Hello You

Chapter One

Hello You

Saturday 21st March 2020

Miles didn't want to go out that evening. It wasn't like him to want to stay in on a Saturday night, but he was sure that all the scaremongering about this virus was finally getting to him; and as stupid as it seemed, a part of him was convinced the next person he passed on the street could give him something deadly that would kill him.

He'd spent the afternoon in bed.....alone. Since Giorgio had gone back to Milan – scared he would get stuck in England and never see his mother again, Miles had sunk into a sort of depression. Maybe that was too strong a word for it, but he'd gone into a bit of a low. He wasn't happy with the new album, but was contractually obliged to deliver one, and he just felt a bit like his life wasn't going anywhere. Maybe it was something to do with recently turning thirty four and feeling like he was stuck in a rut. He wasn't sure, but he felt somehow safer tucked up in bed, keeping the world at bay.

On the cabinet beside him was the invitation to the photography exhibition he was supposed to be going to tonight. In any other circumstance – being in the mood he was – he would have turned it down....the thought of mingling with other people, and not knowing what they were carrying, was scary. But it was his friend Clara's exhibition. They had been friends since secondary school back in the Wirral, and for a while she had been the bassist in one of the many bands Miles had been in before joining The Little Flames. Now she was one of the most successful architectural photographers in the world and this was her first major show. Miles couldn't miss it.

Besides, all the talk was that tomorrow or Monday, Boris Johnson would be putting the country into lockdown, which meant no socialising at all. The thought of not being around people was like someone taking Miles' inhaler away from him. Like most only children, he had no problem being by himself; but he also enjoyed feeding off the buzz other people gave him. A solitary life, stuck in front of computer, communicating via Skype did not appeal at all.

He dragged himself out of bed and went down to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. In the corner of the room was a cardboard box full of tinned food. The advice had been to stock up on stuff in case the shops ran out, so this morning, Miles had gone to Sainsburys and bought toilet rolls and tins of chick peans and tomatoes as these were considered staple ingredients for most dishes. He wondered if this was how it had been for his grandparents in the war; but instead of Hitler's bombs, he was avoiding an invisible virus that was particularly dangerous for people like him with breathing problems.

Everything was so depressing, and that pushed Miles all the more to go out tonight and try and have a laugh. He wondered if he could even meet someone for a shag. He knew being sexually frustrated wasn't helping his mood. But then again, he felt nervous just sitting next to someone, let alone sharing bodily fluids!

Even getting ready – one of his favourite parts about going out – was arduous. He stood at his wardrobe looking at his endless racks of designer clothes, feeling he had nothing to wear. He ended up settling for a black Commes des Garcons shirt and his favourite narrow leg Celine trousers. He decided he looked presentable enough, had a fag and a glass of vodka, and left.

Shoreditch was pretty empty for a Saturday night. It was usually the go to place for young East Londoners; but it seemed people were already heeding the warning to stay indoors.

The gallery was in a converted townhouse close to Liverpool Street Station. As Miles mounted the steps, he was comforted by the sound of music and voices. It was like a little bit of normality before the whole world shut down. He stood in a queue behind a young couple who were getting their invitations checked, and suddenly a weird feeling crept over him. He couldn't explain it. But as a kid he'd been terrified of spiders and would have this sixth sense that one was in the room before he could even see it – and he was rarely wrong. He'd also always get the same feeling about 'him'. He would know he was in a room even if there was a hundred other people blocking Miles' view - he would just be able to sense him. And that feeling was overwhelming him now, making him feel disturbed.