SQUAREPUSHER

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: SQUAREPUSHER AT THE ROUNDHOUSE – 15/5/20 - CANCELLED

The thought of everything that I have to do exhausts me. Making things to eat, eating what I’ve made, washing up, cleaning, looking after the kids, arguing with wife, the thought of it all exhausts me. The thought of everything exhausts me. The thought of the lockdown continuing for another three weeks exhausts me. The thought of life returning to normal exhausts me. Thinking of things that exhaust me exhausts me.

I just feel low. I can’t muster anything. And of course wife notices. Wife notices everything. I never get a break from wife noticing everything. 

  “Are you OK?” she says.

  “Yes,” I say. “Why do you ask?”

  “You’re just so ... cold.”

  I make no reply. I can’t think of anything to say.

  “You’re just retreating further and further into yourself.”

  “I prefer to think of it as a voyage of exploration,” I say.

  “You’re such a dick,” says wife. “Just make more of an effort.” 

I take the kids out for a walk. We make it to the park, and just sort of stand there on the grass, not really knowing what to do with ourselves. I just want to sit down somewhere, preferably at home, and not really do anything. I wonder why I had agreed to take the kids out. 

  On the way home the kids stop to watch a middle-aged man with an Irish accent mowing his lawn. It’s one of the corner houses, with their low, well-maintained hedges. At first he plays up to the kids, making silly faces and that sort of stuff, but he can’t maintain it for long, and then he just carries on mowing the lawn as if we aren’t there. I just want to lie down on the pavement and close my eyes. 

Wife has just had a realisation. “What I’ve realised is,” she says, “that you, well, look, I’m keeping in touch with my family, your family, we’re having video calls almost every day, Rob, Andy, Magda, Claudia, Sam, I’m messaging them all pretty much every day, we’ve got group chats, and we post stuff every day, and you haven’t spoken to anyone.”

  “I sent a letter to nan,” I say.

  “OK, yeah, you sent a letter to your nan,” says wife, as if that doesn't count somehow.

  “And I’ve spoken to my dad.”

  “OK, yeah, fine, you have, a couple of times. But still.”

  “Oh yeah, definitely," I say. "I’m a total hermit. I’m a virtual recluse. I’m quite happy never speaking to anyone.”

  “Yeah,” says wife, “it’s interesting.”