NO DATES REQUIRED ......PART TWO

Thinking this an opportunity to impress her with my fake love of all living things, I started feeding the

seagulls. Thankfully, she had some wipes in her bag and in no time, she had wiped all the seagull droppings

off my head. She suggested the arcade and after changing two one-pound coins, she put a plastic drinks cup

half full of two pence pieces gently in my hand. Carmen won a small crappy plastic key ring that she hooked

on the zipper of my handbag. Afterward, we sat on the sea wall drinking two-take away teas that were so hot

you would require an asbestos throat to drink them. I felt so happy; if love at first sight were possible then

this was it for me. Carmen explained she was talking to two women online, me being one of them, going on

to say she had an instant spark with the other one, and they had become an item. They were even Facebook

official. It is well known you are not actually an official item until you have written it on to your Facebook

status. She went on to say it was out of politeness she came today and that she was having a lovely time. She

had thought it better to tell me all this face to face. She looked down at her watch, muttering that her

understanding partner who knew about today was collecting her in about ten minutes. ’You can feel angry,

Mary, it is okay. I do not mind if there is anything you want to say to me before I go.’ I did. I wanted to say I

had the most amazing day, and will you marry me, but instead, I just shook my head, as in a no answer. A car

pulled up, and Carmen drove away into the sunset with Rosemary from the pub.

A kerfuffle was going on next door. Even a police car parked outside. Better take a closer look, whatever

could have happened at Mrs. Fillets? Turned out, Froggy was sighted in town chasing a cyclist who had fallen

off their bicycle. Plenty of evidence turned out from a video that a shopper had taken. Which was already

racking up views on Facebook was receiving many shares and comments. Watching Mrs. Fillet holding

Froggy in a “you shall not take him to the dog pen” hold, I thought it best to put the kettle on. It was my first

time in Mrs. Fillet’s kitchen for a long time. The officer accepted my offer of a cup of tea, as did Mrs. Fillet. I

looked in two wall cupboards before I could find the tea bags. One of them contained several boxes of zip-

close sandwich bags which always made me smile. I had put some extra sugar in Mrs. Fillet’s tea, who quickly

corrected me for giving her the wrong cup. It was the last cup my Fergus had drunk from before he vanished

into thin air. You are a curse you really are! In the same breath as correcting me, she turned to the officer to

quiz him on his knowledge of the Bermuda triangle. Considering if it should be police searched for her

missing sons. The Police officer seemed over-familiar with Mrs. Fillet’s layout, I thought, as he started

upstairs to the loo without asking where it was. Mrs. Fillet jumped out of her chair with Froggy in her arms as

a crashing sound barged. It came from the parquet flooring at the foot of Mrs. Fillets stairs. ’Speak to me,

Victor,’ she yelled, still holding Froggy in one arm and shaking the officer with the other. ’Do not just stand

there,’ she shouted in my direction, ‘Fetch the frozen peas from the freezer.’ Well, the officer’s head was

enlarging, so I did as Mrs. Fillet asked. ’Wrap them in a tea towel, you silly mare. Do you want to give him an

ice burn?’ Victor, who turned out to be Mrs. Fillets second maternal cousin needed two weeks off work. The

good news was that the cyclist, on hearing of the ordeal, dropped all charges against Mrs. Fillet and Froggy,

saying that they had been through enough. In return, Mrs. Fillet invited him to tea one evening. Victor was

kind of handsome; His thin chiselled nose was within acceptable boundaries. It was due to the fact and the

only fact that he was related to Mrs. Fillet that stopped me from as much as even enquiring about his

recovery. It was better not to go down that road again. Anyway, Mrs. Fillet was adamant that I would not

marry into her family ever again. So, that was that. When outdoors with Fricx with the silent X, she always

pushed him behind her if she saw me coming, as if to shield him from any attraction I may have towards him.

I could assure Mrs. Fillet that there was no attraction there, whatsoever. Anyhow Fricx’s dwarfism had not

held him back in the female department, he was dating a model named Katy, who was six feet two inches tall.

Mrs. Fillet made it absolutely clear to everyone it was a very respectable modelling career and none of that

top-shelf sort of thing. She also managed to omit that Katy’s modelling career consisted of sitting in a

department store that advertised anti- sickness wrist flick bands. So, in fact, her wrist were the only modelling

part of her body. Mrs. Fillet was taking no chances and was on a mission to match me up with anyone

not men that she knew, Erik, who worked on the local recycling lorry. The table was set for three; Mrs. Fillet,

Erik and me. I have no idea where Mr. Fillet was. I knew very little of Mr. Fillet, except that he played darts

badly and that Mrs. Fillet often claimed he was in his shed whittling, so I assumed his hobby was carpentry. In

her quest to break the ice and find out our similarities, Mrs. Fillet suggested on the count of three both Erik

and myself say out loud a destination we want to visit. My goodness, I thought she was making a note of our

bucket lists. One, two, three. I blurted out Scotland, not that I aspired to visit Scotland, but it was the first

place that burst into my head. Well in fact I would not mind going to Scotland I have heard it is beautiful, but

not with Mrs. Fillet or Erik. Erik said rather proudly, Greenland, ‘To see the Northern Lights.’ It sounded like

a place he must have researched in-depth, as he seemed to know a lot about it. Looking at Mrs. Fillet’s

expression of disapproval, I wondered should I quickly change mine to Greenland? But just in time, Mrs.

Fillet’s musical doorbell saved the moment. It rang twice before she got there, giving us two renditions of

God Save the Queen. ’Oh hello, Victor, I was not expecting you this evening. Come in. I will set another

place at the table.’ Our starters were a choice of fish Pate or one of Mrs. Fillet’s signature dishes, fish a L’

Orange. Searching mid-air for conversation starters, I said to Victor, ’on the count of three, say out loud a

destination that he would like to visit. One… Two… Three.’ ’Greenland! I have always wanted to see the

Northern Lights,’ echoed loudly in my ears. I wanted to hide under the table, but Mrs. Fillet was arriving with

our main dish, which consisted of fish skewers on a bed of wild rice. It smelt amazing. Victor and Erik

conversed all through the dessert of jam roly-poly and custard. They were still chatting when the coffee,

cheese and crackers arrived. Mrs. Fillet really was a good cook, and I had a lovely evening that otherwise

would only have been another lonely one. It is comfortable to focus on our differences in life when the truth

is Mrs. Fillet and myself have more in common than she would ever acknowledge. We both had no Siblings;

we both lived in our childhood property left to us upon our parents’ death. Although I always thought of and

treated Mrs. Fillet as my elder, we were not that dissimilar in age. It was her choice of clothes and hairstyle

related to her. Hence my first ever invite to tea at Mrs. Fillet’s house was along with one of the only single

that made her look older than she is. I would love to give her a modern makeover, get rid of those dreadful

pleated skirts and M&S blouses. ‘Oh Apfelsaft, I am like Mrs. Fillet!’ Her cuisine was a great success for

Victor and Erik. Exactly three months to the day of that meal, Victor and Erik moved in to live together.

They made a lovely couple, I hoped they both liked the 100% Egyptian cotton throw I gave them at their

housewarming party. Mrs. Fillet also in attendance had brought with her a potted Cactus. A prickly gift from a

prickly woman. Her demeanour was frosty. I think she had attended to take note of who else in the village

would also turn up. Mrs. Fillet had no issue with Victor and Erik’s sexual orientation. Was just put out that

her evening meal had not gone according to plan. I guess you may have noticed by now she is a bit of a

control freak. The cactus well represented her demeanour A few months later, when Victor and Erik

announced their wedding date, Mrs. Fillet insisted on me escorting her into town in pursuit of a new hat. It

was to become the first of many shopping trips with Mrs. Fillet, and I was fact enjoying the experience. She

was in and out from behind the changing room curtain with hats more suitable for ladies day at Ascot. The

three she liked best sat on three mannequin heads. Out of the twelve she tried on; I would have picked the

same three that she ended up selecting. Oh my, I really am spiralling into Mrs. Fillet. A small smile adorned

my face watching her when the children’s storybook Mrs. Honey’s hat nipped into my head. Situating

numerous hats on her head, she reminded me of Miriam Margolyes, the actress. Although I very much doubt

Miriam would wear such explosions of material on her head. Victor and Erik had a beautiful wedding,

although I was not keen on the three bridesmaids in neon yellow dresses. As for me, I remain on the shelf.

After five failed challenges, I ultimately pass my driving test. Mrs. Fillet and I frequently ventured into town

together. I have started thinking of her as a friend; I hope she thinks that of me also. When unwell, we have

tended to each other, and I have even been to tea at Mrs. Fillet’s without her inviting a suitor. The summer

was long and beautiful, and Mrs. Fillet, a keen gardener, pointed at plants in her garden and informed me the

Latin name for each one. In truth, I had no appeal for plants or Latin. I considered cramming my head with

information that I would never need and have no interest in as a waste of brain space. And I am not sure if I

am proud or annoyed that I have remembered the Latin for Mrs. Fillet’s Rose Apple tree, Eugenia Jambosa. I

was getting to comprehend Mrs. Fillet, who had nursed her sick parents for the years steering up to their

deaths and married a man who it would not be wrong to describe as wishy-washy. Mr. Fillet being easy-going

to the point of falling backwards, had always left decision-making up to Mrs. Fillet, including the choice to

adopt after she was told she could not bear children of her own. So, I appreciate why she takes charge of

situations. It is because she has always had to. Mrs. Fillet hammering on my door and calling through my

letterbox was the cause I cut my lay in that day fleeting and rushed to answer. ‘There is a pandemic,’ she said,

‘I will put the kettle on, get dressed and we will watch the news at my house.’ Rushing back towards her door,

she shouted, ‘and hurry up about it.’ I did as I was bid and was sat on a chair in Mrs. Fillet’s living room

within ten minutes. She passed me a cup and saucer with the mumbled comment, ’Well, you could have

brushed your hair before going outside.’ The situation was not as urgent as Mrs. Fillet had interpreted it.

Apparently, there was a virus in a market on the other side of the world with a distinct possibility of

spreading. It had been leaked that some deaths had occurred, and the market had been burnt to the ground.

That seemed to me like it has been dealt with. The newscaster, upon announcing it all turned to the day’s

sport and weather. ‘Did you hear that said,’ Mrs. Fillet ‘it is spreading,’ as she got her to-do list out of her

handbag and wrote “extra disinfectant” on it with her new Parker pen. ‘We must keep an eye on the news,’

she said, and on our way into town, she changed my radio music station to the News channel. While

commenting I should not be jiggling to music while driving. As I drove, I was getting worried about her sanity

as she ranted on about the Plague, Bird flu and Sars while writing even more cleaning products to her list. Her

new Parker that was a thank you for the dinner gift from doctor Teeth had fallen under her seat. I was

distracted from driving with her seat belt off and her arm under my driving seat to the point I had to stop the

car to let her find the damn thing. With order restored, we continued on our shopping journey and returned

home with plentiful supplies. It felt like what being in the army must feel like. I was ordered to be in Mrs.

Fillet’s home each day to watch a news broadcast, which really was not that scary. To be honest, I was not

really heeding to it. I did catch the bit about the fact it had now spread to the neighbouring country of its

origin, but still, it was the other side of the world. Mrs. Fillet, who was skilled at organizing, passed me an

apron and in a controlling voice said, ‘We will sterilize my house from top to bottom and then clean yours.’

‘What, who is this we? What is this top to bottom business?’ I had not even brushed my hair yet. Mrs. Fillet,

with her portable radio in hand tuned into the news channel of course, marched me up her stairs, and hence

the deep cleaning began. I was exhausted, pushing and pulling beds and cupboards in and out. They looked

clean and organized enough before we had started this monumental task. I really did feel like I was in the

army and surveyed every order. I would have saluted but was not sure how to do one correctly and could not

curtsey, as I was not wearing a dress. In fact, I had an old pair of green joggers on top of my pyjama’s

bottoms; worn in haste to get to Mrs. Fillet’s on time that day. I was so relieved to hear the words; ’We will

painstakingly clean your house after the news tomorrow, now go home, as I need a bath.’ Bath? No, not for

me. I took off my joggers and got directly into my bed. The following day Just as Mrs. Fillet had prescribed,

straight after the news, the top to bottom onslaught of my house commenced. Well immediately after she

sniffed me saying you smell sweaty! Did you bath last night? I am stunned how many refuse sacks were

needed. ‘You really must keep your house cleaner while this pandemic is around,’ snarled Mrs. Fillet. Oh yes,’

I pondered sarcastically, ‘there is a virus thousands of miles away, so I must start cleaning, grrrrr Apfelsaft.’

Gasping for a tea break, we went to Mrs. Fillet’s, as she did not reason my chipped mugs examined

hygienically enough for coffee consumption. ‘Have you changed to a diverse brand of teabags?’ I enquired

after taking one sip from my cup with a matching saucer. ‘Oh yes,’ said Mrs. Fillet, ’I am using caffeine-free

bags to which I add herbal Kava & Kava, which contains comforting properties, herbal Holy Basil to help about.

We need to go in the garden and find a frog.’ ‘Sorry?’ I questioned, ‘did I hear you correctly?’ ‘Yes,’

said Mrs. Fillet. ’Mr. Fillet has acquired a wart, and surgery may not be safe in these times; I do not want him

catching germs. We will cure the wart by an old-fashioned trusted remedy handed down from generation to

generation. I believe there is a family of frogs living under the shed. Both Mr. Fillet and I have large bones, so

we cannot fit. Off you go, pop yourself under and pass out a frog.’ I had no intentions of apprehending a

frog, but I did obediently crawl under Mr. Fillet’s shed with a torch and emerged saying I could not find any.

Mrs. Fillet staring at me disapprovingly and said that we would try again later when it is dark. By we she

meant me, it was horrible slithering under her shed, why does she not poke about under with a stick? Why

me, but it was useless disagreeing with her. The evening news left a sombre atmosphere in Mrs. Fillet’s front

room as the newscaster announced the pandemic had now transferred itself into Europe. Mrs. Fillet either

forgot or disregarded Frog stalking and rummaged through her material box. ‘I will make us all face masks.’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ I thought, ‘please do not make me wear a balaclava.’ The thought of Mrs. Fillet and me

going into town looking like bank robbers gave me visions of us besieged by a swat team. If we soak them

overnight in whiskey, they will be good and sterile. The next morning by post came a plus-one invite to

Carmen and Rosemary’s baby shower. They had been consented to adopt a little girl aged eight years whose

parents had so sorrowfully perished in a house fire. I asked Mrs. Fillet to be my plus one, as I had no one else

to ask. Mrs. Fillet consented, saying, ’I have great admiration for those who give a child a home, but we

should not hug them during a pandemic and just to be safe wear a face mask. Both Carmen and Rosemary

we’re glowing with smiles as they showed us a photograph of this beautiful little Angel they were adopting.

They had decorated what was going to be her bedroom fit for a princess in pink and cream. I was bursting

with joy for them and hugged them on instinct. I now fashion a bruised ankle from the kick Mrs. Fillet gave

me, plus a horrible taste in my mouth after having my face sprayed with hand sanitizer on the way home.

Gosh it was robust; no virus was coming near my face for a while, it is antiseptic blurted Mrs. Fillet, but I

fight infection, and one cap full of whisky. Now drink up,’ she said, ’it is good for you, and we cannot sit

added a cap of whiskey to it just to be certain. Please give advanced warning before the next spray I replied, at

least giving me time to close my mouth before the scatter of spray mists my face. She said we should both put

everything we were wearing in Carmen & Rosemary’s home straight onto a boil wash. If she thought my

leather shoes and matching handbag were being spun around for twenty minutes at sixty degrees, then I was

sure, she was losing the plot. That evening, the news that Mrs. Fillet had dreaded, the first case of the

pandemic had violated Britain.

Both Mrs. Fillet and I became fixated on watching the news. Daily, the newscaster reported on deaths from

both around the world and at home, but life appeared so normal, and everyone was living as they had always

done. The reported deaths increased by number daily, yet life seemed so customary. Well, with the exception

of Mrs. Fillet and myself, who went out less and cleaned more. This Virus was like an invisible tornado. It

swept throughout the world without any compassion. So many loved ones lost, and a heavy hurt that would

last a lifetime sat in the homes of far too many. The Government announced there would be a countrywide

lockdown. Everyone in the country was to stay home, and only essential shops would be permitted to remain

open. Mrs. Fillet was out of her chair within a heartbeat. ‘We have only got a couple of days’ notice,’ she said,

‘You will have to come into town with me, in case I require two trolleys.’ But I did not require any food

stocks. ‘Good,’ said Mrs. Fillet. ‘You can push my second trolley.’ In fact, I pushed one and pulled another, as

Mrs. Fillet required three shopping trolleys full to the brim with toilet rolls, pasta, long-life milk, tin soup and

lots of other long-lasting products. My command was to push & pull trolleys while checking on use by dates.

On the way home, we stopped at the cemetery. Mrs. Fillet needed to tell the empty graves of her six sons that

she cannot visit them for a while. Both with tears running down our faces, we laid flowers, then from her

handbag emerged a bottle of whisky. Trying to control her shaky voice, she said, ‘I always leave them a tot.’

She had left more than a tot, more like half a bottle. I hoped no one there had a naked flame, as the residents

laying here in rest would have all been cremated. ’Tomorrow is the last day before lockdown, so can you

make yourself available in case I have forgotten something?’ Mrs. Fillet read the lockdown rules by each

detailed element and notified me that she would graciously be my support bubble, as I had no friends or

family. ‘We do not want you going insane now, do we?’ she said. On our way back into town the following

day, we were going to buy a large bag full of herbal remedies. ‘All set,’ she said in a tone that suggested she

was almost looking forward to it. No Thursday night meal for Doctor Teeth, as on Thursday nights, along

with the entire nation, we stood outside our homes and clapped loudly for all those classed as key workers. I

had no art materials and unable to shop for any using what I could find I wrote the word rainbow in sizeable

letters and taped it on my window as everyone was displaying rainbows in their windows in support of the

NHS. ‘Take that down,’ ordered Mrs. Fillet. I explained to her that I did not have any coloured pens, and in

no time at all, like a child at playschool, I was sat at Mrs. Fillets table colouring a rainbow. I Was rewarded

with a cup of herbal tea an accompanying gingerbread biscuit balanced beside it on the saucer. Mrs. Fillet had

heard lots on the news about the connection between exercise and mental health. I suggested Brazilian Jiu-

Jitsu, saying once we had learnt to master a move called the side mount, we would be able to keep an

opponent in a position where they could not escape, with that in mind was keen to try it on Mrs. Fillet. I went

on to say I know how disturbed Mrs Fillet was sensing about the public losing control and rioting, so a

martial art could be just the thing. Mrs. Fillet was not keen on a Brazilian activity, saying she would rather opt

for something where she did not need to shave. Flicking through the Internet together, we came across a man

preaching about the importance of God during such extraordinary times. Mrs. Fillet listened and nodded in

agreement when he said we must help those who have turned to online gambling sites. But lost interest when

he said, ‘and the evils of alcohol…’ as she was not removing her cut glass decanter with silver engraving given

to her by her aunt on her wedding day. Although the engraving read “Happy 25th Wedding Anniversary to

Annie & Gerald” who were her great Aunt & Uncle, Mrs. Fillet treasured it, and we received one cap full of

its contents in our herbal tea during an emergency. From what I could make out it had been returned to the

Fillet family after a family dispute with Aunt Annie & Uncle Gerald. Not giving up, we continued searching

online for activities. The most popular were walking, running, skydiving and mountain climbing. Then to Mrs.

Fillet’s approval, we chanced upon a Let’s Get Arty site. ’Excuse me? Did you not see my rainbow? Art is not

my strong suit.’ Well, you will be pleased with the practice Mrs. Filled replied also ‘Too late.’ She had already

ordered paper and a selection of water-coloured paints online with express delivery. Before we had a chance

to discuss our first art project, the phone rang. I could tell by Mrs. Fillet’s answers it was bad news, so I

quickly put the kettle on. It was Victor. His partner Erik had now been missing for forty-eight hours, and a

missing person enquiry had been opened by the police. ‘How dreadful,’ expressed Mrs. Fillet, sipping her tea.

I never trusted that Erik,’ she said. ‘I bet he has strayed my poor Victor.’ If indeed that was true and Mrs.

Fillet had never trusted Erik it begs the question, why was he invited to an evening meal as my prospect? But

now is not the time to ask instead, I tried referring back to the Let’s Get Arty page, trying to take her mind

off it. As it being lockdown there’s no way of visiting Victor. ‘Not now,’ she snapped. ‘I feel all unsettled,’ and

with that, she telephoned the boarding school to check on the triplets. Fergus, Finley & Fred, who were

continuing at their boarding school during the lockdown; well, in fact, most of the time. Mrs. Fillet insisted

they must get a good education, ‘No more fisherman sons for her.’ Also, in past fleeting comments Mrs. Fillet

had mentioned her worries for their future having 50% of my DNA! Leaving a day off school out of the

question. Things did not get any pleasanter for Mrs. Fillet only days later when Mr. Fillet, who became

suddenly unwell and tested positive for the Virus, was admitted to hospital. It was the first time that Mrs.

Fillet looked somehow small, weak & vulnerable. Mr. Fillet deteriorated and was moved into intensive care,

where she was not permitted to visit him. I just could not imagine what she was going through and felt so

feeble. ‘How could he have caught it?’ she asked. ‘I have been so clean and vigilant.’ I sat ineffective and

silent, as I did not know the answer. I suggested I stay at her house overnight. She declined, saying she

needed said, ’He was no one to the world, but he is all the reasons I am me; I do not know what I will do without

him.’ As I left that evening, I thought how perfect it would be to be a magician who pulls a magic rabbit out

of a hat and makes the world smile again. ’Goodnight, Mrs. Fillet. If you need me during the night, please

phone me. I am only next door.’ ‘Goodnight. Oh, and Mary, please do call me Francis,’ she said. I do not

think either of us slept that night, and for me, I could not wait till morning to go next door and check on

Francis. Her sadness saturated the room. I could smell and taste it. ’He is going to be cremated with no one

attending. The funeral directors would be bringing me his ashes afterwards,’ she said numbly. ’Oh Francis, I

am so very sorry. I hate this, Virus. I wish we could see it, confront it, fight it & kill it.’ Francis, who was too

broken to confront or kill anything, said that she had not told the triplets yet. The council would not grant her

the permission to do so face to face during lockdown. She could not bring herself to convey the news to

them over the telephone. I felt like I was choking as both anxiety & hatred swallowed me. I sat down on the

floor beside the armchair that Francis was sitting on and said, ’we will do it together. With the Virus spreading

so far and wide, it was decided the triplets would linger safe at the boarding school. The headmaster decided

that it was best for the boys that they were informed the news of their father in person rather than by phone.

Once the news of their father was told to them by the deputy head then appropriate counselling would be

provided. This option ripped at the heart & soul of Mrs Fillet the thoughts of not being with them tormented

her. What conceivable words could comfort her? The television quietly on in the background to give the

emptiness a voice. We avoided the news and the virus updates, as Francis was not able to cope with the daily

death numbers, they were broadcasting. She detested the fact that her husband was just another statistic; just

one amongst thousands of numbers. She asked, ’what do you think his number is, 31,465? Do you think there

will be memorials in every town one day, giving them all names instead of numbers?’ I wonder what artist the

council would commission to design a virus statue? ’Come on, Francis, try not to think like that, I said and lay

my hand on her arm. ‘We will get through this together.’ A damn advert turned out to be a news flash that a

to be alone, and it was in that loneliness she received the telephone call that Mr Fillet had passed away. She

body had been found and identified by dental records as Erik Samuel Morgan. The police arrived to ask

Francis for a statement as Victor, a police officer himself, was questioned by his peers and gave Francis as his

alibi. Francis, who kept a well-documented diary, said she could soon verify this. Looking at the date, Francis

could find no written account of Victor visiting her on that day. Knowing what an honest young man, Victor

was and thinking, although out of character, that the recent events may have caused a lapse in her accuracy,

she turned to the officers, saying that yes, Victor had visited her. Days later, Victor was found dead in the flat

he had shared with Erik, along with the evidence that he had indeed strangled Erik, disfigured his face and

left his body in a field, to be later found by a dog walker, which is one of the permitted exercise’s during

lockdown. Francis was given a warning by the police for telling them lies and was requested to change her

statement. I remembered back to a few months ago when Francis had put me in her support bubble. Now

Francis needed my bubble of support more than ever. My bubble that was just not bubbling. I could not find

the right words to help. Upstairs, besides Francis’s loo door, there was a mirror suspended on the landing

wall. I stared into it and said aloud. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall who is the crappiest help of all.’ I already knew

it was I. Francis had never in her heart mourned her missing sons. Although before lockdown, she visited the

cemetery regularly, it was not to think of them dead but to inquire to them where they were and when they

would be home again. In her heart, she would never, without the proof of their bodies, give up hope. Still

looking in the mirror, I knew I really did have to grow up and be the adult Francis had always been. I

desperately hoped that her missing boys would come laughing and chatting together up her garden path and

under her wings once more. I knew that was impossible they had all been missing for so long. ’Everything

okay up there?’ Mrs Fillet asked. ‘Yes, fine, thank you, Francis. Just coming.’ Leaving for home that evening, I

so wanted to hug her, while keeping my social distance but my arms just weren’t long enough; Mrs Fillet was

very strict about how close to each other we got. I looked at her and said, ’Good night, Francis, try to get

some sleep and, Francis, you can do this, you know. You are so much stronger than you are feeling at the

moment.’ ’Night Mary. Oh Mary, I thought we might take Froggy out for a walk tomorrow, you know, get a

bit of fresh air.’ ‘Great idea,’ I said with a smile. ‘I am looking forward to that. Night.’ Walking Froggy, who

pulled at the lead in his bid to chase a cyclist, was refreshing. I think we both felt better for it. After the walk,

passing me a cup of herbal tea on a saucer, Francis toasted, ’Here’s to picking up all the pieces, I’ll drink to

that.’ Having done us both good the following day, we set out on another walk with Froggy. As we toed along

the country path near our home’s, I snapped off bits of hedge to fiddle with between my fingers as we walked

in silence. Well, Francis and I did; Froggy was more vocal. You know those slow country lane walks where

you twiddle with hedgerows and slide a piece of dried grass between your teeth. Francis, being all

philosophical, said, ’hasn’t our world altered in a few short months? It feels much smaller, if only we could go

back. We stay two metres apart from other humans, all wearing facemasks. We cannot check on our friends

or neighbours, and we shop online.’ I did not reply but thought to myself we may have to become

accustomed to this as this could well be our future. It seemed like months had passed since we laughed, and

in truth, it was. With that thought in mind, a lady out walking her red Labrador dog had relieved herself

behind a large overgrown bush. She appeared from behind it with her cotton floral skirt tucked in her

knickers, not as fully tucked in as Mrs Fillets had once been. Francis looked at me, and we smiled at each

other. Francis had offered to hold her lead while the lady adjusted her garments, but Froggy was having none

of it. So, we thought it more practical to walk on to interrupt Froggy bouncing like a spring lamb and just

hindering the process. Looking over my shoulder, I could see that the lady was orderly once more and

continuing on her with her dog walk. We met up several times out walking, not by arrangement, just because

we all used the same area for exercise. While chatting with her at a social distance, we found out her name was

Helena and that she was a live-in care assistant at a council- run care home close by. On our many

encounters, we spoke of nature, our dogs and the weather, always avoiding the word pandemic, as neither

could bear to know how many of the residents either had contracted it or had passed away from it. Francis

and I had been avoiding watching the news for a while too, and were pleasantly surprised when Helena

informed us, we were journeying towards the end of lockdown as things started improving. After receiving

such positive news, Francis and I walked bouncier on our way home. Like two great minds, we both said,

‘What good news,’ simultaneously. Francis, who often referred to old customs and superstitions, said that

simultaneously saying the same words mean that one of us would receive a letter. I thought to myself,

probably a bill. When I had an itch on the palm of my hand a few minutes later, she told me money was

coming my way. I wish it would hurry up. ‘Mary, I think today has been a better day.’ ’Me too, Francis. See

you tomorrow.’

Each day, as fewer deaths were reported, the lockdown came to an end. It did not come with relief of any

kind as a dark cloud hung over our world, countries, homes, and families. The end of lockdown did not mean

the end of this Virus, and many restrictions remained in place. Helena knocked on Francis’s door, and the

three of us had a cup of tea in the front garden. Helena, who had volunteered to live almost 200 miles away

from her husband and three children, was returning home and wanted to say goodbye before she left that

afternoon. We exchanged contact details like you do, saying we would stay in touch. Francis was not the type

of person to give lip service only to any agreement and indeed contacted Helena. It was Robert, Helena’s

husband who replied. He had been on furlough so therefore was able to look after their three children while

Helena answered the call to wherever help was needed, he told Francis. Helena tested positive for the Virus

shortly after returning home. She was in hospital and recovering well. She would be able to return home soon.

Francis, with an overwhelming need to do something, posted a shopping voucher in a ‘Thinking of You’ card,

ending her message with ‘Please get a treat for your three children. Love, Francis.’ Much to her joy, she

received a thank you card back which read in scribbly hand Tink you for teats lovees David aged six years

Donna aged four years and Della aged two years. With some beautiful hand-drawn pictures of which

we ornaments in order to give it pride of place, which is exactly where it belonged. ’Francis, can I speak with you,

please?’ I requested, with a cup of tea on a saucer, of course. I confided in Francis that the money left to me

by my parents was almost gone, and I needed to find work. I did not want to spend too much of the

insurance money, as if my six husbands reappeared; I may have to pay it back. I admitted how scared I was

feeling about obtaining work during this pandemic and the absolute admiration I had for the key workers

everywhere. I knew she would say no, so I blurted out really quick without stopping for breath, ’You are

looking for a gardener, you could show me what to do just until the virus is more under control I could work

for you, I do not expect a big wage just enough to get by!’ I had to pause to catch my breath as I had got all

that out faster than a tongue twister. And then I said, ’Never mind, I knew it was a silly idea. I know nothing

about plants.’ ‘On the contrary,’ answered Francis, ’It is never too late to learn a new skill. I will employ you

to do my garden. I will teach you what you need to know. On your days off, you will have the knowledge to

work on the jungle next door, which you wrongly describe as a nature garden.’ With the triplet’s home from

boarding school, our first job in the garden was to hang a plaque that Francis had ordered and designed

online onto the garden wall. We must have watered the plants beneath it with tears. Francis and I cuddled the

sobbing triplets together, and Francis told them she was placing a bench under the plaque. The boys would

always be able to sit and talk to their dad whenever they wanted. That evening, Francis cooked the boys a

treat of fish & chips, followed by a huge bowl of ice cream. Fergus and Frank both resembled the retired bus

driver Colin, but Finley looked more like me. Unlike the other two, he had my brown hair and eyes. Francis is

a much better mum than I could ever be, I observed, and the boys were getting a good education under her.

She was giving them a chance in life. We had a lovely few days with them, after which it was gloomy to see

them go. I informed Francis that while tidying behind the shed, I could assure her she did not have frogs but

a rat’s nest for sure. Wow, for a moment I could see the old Mrs. Fillet when she rather loudly yelled, ’that is

your fault! They come over from your jungle!’ Apologetically, I said, ’Francis, I am doing my best in the

assumed was of Mummy, Daddy & the children. Francis with the card still in her hand was rearranging

garden. Instead of shouting at me, could you please tell me how to get rid of them?’ Acknowledging I

required her advice, she calmed down. I was extremely grateful that she did not expect me to kill rats and got

a man to do it. Over a cup of tea after whatever he did to the rats was done, he said he was looking for work,

if we knew of any. Francis said she could offer some part-time gardening work, which involved keeping her

garden tidy, plus teaching me how to get green-fingered. Shaking my hand, the new gardener said, ’I am

Trevor; I look forward to working with you, and do not look so worried I will teach you the Latin names of

every plant in this garden. I thought to myself, ‘Great, my life is now complete.’ People were still dying of the

Virus, but the news reassured the nation as long as we followed the rules, things would be improving, as they

had been. The fear of catching it still hung constantly in our minds, and it was difficult to sympathize with the

protest groups who considered the Virus a conspiracy. ‘It was no conspiracy. My husband died,’ said Francis.

’It is a dark & dismal hole that holds me every day in limbo. I feel so guilty for living, for eating, for drinking,

even for sleeping. I struggle with the knowledge I should have done more to keep him safe.’ Come on

Francis, Froggy has not had a walk for days, let’s take him out,’ which distracted her. The following day the

gardener arrived on time, and to Francis’s delight, Trevor did indeed know Latin for every plant in her

garden. Her Lilac Bush in Latin was Syringa Vulgaris, which is a flowering plant of the olive family, native to

the Balkan Peninsula where it grows on Rocky hills and her Nasturtium is Tropaeolum. I was making good

progress. Francis beamed with delight while setting the patio table with a teapot and a plate of salmon &

cucumber sandwiches and remarked how nice her garden was looking. Trevor only has been gardening for

Francis a few weeks explained he might have to leave this job even though he enjoyed coming. He was in

lodgings and the family he lodged with was selling up, so he had to find somewhere to live. He continued on

to tell us that after his wife passed away; he lost his reasoning and turned to small investments in hopes of

making his fortune and moving abroad. ‘Looking back,’ he said, ’with no knowledge of such things, I should

not have dabbled. Being so stupid, I lost everything. We had no children, and living devoid of Elaine seems

pointless.’ The mood had changed to sympathy as we nibbled on our sandwiches. Francis said in a delicate

voice, ’I do hope you find somewhere close by, as I will miss you. If I had a lodger, I would have a bit of

money coming in, and Francis would still have Trevor around talking Latin. Lacking thinking it through, I

asked him to move into mine as I was looking for a lodger. ’That is not a terrible idea, Mary, retorted Mrs

Fillet continuing with we will need to clean the room.’ I did not say out loud merely thought to myself “we

disinfected that room how can it need cleaning” Only being next door, Francis & Trevor spent hours

together deliberating on plant species and bouncing their thoughts on some of the television gardeners to &

fro. They were both in agreement that they liked the expertise of Alan Titchmarsh. ’He is on tomorrow at 8

p.m. Trevor, would you like to come to tea? We can watch it together. I am sure Mary would enjoy some

alone time.’ The following day, Francis asked me if I would like to become the cleaner and leave the garden to

Trevor. I said I would think about it and left. I needed to find a job, but I was terrified as the deaths had

started to rise once more and there was talk of another lockdown. I had not been lackadaisical with my

parent’s money, which had not left much; just a few thousand, and I had worked as a receptionist for a solar

panel company until I got made redundant. What was I going to do? I turned down my friend’s offer to be

her charlady and turned to a company that buys your house and lets you live in it until you die, and then it

becomes theirs. Although I was desperate, after some thought I did not sign up for it. Instead, with a heart

brimming with sadness, I sold some of my mother’s jewellery. ‘If you can hear me, mum, I am so sorry,’ I said

aloud. I hated the thought of someone else wearing the jewellery my mum was once so proud of owning. I

had not seen Francis in a while, and she had made no effort to contact me. I felt very isolated and alone. My

lodger Trevor was no trouble. I never saw him; he was up before me and always back either late or not at all.

When I did eventually get to see Francis, it was over the back garden fence. She had called over, ’Everything

okay, Mary?’ I shouted back, ’Brilliant! I am farting rainbows!” and went back inside. Obviously, I was not

okay, the truth being, I was lonely, hurt and jealous that Trevor had pilfered my friend. I know it sounds

childish; sounds like I am behaving like a kid in a playground when I should be happy for Francis, who has

grieved so much. A few weeks passed, and Francis knocked on my door asking to speak to Trevor, but

neither him nor his belongings were anywhere to be seen. Through her tears, she wailed that some money was

missing and he must have taken it and deserted. We checked thoroughly through her home. It developed that

apart from some money, nothing else was stolen. We also checked my house, where it seemed all, I was

missing was my car. Francis said it was not a huge amount of money, just a few hundred pounds, so it was

best not to engage the police. I replied. ‘Bollocks, I want my car back, the dirty thieving shit.’ To pacify

Francis and much against my better judgment, I reported my car stolen without saying that I knew who had

stolen it. After being lectured about how irresponsible I was to leave my keys in my car – which of course I

had not, I had left them in a badly-banana shaped pottery dish that Sarah Jane had made during her pottery

phase. I was informed my car had already been impounded and found illegally parked and out of fuel, with

the driver’s door wide open. The pandemic again was out of control and another lockdown was announced.

This time, Francis was unable to bulk buy, as I had no car. The Government had lost influence both of the

Virus and the public, scientists announced that the virus had the biology to live on most substances, plastic,

wood, tins, letters, clothing, well, just about everything. Invisible, it lay on door handles, letters and

supermarket trollies, waiting for anyone to touch and contract it. It mutated, and several new and more deadly

variants of it were being discovered and transmitted. Francis and I became a bubble once more, social

distancing. A neighbour from a social distance told us Trevor had passed away. He had taken a live-in

gardening job with the widow Mrs. Keller, who found him, deceased in her shed having had a heart attack.

This came as a shock to Francis, so we cut short our walk and returned home. ’Come on Francis, let’s get out

that painting stuff you purchased and create a masterpiece.’ Francis surprised me with how good she was at

art. She had painted a vase of flowers that actually resembled a vase of flowers. I painted a cat that did not

resemble any living creature. Art was not as painful as I thought it might be, and laughing at my weird cat

broke the ice. ‘Do you want to be my gardener again?’ ‘Yes, I do, but do I have to learn Latin?’ ’No, I will let

you off of that one.’ Okay, put that in a contract, and we have a deal.’ We both laughed. Watching the news

had become painful. Every day the death toll rose, and hospitals struggled to cope. Without enough

beds our bit by staying home, it certainly did not feel like it. Personally, I had no skills to offer, having worked all

my life in the office and secretarial sector. However, I could now add gardening to my curriculum vitae. We

we’re walking Froggy on a dissimilar route trying to keep our days appealing, taking us, past Mrs. Keller’s

house was certainly interesting; there she was in her front garden. ’We are sorry to hear about your loss, Mrs.

Keller and would like to enquire if he had left any money here as he stole three hundred pounds when in my

employment,’ snarled Francis. ’I think there may have been some money. You will have to ask the police; they

retrieved all articles from his room, which I assume they will return to his wife and children.’ ’Wife and

children?’ Francis shouted. I grabbed Froggy’s lead quickly from her hand, as I did not know what reaction

was to follow. Thankfully nothing, as Mrs. Keller walking towards her door, which she forcefully slammed

shut, uttering, ‘I know about your sort.’ Francis looked at me. ’Nothing inappropriate went on, you know! I

have no idea where he was when he did not sleep in his room. I just assumed he was at yours.’ And another

thing once the pandemic is over that Mrs Keller will never get an invite to my house. ’I did enjoy his

camaraderie. He was very personable,’ I flirted a little, without the intention of anything erotic, more so to

endure life. She replied, ‘With each horrendous day dawning, I feel remorseful for how I regarded you, Mary.’

‘Come on, Francis, let’s go home and have one of your herbal teas.’ Drinking our tea, I proposed an Internet

search to find us a new satisfying hobby. First, we watched some YouTube videos of puppies playing and

babies laughing; they were joyful to see. With that, full of inspiration, Francis said, ‘The recorder!’ surprised at

this suggestion exclaimed ‘What, you mean we record happy videos as a hobby?’ ’No, said Mrs Fillet I mean a

musical recorder. I was excellent at playing the recorder and played in the school choir.’ Two recorders were

on order in the blink of an eye, along with two music stands, plus two books, one for beginners, the other for

intermediate players. I could not think of what to say. I was speechless. Oh my, just oh my. I can say for

certain sweet music did not fill the room. Not from me and not from Mrs Fillet. How Francis earned a place

in her school choir was beyond comprehension. She said she was just a bit rusty, and in-between our practice

Doctors been expected to choose who lives and who does not. Although we were told that we were doing

sessions, said we should look up old school friends and see what they are doing now. I figured thinking of the

word school in her previous sentence school choir had given her this brain wave idea. Looking up friends

turned out to be an extremely short-lived venture. Out of the ten old school friends we viewed, one messaged

back, saying, ‘Are you still a snobby knickers.’ Seven never replied, and two had sadly, died of the Virus. ’Let

us not do this, Francis. I will help you bathe Froggy. He could do with one after rolling in fox’s poo during

our walk. Wet and smelling of dog.’ The phone rang, Francis answered it, to be told by the boarding school

that Frank had tested positive for the Virus and was quarantining in a room away from the other pupils.

’I have fetched you a cup of tea. Come on Francis, sit up. You have not got up for three days. Froggy needs a

walk, and it is a beautiful day outside. A bit cold, but there is a low-down sun. We can arrange your patio

chairs and sit under it. You are the strongest person I have ever met. I will not let you give up. Anyhow, I am

getting hungry, and you are a better cook than me.’ That inspired the smile I was aiming for, and in no time,

we were sat at her kitchen table eating toast and marmalade. Truth was the pandemic had engulfed our world,

every home, every family & every place of work. Every person was affected by the loss of loved ones, jobs,

school closures, businesses going under, the NHS on its knees, and the stress and anxiety in the hearts of the

nation. We knew we must not hide and ignore this situation, but we needed to find real positives. Otherwise,

the whole world would go insane. Although still in lockdown, there was the start of a vaccine rollout, and

many had faith in their God, which gave them hope. Francis could not maintain her intense pain on hearing

that Frank had tested positive, and although he is responding well and showing only a symptoms, the news

had unbalanced her. I saw it as my duty to reset this balance and insisted we walked Froggy. We walked past

Mrs. Keller’s house, where bunches of homegrown flowers adorned her fence. We paused to look at them

just as her neighbour arrived, saying Mildred Keller had passed away having tested positive for the Virus. We

were very apologetic to hear that. ‘Come on Francis, Froggy is getting restless standing still,’ I said, trying to

get her awareness as Froggy was cocking his leg to pee on a bunch of carnations tied to the fence with an

orange ribbon. Walking on, I said in my first ever voice of authority; ’We are not focusing on any uneasy news

today.’ There was indeed good news as we walked on and met Wendy, whose surname I did not know, who

lived a few doors down from Mrs. Keller. She had given birth to a bouncing baby boy. She held him at her

window for us to see. Francis commented that she had heard while queuing in the post office months ago

that there were three possibilities of the dad. ‘Now, now, Francis, only positives today, please.’ I did think to

myself it was a bit of juicy gossip that I would revisit tomorrow on a non-positive day. Today seeing a new life

through a window was uplifting amongst all the sadness that grips us. Perhaps we should have alternate

positive and non-positive days. It is a shame to miss out on the village bulletin. I was now too intrigued.

’Francis, I think we should always be able to discuss village topics as long as we stay positive. Did they tell you

in the queue who the three possibilities were?’ ‘No,’ replied Francis, only saying that one of them could be a

married man. Oh well, we would have to be more vigilant while walking Froggy. Heading home, we could see

a smartly dressed man and woman stood at Francis’s front door. How quickly our brains made assumptions.

Cannot be salesmen as we are in a lockdown, and anyway, they look too smartly dressed for that. Francis does

not gamble, so it cannot be a lottery win, I have never heard her talk about premium bonds. Our steps

towards home sped up. They introduced themselves as two high-ranking metropolitan police officers whose

role was to investigate drug smuggling rings. While my brain was making thee assumption it must be about

Trevor, that nasty piece of work, one of the officers was showing Francis something asking if she recognized

it. Of course she did; it was an 18carat gold inverted cross pendant. She had given one to each of her seven

sons on their 18th birthday. It depicted Saint Peter, the patron Saint of net makers, shipbuilders and

fishermen. With her hand trembling, she turned it over, after which, with a shaky voice, she read aloud its

inscription, “To my eldest son, Fergus. May the storms always bring you home? Love, mum & dad.” ’Have

you located my missing boy? Is he in some hospital alone? Has he lost his memory? Never mind, I am sure

when he hears my voice, he will remember once more.’ Out of her chair and putting on her coat, she

enquired, ‘Which hospital is my Fergus at?’ The chief superintendent requested Francis to sit back down.

Complying, she said, ‘Well, he is not dead. I know he is not dead.’ How do you know that your son is alive,

Mrs. Fillet? Are you aware of his whereabouts, as we would like to speak to him.’ The officer paused before

continuing, ’Mrs. Fillet this pendant came into our possession six weeks ago. Long before that time, we have

been part of an investigation that we feel Fergus may now be able to help us with. It has come to our

attention you have reported six of your seven sons missing at sea? Is that correct?’ ’Yes, but you do not

understand-’ ’We understand perfectly. I ask you again, Mrs. Fillet, are you aware of the whereabouts of any

of the six adult males that you reported missing? We believe you adopted them as infants, is that correct? Did

you at some point realize that the thought of a large family was happier than the truth of having one? During

our investigations, we also believe that all six missing men married the same woman, your neighbour. Is this

also, correct? May we take a look around?” Why were these police officers being so nasty to Mrs Fillet. After

they had concluded their enquiries, I calmly said, ’Francis, stay there. I will make you a cup of hot chocolate.

They are gone for today. When they return tomorrow, we can ask for more information.’ ’I do not

understand? Where is Fergus?’ She said. ‘Let’s drink our chocolate and hear what they have to say tomorrow.’

Mrs. Fillet was quite uneasy pacing the floor threatening aloud. If they were accusing my boys of being

anything less than law abiding, I will sue. I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought the police mentioning her false

report when Victor was arrested was suggesting Mrs Fillet was less than law abiding. With little sleep, both of

us rose early and sat at my kitchen table. I answered the doorbell’s call. On my doorstep stood the same two

officers that had called on Francis the day before. ‘Come through,’ I offered. ’You were next door when we

came yesterday?’ They asked me. ‘Yes, that’s right.’ ‘You are also a Mrs. Fillet, is that correct?’ ‘Yes,’ I

responded. ‘The Mrs. Fillet who married your neighbour’s six sons?’ Yes. That’s me’ ’I can see the two Mrs.

Fillets together again; do you occupy a lot of time together?’ They enquired. ’Francis and I are in a

lockdown conversing with them until they told her where her son was. ’So, you can depart now, and you will be hearing

from me once I have engaged with my solicitor.’ With that, she banged one of my chipped mugs onto the

table rather like an auctioneer does with his gavel. We had now commenced splitting the cost of the grocery

home delivery between us and ate together each day. We would have enjoyed our fish pie late that evening if

Francis, with much on her mind had not forgotten to turn the oven on. Bright and early, we jointly had an

online facetime with Mr. Monroe, the solicitor that Francis had used for all her family’s legal requirements.

Followed by a visit to the police station. On instruction, he had already spoken to the police, who had the

man wearing the pendant belonging to Fergus in custody. ’Where is Fergus? Why has that man got my son’s

pendant?’ ’Slow down, Francis. I have arranged an interview with the police. At first, they wanted to interview

you both separately, but they have agreed for you both to be present in the same room.’ Francis was uncertain

how she could possibly wait another two days for this interview to find out where her son was. Meanwhile,

my mind, which gets easily distracted, was fixated on Mr. Monroe’s extraordinarily large purple bulbous

hooter. With his huge stature, I wondered how he fitted in a chair. Our interview took place in a large room,

enabling us social distancing space. We were offered and both accepted a cup of tea, which we drank while

being surveyed by lots of questions about whom Fergus associated with. And if he had large figures of

money. Did we observe anything dissimilar about his behaviour? Did he have more than one mobile phone?

And with a stern stare reminded us of the fact a pandemic doesn’t stop criminals. No, no, and not again were

our replies. Rising up from her chair, Francis said, ‘Now I want answers.’ Eyeing at Mr. Monroe’s nose and

expecting him to take over in some way, I thought to myself, I knew Francis viewing all those episodes of

midsummer murders would come to no good. Francis declaring with a voice of her own authority told them

in no tentative way that she had not borne this much Disbobulation since she tucked her skirt in her knickers,

I fear this enlightenment served no purpose and We left with neither side finding out anything. Additional

interview date was set for one week’s time. Francis did what has since then been understood as a lockdown

bubble,’ I retorted. Francis, whose anger was rising, told them in no uncertain terms that she would not be

handshake. She stretched her arm out towards Arthur Monroe, too far back to touch him, did an up and

down movement with her hand touching nothing, then quickly pulled it back towards herself. It vaguely

resembled doing the Macarena dance, then asked for her son’s pendant, which had been refused her, saying it

was evidence. We left with our minds buzzing; I think what we ascertained was, a suspected smuggler was in

custody wearing a pendant belonging to Fergus. Alike the police had gained nothing from us as we both knew

nothing. I asked Francis was Disbobulation a real word and what it meant, her reply was not now Mary, stop

dawdling or we will never reach your car which had Been liberated from the police pound, Francis still reeling

from our interview had forgotten we had decided to walk that day as we thought the fresh air and exercise

would be good for us. Our return walk took us past Wendy’s house. I nudged Francis to look. There was a

man, close to Wendy’s window blowing kisses. ‘Do you think that is the dad?’ I asked. ’No, I do not, and with

so much going on, I forgot to tell you Helena is out of hospital and doing well, queuing for a stamp before

lockdown. I bumped into Stella Phillips, who lives in the block of flats behind us; you know, the mobile

hairdresser, well she has a shop but because she does most of the communities hair styles in their own homes,

we refer to her as mobile! After seeing what she did to Daisy Fleming’s hair, I would never let her near my

head.’ Anyhow, she told me Wendy had gone on holiday abroad for the purpose of conceiving a baby and

then returns home without the messiness of having a man involved. Not that I condone it, but I have to agree

that having a man in your life can be messy. She continued, ’She went to a rave-type party while over there

and woke up in the morning next to Mrs. Keller’s son Brandon, who was over there on Kevin Hilton’s stag-

do. Well, Brandon Keller, being an only child, inherited Mrs. Keller’s house, so the baby’s dad only lives two

doors down. And what is worse, Stella said Wendy has named the baby Hedge. Now, as you know, I like

gardening, but that is taking it too far.’ I was about to express my shock with the word Apfelsaft when, ’Shh,

no I have not finished yet,’ do not interrupt. She resumed, saying, ’Emma Male, who is engaged to Betty

Floyd’s boy Carson found photos on Carson’s phone of him and Kevin Hilton sat with an assemblage of

almost naked women while abroad. Emma Male threw her ring back at Carson Floyd, and the word is Kevin

Hilton & his fiancée Lucy Burt’s wedding could be off, so that stag do was pointless. I also heard Lucy Burt,

Kevin Hilton’s fiancée, was hammering on Wendy’s window trying to find out if she knows anything, but

Wendy drew the curtains.’ I thought it was Mrs Fillets Tea mornings with a dash of whiskey that loosened the

tongues, but alas it’s her endless supply of post stamp buying that has kept her informed. ’Wow, as you know

Francis, I do not drink much, but do I think that I need a cup full of your whisky in my herbal tea when we

get home.’ Then I asked her, ‘Francis, what is the word for “hedge” in Latin?’ ‘It is Sepiam.’ ’Hmm, I think I

prefer that to “hedge”. Francis, do you ever think about so many people dead, yet somehow life goes on

regardless with all of its drama, sadness and mercies. Laughter that once was normality and something that

happened without consideration is now a guilty privilege. I think the pandemic has made us all do things we

might have otherwise never considered doing.’ ‘Home at last,’ Francis said upon entering her house. ’Whose

turn is it to make the tea? I think it is yours, Mary.’ I headed off to the kitchen before asking, ’And shall we

walk Froggy the same route tomorrow?’ ‘Yes. Absolutely.’ After a pocket-sized pause, I asked her, ’Francis,

how do you know all those people?’ ’Well, Carson Floyd used to go out on the fishing boats occasionally to

help out anyone who was willing to pay a day’s wages, cash in hand. He went out with my boys several times.

He is a nice enough chap; bit of a boaster, which I think he could have inherited off his mother, Betty. She

gives out the impression she is more then she is. She gave her unfortunate mother some heartache, given she

was a runaway, pregnant at 14, and her mother raised baby Carson. She has no idea who Carson’s Dad is; she

just refers to him as “not around anymore”.’ I nodded. Then Francis said, ’Mary, I am off to bed early. I feel

exhausted, but you can sleep here in the guest room if you want to. The bed is made up.’ I know I only live

next door, but I took up on the invite and had a good night’s sleep wearing a nightie that Francis lent me.

Over the next few days, we had not become any better informed by walking that route. The week flew by, and

again, we were sat in a room at the police station being represented by Mrs Fillets solicitor named Arthur

Monroe. The chief superintendent asked Francis if she could source them with some current photographs of

her six missing sons and, most importantly, their fishing boats. They would call at her home tomorrow to

collect them. Francis was delighted to hear they had reopened the missing persons’ files on all six of her sons,

as she was rather indignant that they should have ever been closed in the first place. ’Are you certain you

cannot tell us the names of any of their contacts? Who they worked with? Who they drank with?’ ‘Well,’ said

Francis, ’having so many brothers, each of them always had one another. Although I was only saying to Mary

a couple of days ago, that Carson Floyd had gone out on the fishing boats with all of them at different times.’

The two officials looked at each other, and one said, ’Is that the same Carson Floyd who lives over on the

estate near the block of flats?’ ‘Yes, that is the one,’ Francis said. ’Nice young chap. Do you know him? I

heard his fiancée has just thrown his ring back.’ ‘Do you know her name?’ ‘Yes, it is Emma Male,’ ’And why

did she end the relationship?’ ‘Well,’ said Francis quietly, like it was a secret and we should not get overheard,

’I was told in the post office that it is something to do with photographs of him abroad. He was abroad on

Kevin Hilton’s stag-do. Just between us, I am surprised Kevin is able to afford such a lavish wedding; he has

not worked since leaving school. That is saying there will be a wedding his fiancée is livid about it.’ One of the

officers asked, ‘Carson Floyd and Kevin Hilton live on the same estate?’ ‘Yes, that is right.’ ’Thank you for

coming in. We will call around tomorrow to your house. If you could have the photographs prepared and if

you have any photographs with Carson Floyd or Kevin Hilton, we would like to see them.’ Francis left that

room exhilarated. The cases were reopened, and the police were again looking for her sons. ’I expect they will

all be home soon. Let’s get really naughty,’ she said, ‘we will order in take away fish & chips.’ Then realising

it’s a pandemic opted for cooking some at home. Steady on Francis, you rebel,’ I said, grinning. The distaste

Mrs Fillet exhibited had waned away, she now had nothing but praise for the local police force Mary, do you

find that we read people’s faces? It is so difficult to do now when we are all behind a mask. I had never

thought about it, but I guess it is problematical, as you cannot know if people are smiling or frowning, the

whole world going around in disguise. Although a mask does hide my jowls and the small hairs that pop out

of my chin overnight, and they make them in designs so you can express your personality. I have seen people

with flags, animals, and just about any design you could want.’ It was an interesting thought. I followed up

by said. The police appeared in the morning as prearranged. Francis had piles of photo albums out and ready.

She was so proud, showing them off. ’This is Finley on sports day, and this one Ford stood beside his first

car. Oh my, he loved that car; aa you can see in this photo, look at that smile? ’He named it wheels. A fake

cough by one of the police officers drew my eye to him. He asked, ’Is it possible to put the dog in another

room, please?’ Froggy, in trying to make friends, had covered the officer in dog hair and attempted licking his

ears, which is a particular favourite trait of his. His mask veiled the urgencies of his request, but waving a

cooked sausage from the fridge soon got Froggy into the kitchen… which was the distraction, the officers

had probably been awaiting so they could clarify to Francis that they were hoping for some more recent

pictures of her sons. Fricx, who had just got up, said after he had eaten breakfast that he would take Froggy

for a walk. The police officers that had come to collect some photographs abruptly reformed their enquiries

to ask for a description of the six missing sons. Francis being brighter than me picked up instantly on their

line of questioning and said sharply, ‘Fricx is my only son with dwarfism, if that is what you are asking.’ One

of the officers asked Fricx just as a matter of routine if they could have a chat with him at some point? Fricx

nodded yes and went into the kitchen. The police with photographs of the six missing men were leaving.

Francis shouted just in time for them to hear, ‘I want those photos back when you have finished with them.’

And only hold them by the corners they are not yours to ruin. After their departure, she turned to me. ’Let’s

take a walk along the seafront, Mary?’ ‘Are you sure, Francis? You have not been there since, well, you know?’

Francis was sure. We both sat on the sea wall, looking out. ‘Where are you?’ said Francis. I slid my hand over

to hold hers. ‘I have always seen the sea as beautiful,’ she said, ’it has been my family’s life for generations,

and I never thought it would be so cruel as to take my boys. For me, even during the worst of storms, the sea

held calmness.’ But not anymore! ‘None of it makes any sense, does it?’ I asked. ’No, it does not. Perhaps we

will get to know more at the police interview next week.’ ’Francis, can I ask you something. When you

adopted the boys, why did you change all their names to a name starting with the letter F.’ ‘Well,’ said Francis,

asking, ‘what design would you have, Francis?’ She replied, ’I think a boat, in honour of my boys. ‘Me too,’ I

’it was really very simple. My grandfather bought a used fishing boat. As you know, all boats are named, I

didn’t know that, but I nodded as she continued. but all the letters on this boat except for the letter F were

missing. Granddad always called her F, but my granny used to ask me as a child, “What name shall we give

her today?” Each time granddad was out fishing over the years, granny and I made up a name. Fairy &

Florence, among the hundreds of girls’ names beginning with the letter F. She passed away before I found out

I could not have children, and I wanted the female boat with hundred F names to be mine and hers alone. So,

I decided I would only adopt sons and name them all with an F in memory of gran. Silly I know, but I loved

her so much, she was full of life and laughter although I sit by her headstone and talk to her, it seems more of

a tribute to honour something we did together when she breathed. Near the end her mind betrayed her and

she forgot so much, but I am so thankful she always remembered our F game, right up till the very end. ’Gran

was one of seven, and she is still one of seven now.’ Francis stood up after saying that and looked out to the

sea. ‘I stood here many times as a child with granny waving like mad as granddad was coming in.’ Then she

suddenly asked, ‘Mary, tell me the truth, do you think they are dead?’ ’It is getting chilly. Come on, Francis.

Let’s go home.’ I avoided answering, as truth be told I did not know. On our way home Mrs Fillet asked me

to look at her, while looking into her eyes she whispered Mary I’m sorry I put those posters up about you. I

had no words in reply; I think she knew the tears rolling down my face voiced my answer. Next was yet

another interview with the police. They said they had taken copies, so they returned the photographs. Which

Francis inspected for damage. They needed to keep the pendant a while longer, but it would be returned at

some point in the future. The missing persons’ cases on all six men remained open and under investigation.

They said they would contact us if needed or have any new information.’ Demandingly, Francis said, ’so that

is? That is, it?’ She was so angry. Her shaking voice enquired, ’Are you or are you not finding my sons and

bringing them home?’ ’As we said, all six cases will remain open and under investigation. Of course, we are

investigating the whereabouts of your sons, and a liaison officer will be allocated to keep you informed.’ We

left the building abruptly, and that was that. Walking home, we bumped into the mobile hairdresser Stella

Phillips walking her dog who said she heard that the police had been asking Carson Floyd and Kevin Hilton

questions about Francis’s missing sons. Then glancing over to me, she said, ’Oh and of course, missing

husbands. Poor thing, being a six-time widow.’ I could sense the heat coming off of Francis just before she

exploded. ’You nosy interfering cow, mind your own business and do not dare to spread any gossip about my

sons. You are not so perfect yourself, are you? And by the way, everyone around here knows you cannot cut

hair either,’ and with that, off we stomped, pushing past her. I broke the silence saying, ’By the way, today has

gone pear shaped, and I am guessing it is not to be a positive day,’ I, therefore, concluded it was perfectly

okay to enquire Francis about why Stella is not so perfect herself? ’Um… oh… um… never mind. It was just

something to say.’ ‘Come on, Francis. Tell me.’ ‘Well, all I will say is she is a married woman who strayed.’

’Who with? Come on, Francis, why will you not say?” I was excited. ’It was years ago. Ah, I should not have

said anything. It was with my Fred when he was only sixteen.’ ‘Wow, Apfelsaft,’ I thought, and wondered if

Stella was the person who stole my missing husband’s virginity. We passed Mrs. Hilton’s house, who opened

the window and called out asking, ‘Everything all right, Francis?’ ’You will get no gossip from me, Audrey

Hilton,’ she said, and we walked on. ‘Been quite a day, hasn’t Francis?’ ‘Yes, it bloody has.’ Yet another first

Francis had started swearing. She often hears me say Apfelsaft, I think I will offer it to her, she should adopt

the word Apfelsaft She is excellent at adoption. ‘So, how did you find out about Stella and Fred?’ ’Because I

had to take him to the hospital’s A&E department. She was so rough with my boy she made his foreskin

bleed!’ ‘Ouch,’ I said, thinking that was a question I wish I had not asked. ‘My Fred was crying,’ she went on.

The A&E doctor said he had a tight foreskin, and when not lubricated, it can often bleed in tight situations. It

was nothing to worry about, and he would be absolutely fine.’ Stella’s a hairdresser she must have had some

lubricant somewhere, selfish woman no thought for downstairs on my Fred. Well, note to self that was a

conversation we will not ever revisit again. Or at least I hope not. The liaison officer arrived and introduced

herself as Caron. She appeared very approachable, sat in a chair parallel to the window. A ray of sunshine

made one side of her hair look a different colour than the other, and my mind distracted off to those artworks

where they paint a head with two completely different halves, yet cleverly it make one face. I should have

been paying attention as Caron was showing us photographs of two fishing boats. ’Take your time, have a

good look. Do you recognize them? If they got repainted or changed in some way? Could either or both of

them be any of your sons’ or husband’s fishing boats? Neither of us could say for sure, although I did have a

question. If all six of my husbands were found, whom would I be married to? I asked the question. ’The

courts would decide that’ came the reply. I liked that reply having to choose would be uncomfortable better if

a judge just says “I order your married to this one” ’Here are my details. She voiced You can contact me at

any time. It was lovely to meet you both.’ Francis rolled her eyes as Caron left; Anyhow we had no time to

cook that night, we had sandwiches and looked through Mrs Fillets photo albums for their fishing boats.

Salmon sandwich and off we went, seven albums each. Oh Apfelsaft, we would be looking all night, I

thought. We indeed look through the albums late into the night, meaning I stayed over again. I was woken up

by a dream of all my six husbands perpendicular at the bottom of my bed looking at me. Unable to get back

to sleep, I went downstairs to make a hot drink. Francis was sat at the kitchen table with what she said was a

glass of milk. It looked a very off milk colour to me. I suspected a capful or two might have been added. It

was morning. I greeted her and asked, ‘what lockdown activity shall we get up to today, Francis?’ ’I would like

to take a walk down by the sea again.’ ‘Okay, sounds like a plan.’ We bumped into our liaison officer Caron,

who was also walking her dog on the beach. We exchanged pleasantries, and Caron asked if we knew where

the six missing men fished? Was it always in the same spots or different spots? Would we be able to show

them? We both had no idea. She asked if Francis and I would go out on a boat with her and see if anything at

all jogged our memories. ’Yes, if you think it will help find my boys, but we really do not know where they

fished,’ I replied. Francis felt very uneasy on the boat. She scoured the water as if she was searching and

expecting her sons to surface at any moment. you know, like if you go on a dolphin sighting. She drooped

over the side of the boat eagerly, her eyes scanning the water. ‘I came out with them a long while back,’ she

said, ’I think I remember those rocks over there in the distance, but I am not sure. I believe there are a

couple that way.’ After an hour of trying, we apologized to Caron for not being any help, then headed home. ’What

an exciting morning that was, Francis? There is still a bit of low- down sun outside. Shall we sit out on your

patio chairs?’ ‘Yea, why not? I will put the kettle on first. Hob Nobs or Ginger Nuts?’ ’Ginger Nuts and one

capful in my tea please, I am still a bit shaken up. I am not that keen on boats and water.’ ‘Really!’ laughed

Francis, ‘and you had six fishermen for husbands.’ A while later, sitting outside, Francis asked me, ’Why do

you like the low-down sun so much, Mary?’ I was one of a twin, we were both very close. Betty had

childhood Leukaemia and died two weeks before our eighth birthday. We always located a bit of low-down

sunshine, so, we could stay out and play that bit longer. She loved being outside. Mum was never the same

after she went away, and we packed up and moved here.’ ‘Mary, I am so sorry,’ Francis said with tear

glistening eyes. ’That is okay, Francis. Every time I sit in the low-down sunshine, I think of Betty and know

she is okay. I know it has a factual name; sunset, eventide, dusk or twilight, whatever you want to call it. But

Betty always called it low-down sunshine, so that will forever be its name for me.’