Day 81
Of course I knew before he did. One of us has to get up to catch the early worm. There was even a note, scribbled on the not so helpful wall calendar, saying ‘three weeks notice’. According to the man who says he is the business secretary, we will have to wait until the 4th of July (at the earliest) to reopen. I would have hoped that might have cheered husband, instead he finds me in the polly tunnel, looking dejected and says ‘I have to wait another three weeks’. I feel like flicking his lower lip it’s sticking out that far. 24 days actually, I corrected him. He sticks his tongue out in my general direction. Go and make yourself useful I chide him, and light the BBQ, I call to his retreating back.
I’ve hidden myself away in the tunnel because I don’t know how I feel about reopening, just as I didn’t expect my reaction to closing, I’m wondering what emotions will rear their ugly heads as we make good for the mammoth task of getting this place up and running again. I’ve actually enjoyed, dare I say it, being stuck together like this for the last few months. I’ve enjoyed sharing time with Mr Jones in the way that people normally get to do on a daily basis. We don’t get that luxury often because the business dictates that we don’t play when other people do. We don’t eat at normal times, or go to bed and get up at normal times. We don’t do a nine to five, have 2.4 children, live in a colder-sack with two cars on the drive, one a hatchback for the family dog, and go to church on a Sunday. Not that the majority of people do all that, but most people have a semblance of something that is normal, we don’t even have the semblance. I finish picking the last of the inside produce and move outside to collect some courgettes. ‘It’s not been a good year so far for these’ I say, looking at the scant gathering in the basket, as he hands me a cold beer. I take the beer and frown. ‘There isn’t any more gin‘ he says as by way of an excuse. There isn’t really any more to say so we sit in companionable silence for a while, each lost in thought. ‘It wont be the same’ I say slowly. He looks at me, ‘Whose name?’ he replies. I lift my eyes to the heavens and look at him square in the face so he can read my lips, I said, ‘it won’t be the same!’ What followed was a lot of toing and froing about names and hearing aids, which I won’t bore you with. He knew what I meant, he just didn’t want to discuss it.
I think, he said finally with a yawn, I’ll go and watch the telly. Fine. I replied to his receding back, it was nearly dark and I poked the fire pit reproachfully, as if I was a small child who had just been told I couldn’t have an ice-cream. Roll on the 4th of July I said to myself quietly, and settled down with a book.