of chocolate crispy cakes and place them carefully in the box. ‘Okay,’ I say standing back, ‘pull away.’ The box disappears, wibbling up in the air. At one point it tips at a precarious angle and I’m worried the cakes will scatter over the courtyard below. He manages to balance it again, though, and the trusty Budweiser box disappears from view.
‘Chocolate crispy cakes!’ he shouts. ‘What a result – I love these.’