Day 2 - Getting Serious

To be fair, we were working our way through the checklist in a sort of half-arsed way.  I was feeling completely satisfied with this, telling myself that it would probably be best if we just gradually eased ourselves into our new domestic routine.

By lunchtime, I had even managed to entice Cleo out of her room with a vegan sausage sandwich and the twins were happily throwing a ball around in the garden in the lovely sunshine, after a brief online dalliance with Carol Vorderman.  I took the opportunity to start on a spot of lunch for the carnivorous pair. No sooner had the tin opener bitten into the can of hotdog sausages however, than the chorus of "Mum ……. MUUUUUM!" started.   The bloody ball had gone over into next door's garden.
     "Climb over the fence but be careful!" were my instructions.  Sensible enough, I thought. Under the circumstances, I didn't want either of them knocking on Gordon and Margaret's front door as they usually did, having no reliable data regarding my neighbours' exact ages or conditions of health at my disposal.  Neither did I want them to proceed without caution and fall, as there is quite enough of a stretch on the emergency services and NHS as it stands. Responsible parenting; or so I thought!

       I have no idea where he had been lurking, or where he emerged from, as I was contentedly transferring hot dog sausages into a pan by then, but John came careering through the kitchen.  The cat practically flew to the top of the kitchen cabinets, fur standing on end, as he burst through the patio doors, bellowing "Get back!"

     My blood ran cold.

     I followed him into the garden with a sickening feeling growing in the pit of my stomach, dreading whatever sight lay ahead. Again, my Netflix back catalogue had provided me with an array of horrific images; a parade of unsuspecting characters who had come to a bad end, each more bloody than the next.
     Molly was standing on our side of the fence looking into next door's garden, agape, chin starting to wobble.  John was clinging onto our side of the fence, hysterically yelling, "MARCUUUUS!  STEP BACK MARCUUUS!"
     I hardly dared to follow their eyes.

     On the other side of the fence, Marcus, hugging his football, was frozen in horror, as was Gordon, crouched beside his rockery, pruning scissors in hand and ashen-faced.

    "Right!  Back away from Gordon now please Marcus," John said, gaining a little control now but in a shaky, breathless way, even more frightening than the yelling.

     "Sorry.  I ……. I just thought I'd pop out and tidy around the primroses," gabbled poor Gordon.

     "What the devil's going on?" asked Margaret, emerging from their kitchen, rubbing her hands on her flowery apron.

     "Nothing!" I called, trying to sound chirpy.  "The kids' ball went over again.  Sorry!"

     "Try not to touch anything as you climb back over," John told Marcus.

     "How am I supposed to climb without touching anything?"

     All eyes turned to John in a Go on, enlighten us on that one,  kind of way.

     He mumbled something incomprehensible before snapping, "Just get back over!"

     "Sorry both!" I called out, and as I gave Margaret an apologetic, little hand gesture and smile, my eyes inadvertently travelled past her, through the open back door and into the only corner of their kitchen that was visible to me. It was all I could do not to let out a gasp. Who'd have thought it of Margaret?

     "This is serious Daisy!" he said, once the kids were deposited in front of their devices.

     "I know it's fucking serious, thanks John! I do watch Boris's daily briefings, you know!"

     "Well I don't think you're taking it seriously enough!"

     "Look at me! Does it look like I'm not taking it seriously enough? I've got roots halfway down my head and I put fucking Coffeemate into my coffee this morning to conserve milk.  So please do NOT tell me that I'm not taking it seriously enough John.  Just because I'm not making a spectacle of myself in front of the neighbours and terrifying small kids half to death, does not mean ….."

     "They need to understand, Daisy!  They can't go anywhere near anyone from another household.  Marcus was in a potentially life-threatening situation!"

     "Life-threatening situation?  The only threat to Marcus's life were those gardening scissors that could have flown out of Gordon's hands when you started screaming! Bollocks to this! I need to check my work emails.  You can do the hotdogs.  My buns are already on the counter, waiting," I said, grabbing an open bottle of Pinot from the fridge before stomping out of the kitchen.

As if things weren't bad enough,  a glance at my emails, had me swigging with a pace that I hadn't intended.  Olivia wanted me to set up a video conference call for Friday!!!