‘With Bella’s flight delayed, there was still time to find the hamster’

The boss is coming back from St Barts and wants Trudy to take part in a ‘positivity project’. By Christine Manby

(Tom Ford)

Does my boss have access to internet searches on my laptop, I wondered as I googled “how long does a hamster live?”. On Friday Bella announced that she’d finally got herself a flight back to London from St Barts, leaving her husband and step-son, Zack, behind. How bad can homeschooling be if you’d swap St Barts for Putney to get out of it?

Anyway, Bella’s return meant she would be coming to pick up Zack’s hamster, Minky, whom she’d left in my care. Minky has been living under the fridge since New Year’s Eve, emerging only to eat the seed I put out for her each night and leave her thanks in the form of a neat pile of droppings. Returning from my state-sanctioned walk around Tooting Common each day, I can smell rodent pee as I step through the door. At least it proves I haven’t lost my sense of smell. According to the new list of Covid symptoms Brenda posted on the street WhatsApp, loss of smell is still the biggie, though Robert at number 67 is convinced he never had an ingrowing toenail until he contracted the virus last April.

As soon as I got Bella’s flight news, I flew into action. Minky continued to evade capture. I briefly considered trying to suck her out from behind the fridge with the Dyson but guessed that might end in tears. However, as I understood it, Zack hadn’t had Minky long before they went away. Would he notice if I brought in a ringer?

It was an excellent idea. Pet shops count as essential retail. My nearest pet emporium was indeed open but not for the sale of actual pets. “Brexit,” the owner explained. 

As I digested that bad news, Bella convened a Zoom meeting from her balcony overlooking the sea one last time. “I’ve decided what we need to keep us going through lockdown is a positivity project.”

“Someone’s been listening to too much Archewell,” my colleague George DMd me.

“So, what I’d like everyone to do is find a moment each day, perhaps while you’re out for your hour of exercise, to take a photograph of something that inspires you. Send the picture to the team WhatsApp and I’ll choose one daily for the Insta account.”

While Bella continued to talk work, George and I privately talked telly.

“Watching Pooch Perfect?” I asked.

“#Obsessed!” George replied. George loves everything Sheridan Smith. Back in the olden days when you could go to the theatre, I went with him to see her in Funny Girl. It was when we both cried as Sheridan sang “People” that we knew we would always have each other’s backs.

“Bedlington Terrier, episode two, remind you of anybody?” George DMd me

The new intern, Issy, diligently making a note of everything Bella said, was sporting a fierce curly bleached do. I spat my tea out onto my keyboard.

Back in the olden days when you could go to the theatre, I went with him to see her in Funny Girl

“Trudy? Got something to share?” Bella asked.

“Tea went down the wrong way,” I lied.

I went for a walk after that call. It was a grey day and there seemed to be little worth committing to the iPhone. Then I saw something bright green in the middle of the pavement. A discarded child’s toy would make an arty shot. Alas when I got closer, I saw that it wasn’t a discarded toy but a discarded poo-bag. It summed up 2021 so far but I doubted Bella would find it inspirational. In the end, I settled for a close up of a rose, bravely blooming out of season. I WhatsApped it to the team.

“Nice start,” Bella responded from the airport business lounge.

“Creep,” George sent a separate message to me.

Turning into my street again I saw Glenn the postie, pushing his bright red cart. The contrast of the red against the grey of the scene would have made a nifty picture but I couldn’t ask Glenn to pose, could I? No. I was still getting over the accidental media kiss of October 2019.

“How’s lockdown life?” he asked me.

“Could be worse,” I said. How, I wasn’t sure.

Our conversation was cut short when my phone rang. It was Saskia from #Yne (pronounced “Wine”, silent hashtag), a call I could not miss after last week’s Zoom launch fiasco. I began with an apology.

“Oh no,” she said. “Everyone loved it. They thought it was part of the presentation. I said, ‘It won’t leave you legless’ and next thing, you’re falling off your chair. Perfect timing.”

So I hadn’t lost the #Yne contract but I still had the problem of the hamster. Where do you get a small rodent in lockdown if not a pet shop?  I posted on the street WhatsApp. “Strange request. Anyone looking to sell a hamster?”

“That is a strange request,” Brenda messaged straight back. But alas she couldn’t help. Then Marcia at number 58 posted a photograph of two hamsters that could have been Minky’s siblings.

“They’re Russian blues,” she explained.

I took the conversation private. “Can I buy one? I’ve been looking after a friend’s child’s hamster while the family is in the Caribbean but it escaped.”

“They went on holiday? In a pandemic?”

Despite her disapproval, Marcia asked her daughter if she would be willing to part with one of her pets. I offered £50, several times the going rate, but by the time I met Marcia in the middle of the street to do the handover, it seemed hamsters had suffered the same lockdown price inflation as cockerpoos.

“She wants £200.”

Bella rang as I was on my way to the cashpoint. Her plane was delayed.

“I know you’ve already had Minky for far longer than you expected when you so kindly volunteered, but I wonder if I could prevail upon you for just a week more? While I quarantine?”

“Bella, I’d be delighted. Minky is no trouble at all.”

I WhatsApped Marcia to tell her I no longer needed the world’s most expensive Russian Blue. As I opened my door to a gust of fresh hamster pee, I thanked the universe that I still had £200 and my sense of smell.