Izzy and Indie

5 minute read

I was later than usual collecting my daughter from school. It was quiet after the cacophony of kids and their voices had ceased reverberating around walls and through picture covered corridors.

The calm gave us a chance to chat without the distractions of other parents and children that accompany the melee that marks the end of the school day.

The other reason why it was unusual was that today we had planned a visit to the Silk Mill: a working museum still producing silk for textile, now an artisan operation rather than an industrial one.

We walked towards the Mill rather than heading straight home, and we were both happy and somewhat excited, I think, for the diversion.

‘Look, there’s Hazel, I can see Hazel,’ I said, as we strolled past the playground. Mattie started running in Hazel’s direction and I followed, knowing that we had some time to kill before the light show kicked-in at the Mill.

The playground was busy. Children with jumpers tied around their waists played football and groups of different ages formed around apparatus according to how much risk was involved. The swinging, spinning tyre soaked up all the centrifugal forces a group of older boys could muster. The heavy steel arm rocking almost imperceptibly in its concrete foundations.

The sun set slowly over the hazy horizon. A formation of Canada geese honked and flew in formation directly overhead.

Mattie had made a new friend.

‘I’ve made a new friend, Daddy! This is Indie!’ she shouted, hauling Felix onto another apparatus. Indie said nothing. Just beamed. Wide-eyed.

‘Daddy! Felix said ‘Indie’! He said your name, Indie!’

Indie smiled.

Her Mum laughed.

‘She’s very shy’, she said.

‘How old is Indie? I said.

‘She was five in November. She doesn’t go to school here, but she is in year ‘R’, so they are roughly the same age,’ she said. ‘I’m coming off a night shift, so I’m feeling a bit dozy,’ she said.

‘I remember that feeling. Where do you work?’ I said.

‘At the care home on Newbury Road,’ she said.

‘I know the one. I took Mattie there when she was crawling. The residents loved interacting with her, kind of brought them out of their shell, it seemed,’ I said.

‘Yeah, it’s a real shame all of that has had to be put on hold. I’ve spent the last two years interacting with residents through hazmat suits. We’ve had to wear visors, masks and full-body biological suits just interacting with them. It’s been awful. The worst thing is, they don’t really know what’s going on. I just see them wasting away. You go into their room and they’re dead. Then we have to inform the family via zoom. It’s horrendous.’

‘Have you had any time to decompress?’ I said.

‘I could really do with that. Some time away from it all. We’re just so under-staffed. That’s the real problem. We don’t have the resilience. I wasn’t due to work today, but they asked me to stay and do another shift to cover for someone off with Covid. It’s nowhere near as serious this time round, but we still can’t risk it with the residents.’

Izzy hugged herself as a breeze whipped through the swings. It was getting cold and we needed to get going.

We said our good-by’s but then ended up trickling our way together to the Mill like water along a parched river-bed: inching this way and that, meandering with Felix as he checked-out every interesting stone and viable hiding place.

The lights in all their saturation and hue seemed to take on a new significance. The 200 year old clock chimed and the visual display pulsated like a luminescent organism. We stayed until the final switch was flicked and the Mill fell dark, silhouetted against the faint glow of the February stars.