Laura McNulty

Lockdown Lane

The wind whips past the sitting room window, threatening the panes of glass with its hellish temper. I observe under the cover of darkness. I can hear muffled voices in the adjacent lane that runs the length of my garden. Even before the virus decimated Edinburgh, the lane was always a source of malignant activity. A suburban lane, offering a shortcut from one long nondescript road to another. It used to be frequented by dog walkers and teenagers using the nearby leisure centre by day, and off-road dirt bikes used it to get to the park at night. Was it still being used by dealers? I strain to hear, it’s useless in this weather. A raucous laugh is lifted by the wind and splits into four different directions as soon as it has escaped the snarled mouth of the issuer. What has he got to laugh about? I always liked to stick my nose into other people’s business. Any sounds of police vehicles outside would leave me glued to my window, good little curtain twitcher that I am. The police don’t come anymore. My reverie is broken by a wailing from outside. I almost don’t want to look. That’s a lie. I inch towards the landing window. From here I can see two of my neighbour’s front doors. One is firmly closed, as it has been for the past few months after the guy renting the house did a bunk back to wherever he came from. HE was smart, I concede. The other door is wide open, it’s my elderly neighbour’s place. Their flat is on the ground floor which of course is asking for trouble. I told her to take the upstairs now Sergio has gone. She was worried about her husband managing the stairs. I tried to tell her he shouldn’t be going out anyway. I can do nothing for them now. I tried to warn her. Independent a fault. Keep your doors locked and don’t use the garden, I beg you. I watch as an ambulance takes the prone figure of an old man into the back. She doesn’t go with him. No need for sirens now. I get a flashback to 6 months ago; we received our vaccines and we sat around the picnic bench in my garden and toasted each other’s health. They always did like a drink, whilst pretending they didn’t. Amazing how when someone else is supplying the booze they make an exception. I catch myself half smiling at the memory. So, another one bites the dust. I can’t deal with other people’s misery anymore. I used to be empathetic to a fault. Someone at work asked me once, ‘what is actually up with you?’ like it was a bad thing to be kind and mindful of what someone else is going through. I was embarrassed by his comment but found myself wondering if it was a character flaw. It’s a moot point now. Survival has knocked that out of me. I glance at the only way into my flat. Secured. I steel myself for what I need to do next. I only venture out when I get low on provisions. Not too low though, as there have been times I haven’t been able to obtain any. ‘Obtain’ is a better word than ‘steal’.