HONEY HARPER

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: HONEY HARPER AT THE LEXINGTON, ISLINGTON – 1/4/20 - CANCELLED

Wife is telling her parents off because they keep going out for non-essential reasons. They are having a three-way video conference. Wife’s sister is also involved. 

  “You just don’t get it, do you?” says wife.

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” says wife’s father. “I’m washing my hands and staying two metres away from everyone.”

  “That’s not the point,” says wife. “You can still spread the virus, or catch it. It can live on surfaces for up to nine days.”

  “I don’t know why you can’t just stop going on about it,” says wife’s mother.

  “I’ll stop going on about it when you start behaving correctly,” says wife, “and following the government’s advice.”

  “Oh,” says wife’s father, “so I’ve got to do what the government tells me now, do I?”

  “Well, yeah,” says wife, “I think that’s generally how it works.”

  “Well, I’m not going to stop going out,” says wife’s father.

  “Will you at least let me get your newspaper delivered for you, so that’s at least one less thing to go out for?” says wife.

  “No, no, no,” says wife’s father, “I’m not having it delivered, they’ll get the wrong one or something like that.”

  “Yes,” says wife, “but is it really worth risking your life for?”

  “No, no, I’ve always gone out to get the paper and I’m not stopping now.”

  “Well, that will just mean more body bags then,” says wife’s sister, “because more people will die.”

  And the worst thing, I thought, about this whole situation, may well turn out to be the growth of video conferencing, which is propagating like a plague upon the land.

I open a cupboard and everything falls out: Tupperware, packets of crisps, breadsticks, sweets, cereal, bowls, cups, even some butter. A paper cup rolls on the floor. Daughter, naked for some reason, appears in the doorway and picks up one of the cups. She places it under her vagina. She is smiling gleefully. 

  “You’re not weeing are you?” I say. 

  She makes no reply, only continues smiling gleefully. 

  “You’re not, are you?” I say. She can’t be, I think. That would be too much. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. No. 

  She leaves the cup on the floor, and disappears. 

  Wife comes in from outside. She picks up the cup. It is full of a warm, yellow liquid. “What the fuck’s this?” she says.

  “It’s piss,” I say. 

  “That dirty cow.”

“I’m scared,” says wife, while I am brushing my teeth. “Are you not worried at all?”

  I think about it for a moment.

  “No,” I say, “I’m really not.”

  “Why not?” 

  “I guess I just don’t feel that we’re in any sort of personal danger.”

  “Wow, you must be, like, the only person in the world that’s not worried about this. You’re just in your own little world.”

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “Above it all.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would.”

  “OK, I’ll try to worry more.”

  “You don’t need to worry more. I just want you to feel more.”

  “OK, I’ll try to feel more worry.”

  “That’s not what I mean. You’re not listening.”

  “Fear, then. That’s an emotion. I’ll try to feel that.”

  “Oh, whatever.”

There are some days when it feels like the world is falling apart, and today is one such day.