Page 1 of Lovers in Lockdown

CHAPTER ONE

Honey

If someone would have told me three months ago that I wouldn’t be able to buy a Big Mac at three AM on a Saturday night - oranynight - I would not have believed them.

I mean, seriously.

The world is shutting down. It’s locking its doors. It’s hanging up ‘closed until further notice signs’ and boarding up its windows. We’re not even allowed to shake hands anymore. And, you know what, I am not okay about it. I need a Big Mac for survival. And I could really do with a hug.

There are just some things in life that I can’t live without, and cuddles and fast food are two of them.

And yeah, I know there are people in positions much worse than mine. There are women giving birth without birthing partners. People who have lost their jobs. People who are considered too vulnerable to leave their home for groceries. It breaks my heart to think about. And I’m genuinely thankful I’m not one of those people.

But I still want a Big Mac, dammit.

Since my landlord has kicked me out of my flat in Camden to move his daughter in and my job as an art teacher in the local community centre has been suspended until the world starts turning again, my brother, Reid, has kindly offered to let me quarantine in his apartment rent-free while he isolates with his girlfriend in the Cotswolds. Because it’s not like I have a boyfriend right now to lean on, so without Reid’s offer I’d never have been able to afford London rent prices and would probably have ended up on the streets.

Or worse, move back in with my parents.

I’m not even being dramatic. Staying with my parents would be more uncomfortable than sleeping on solid concrete. In the cold. Without pillows.

For real. They don’t like me. But don’t worry, I’m totally fine about it.

Totally. Fine.

But the point is that to say I feel grateful to Reid would be an understatement of epic proportions. He’s a friggin awesome brother and I love his little heart dearly.

Our parents were pretty absent when we were young. They had kids for the sake of having them, I guess, and they got bored of us when we grew too big to be cute little accessories who dressed in matching outfits and had at least two naps a day. So, at the ripe old age of eight, Reid took on the role of both parents and looked after me. He’s my brother, my dad and my best friend rolled into one and I don’t know where I’d be without him.

Not that I’d tell him that, his ego is already overinflated.

I rest my head on the steering wheel of my car as I come to a stop at some traffic lights. I don’t like driving. I hate it.Hateit. So, I tend to just take the train, but spending half an hour in an enclosed container with dozens of commuters in the midst of a pandemic is enough to get me braving the London roadworks and angry cyclists. And so far tonight, I’ve survived. Even if I have called more people a wanker during this car ride than I care to admit.

But the roads have been surprisingly quiet. With everyone locked away inside their homes, there have been very few pedestrians walking out in front of my car or bus drivers threatening to run me off the road. And as easy as it’s made the drive to Reid’s neighbourhood, I don’t like it. Because London isn’t supposed to be quiet.

It’s supposed to be loud, busy and bustling with roads like rivers of honking traffic and everybody going everywhere.

Now, everybody’s going nowhere.

I pull up at Reid’s address, having made it in one piece, and admire the surprising beauty of the tree-lined streets. The paths are cobbled and the trees are in full bloom, the bright pink of the cherry blossoms standing out against the pastel shades of the multi-coloured terraced houses. It’s so pretty. And not at all where I would have imagined my brother to live.

He’s just never been a house-proud type of guy. He doesn’t really care whether he lives on an avenue or opposite a crack den - which he did do, once - so long as there’s a local curry house and somewhere he can buy beer. He has simple tastes, my brother. So, it’s a welcome surprise to discover that he now lives in an egg-shell painted building above an artisan florist.

And it’s anevenbigger surprise that he can even afford to live here, since the apartments in this neighbourhood cost over a million pounds. Not that he doesn’t do well as an investment banker, but I didn’t think he didthiswell.

By the time I make it into the apartment, I’m exhausted and hungry and in dire need of a shower. But it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting one anytime soon, because Reid’s left the place exactly how I expected him to. There’s empty pizza boxes strewn across the coffee table in the living area, empty lager cans stacked up by the door and there’s an overwhelming smell of damp that assaults me as soon as I step inside, despite the floral fragrances floating up from the shop below.

He’s not a domestic guy.

And by not domestic, I mean that the man lives like a pig.

But the apartment is nice, if you can look beyond the mess. It’s not huge, but it’s big enough for just me and the reception rooms are open plan, so the whole space is filled with sunlight. The living area is sparsely furnished, with just a coffee table, television unit and a distressed leather sofa that looks like it has seen better days, but the kitchen is the stuff of interior design dreams, with glossy white cabinets and an enormous kitchen island that looks like it should be out of place in the humble sized flat, but somehow it works in the space. Not that I can properly appreciate it due to the mountain of clutter that Reid has discarded on top of it.

I’m so tired, but I can’t relax in a place that critically needs fumigating, so I spend an hour - or three - furiously cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. When I’m done and can actually see the floor, I strip off my clothes in the bedroom, lay out a fresh pair of pyjamas on the newly made bed and head for the shower.

CHAPTER TWO

Noah

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