Love in Times of a Pandemic
The world seems to be divided into three categories: those who do not wear masks, those who put them on before boarding a bus, and those who cover their faces all the time. There are sub-categories as well. At my age I feel more vulnerable and as I don’t want to meet my maker just yet, I belong to the third category.
It’s five years since Wilf passed, and Jeremy and Mel tease me about getting myself a replacement, but I’ve never met anybody who’s taken my fancy. Probably because I’ve never placed myself in the position where I’d meet someone. Without meaning to, I have an austere aura about me, and on the rare occasions when I do meet people of both sexes, no man has ever approached me to exchange pleasantries. My pension is not lordly but it is adequate. I have my cat Bulbul, my magazines, my garden, and my flat is nice and airy, I don’t want complications. I have my routine and I’m very happy thank you very much. More truthfully, I am not unhappy.
I was waiting for the Number 16 bus at Morningside station, and one effect of lockdown is that buses which used to run every fifteen minutes were now once an hour. When I reached the Bus Stop, there was no one else there, which meant that I had just missed one. There is a bench a short distance away, and I thought I’d sit and wait. I wished I had brought m book. Five minutes later a man, with a reddish brown mask, turns up, and also arriving at the conclusion that he was due a long wait, eyes the bench, but stays at the stop as he obviously did not wish to intrude. I feel sorry for him, for although there are seats under the bus shelter, they are narrow and uncomfortable. I cannot remember seeing anybody use them.
‘Excuse me, sir, I’m sure there’s room for two people here … I’ll move to the other end.’ I was surprised I found the courage to talk to a stranger.
‘Oh, that’s kind of you, ma’am,’ he said taking the eight to ten steps towards me. He sat himself down at the other end, saying, ‘I think that’s easily two metres.’ I loved his voice.
We stayed silent for a couple of minutes, but he was the one who initiated the conversation.
‘Buses are running every hour now,’ he said. My rule is to nod and smile diffidently if a man begins talking to me, and I act accordingly, but after a minute I thought that there was no harm being a bit more sociable than usual.
‘I suppose one just left.’
‘Aye, we seem to be the only two people queuing up.’
‘When buses run every hour, it would seem that you have to wait anything from one to fifty-nine minutes,’ he said, as if talking to himself. I don’t usually care for small talk, so I just made a neutral noise.
‘You know, waiting is an interesting topic to study. In this case, one could have assumed that arriving at a stop where a bus runs every hour the average wait would be thirty minutes, but an important parameter is the number of people also waiting. There are many others. I hope I’m not boring you…’
‘No, not at all. Are you a mathematician then?’
‘Retired.’ I had not the least interest in what he had said, so I surprised myself when somehow I seemed to be unwilling to let that tiny flame of communi-cation die off. I felt at ease in his company.
‘Me too. I used to be a nurse.’
‘I think with this pandemic people are finally giving you the credit you deserve.’ I nodded, but immediately felt the urge to confide in him.
‘I have volunteered to the hospitals and they have put my name on a list.’ He nodded happily. We obviously could not see each other’s faces for our masks.
Whenever silence took over, neither of us seemed keen to let the communication die off, so after very short pauses, one of us would pick a loose thread of the previous exchange and pull on it to keep the conversation running. We talked about our married children, about the work we used to do, and, above everything else, our love of opera. He gave me a very valuable information about the New York Met offering recordings of its past productions to the world for free. I shall certainly make use of this tip. In the meantime a few other people have arrived at the Bus Stop. When the Number 16 bus finally turns up, it seems like we only had to wait ten minutes, but it was in fact fifty-five. He was going to Morrison’s and I to Aldi’s in Oxgang.
He hadn’t said anything earth-shattering, but he hadn’t said anything to displease me either. He liked Wagner. Now, I’d rather have all my teeth pulled out than listen to The Ring, although I took care not to let on. I am SNP, but I suspect he was Labour. I am glad I had not encouraged him, for he’d have talked about probabilities and standard deviation which I never understood. Even when it came to supermarkets had different views. If Iwas a bit disconcerted by his choice of topics of conversation, more importantly, I formed the opinion that he was a gentle human being
Except…
Except that I was a bit sad when the bus came and we took seats at different ends because you’re not supposed to sit two on a row unless you were from the same family. However, once I got home I gave him not a single thought.
About ten days later, I was not too surprised to see him at the Bus Stop in Holy Corner, but this time we were both going north, into the city centre. Although we had our masks on, we immediately recognised each other. It was as if we had arranged it. I was catching the Number 23 and he the 45, but in both case there was a wait of about twenty minutes according to the electronic indicator which happened to be working this time. We sat on the uncomfortable narrow bench and talked like old friends. The old bank in the corner was now a restaurant, McLaren’s, which had only recently installed individual glass cubicles where couples could be allowed to come in and eat without fear of contamination. The thought that I could invite him to have a meal with me there crossed my mind, but I knew that I did not feel strong enough to suggest it. I was only half listening to what he was saying, concentrating instead on his mannerisms which I found quite endearing. We talked about our deceased spouses. Like me he seemed to have had a happy marriage. To be honest whilst Wilf was alive, I never thought of ourselves as Darby and Joan, although poor Wilf did. To me, we we seemed the least unhappy of all the couples I knew, but, obviously the departed improve with absence. We loved each other, but there were times when I wish he’d go out with his friends more often. Except he used to say, You’re all the friends I need, Beth. When we are young we dream of the perfect man, we think we’ve found him, we get married and for a few years after we keep discovering how wrong we were. A point is reached when we want out, but are too cowardly to do anything about it. Past that point we begin to see that we exaggerated the other one’s faults_possibly as a smoke screen to our own_and begin once more to notice their good points. We finally reach an equilibrium point. Happiness in a partnership is getting to this equilibrium. Wilf and I had reached our equilibrium position. If I was twenty-five again and given the chance of choosing another husband, I don’t think I’d take it. Yes, I miss Wilf. Can this man who makes my heart flutter like a teenager’s, about whom I really know next to nothing, pick up the baton my Wilf dropped and continue the race with me? I felt a funny feeling in my stomach when these disparate thoughts were jostling each other like air bubbles in boiling water.
I resented my bus coming in so soon, but was cheered by the thought that we were bound to see each other again soon.
Except…
Except that R became less than 1, and lockdown was eased. People gave up wearing masks, although government advice was that we shouldn’t. During the following weeks, although I was actively seeking him out, our paths did not cross. Or if they did neither of us recognised each other without the mask. I am a naturally shy person and did not dare look any man in the eye, and I had no real idea what he looked like. All I know is that he was of average height and build, had a squarish face, bluish-grey eyes. If, as I hoped, he was looking for me too, he’d have the same difficulty. Nothing about me stands out, I am your Mrs Average. Not quite true. I used to be described as slim, but lockdown encourages baking.
After three weeks, I told myself to be my age. My lockdown romance, if that’s what it was, was a mirage. Life is getting back to normal. Drink more wine. The libraries are open, go find yourself a book by Donna Tartt. You don’t even know his name, I chided myself.
Perhaps they will ease up the restrictions further and Jeremy and Mel will be able to come up for Christmas. I miss the grandchildren. I hardly ever give a thought to the teacher now. Life goes on.
I was shocked when the experts began talking about the second wave. R was on the rise again, and in a matter of weeks, the number of daily Covid-related deaths was overtaking that of April and May. It was pretty depressing.
Until I recognised the reddish-brown mask at Tesco’s.
