Emma Zeth - The Lucky Prepper - A Gardener's Story of Surviving a Pandemic

It was at this point I hit a snag. Mum didn’t want me to go. ‘I have more food,’ she said,’ a bigger garden…’

‘And our garden is surrounded by other gardens so it’s less vulnerable.’ chipped in Vik.

‘But I have all my stuff at my house,’ I said.

‘We have more than enough here you could use’ said mum. I could see she had thought it all out carefully, before raising it with me.

‘Or you could go home, pack up a bag and walk back.’ said Vik, ‘You said yourself that the journey was easy.’

‘But I like living at my place,’ I said, I was floundering, how to explain? ‘Carpenders Park is outside London… it’s cut off from the suburbs and surrounded by fields,’ I said, ‘whereas all around here…’

Mum interrupted me, ‘round here is very nice, and our house is bigger’ She was starting to sound irritated.

Of course, I knew what was really being said… I should be with my family. We should stick together. But I really wanted to stay in my bungalow, and it wasn’t that far. I could pop over any time if I walked at night. ‘No guys, I’m not staying’ I said firmly, going over to mum and giving her a big hug, ‘if things get worse then I’ll come back.’

I could tell that Vik thought I was being stubborn, and perhaps I was, but really, if we were talking sensible, it would be much better for them to move to my place… I had so much more food growing, and I could always use my neighbour’s garden to grow more. If they wanted us to be together, they should really come and stay at mine. I didn’t say anything though, there was no point, for them, leaving was unthinkable.

After that I really wanted to get home. It seemed silly to wait till night, and Mum also thought that it would be safer during the day. I was tired, the walk had been long, and I really wasn’t looking forward to another two hours walking back, especially not up that final hill, but I desperately wanted to get home. I sat for a while, flicking through an old newspaper while Vik washed the dishes. My gaze snagged on a picture of a cyclist and I had a brainwave; I would take my old bike; it had been a long time since I had ridden it, but it would be so much quicker. I could go down the hill outside mum’s house, cut through the park, and take the side roads back to mine. I pulled it out of the garage, brushed off the dust and pumped up the tyres.

Vik tried again to persuade me to stay the night, but I was adamant. Home was calling and I responded. I borrowed some leggings and a T-shirt – cycling during the day was going to be a whole lot warmer than walking at night. Mum loaded me up with some containers of home cooked food and I strapped them and my waterproofs to the back of the bike. I wheeled it through the side gate to the front of the house. Outside the road was clear, up at the top were two kids, but they melted away as I looked at them. I gingerly got on the bike, pushed on the pedals and was off.

People say you never forget how to ride a bike, and it’s true. But when I got on, after a gap of so many years, it was nerve wracking. The bike wobbled and I felt slightly out of control. It seemed quite hard to get to the top of the road. Once there I turned left and freewheeled down the hill. It was scary, I kept pressing the brakes to slow down, but about half-way I finally relaxed and let the speed build up. At the bottom I veered into the park. This was great; a ten-minute walk had taken 30 seconds.

I sped through the park, sticking to the paths and heading towards the middle. The park was split into two sides by a narrow stream. The road I was aiming for was on the far side. There were large trees and a play area, people were walking in groups and sitting on benches, and the atmosphere seemed normal, just like it had been when I rode here with Vik when we were kids.

Where the bridge spanned the fast-moving shallow stream, there were overhanging trees and bushes. I slowed the bike a little as I crossed. Suddenly, from the side, a large figure stepped right into my path. I swerved and fell, hitting the ground hard. I lay there, stunned for a second, then untangled myself from the bike and sat up, looking to see who I had almost hit. The figure was a six foot tall youth, big but still only a youth, probably only around fifteen or sixteen. ‘Look where you’re going.’ he said belligerently.

‘Sorry’ I said, rubbing my elbow. I suddenly hurt all over. I pulled up my leggings to look at my knee, which felt horrible, I was sure it was bleeding. As I did so, he took a threatening step forward. I looked up… oh no, this was not good; I could feel the vibe in the air. I had been caught up in the exhilaration of riding the bike and had forgotten the situation. I scrambled up onto my feet, and looked at him properly. Apart from the lack of uniform, he looked much like the kids I taught; full of attitude. He was wearing a dark hoody and grey tracksuit bottom. He stared back trying to intimidate. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked, shoulders bunched up and hands fisted at his sides.

The next few seconds were crucial; kids had a finely honed sense for the hierarchy of power, but having been a teacher for so long, I was used to grabbing the initiative and projecting authority. ‘I’ve been visiting my mum,’ I said, ‘I’m just cutting through the park to get home’. I injected confidence into my voice and straightened my posture, it was working… he started to step back, but then another smaller youth stepped out from the bushes and joined him. There were now two of them staring at me, and this changed things considerably.

I picked up my bike and turned to face the edge of the park, I was now between the kids and the bike; they couldn’t snatch it and run. I wouldn’t catch them if they did and I refused to give it up. However, they were now quite close. Too close. The first one took another step in. ‘Lend me your bike’ he said, reaching out with his hands. I batted them away.

‘No!’ I said loudly and aggressively, ‘Back off!’ I let go of the bike, which fell to the ground again, and turned to face him fully as I said it. He raised his hands, backing up a step. Then I saw him change his mind and lean forward. I reacted on instinct, my hand formed a fist, my feet planted in the ground, my torso twisting as I pulled back my arm and then shot it forward. I hit him with all my strength, powering up from my back leg as it pushed against the ground, striking the middle of his chest and then pulling back. I stood there, fists up, bouncing on my toes, full of adrenaline. ‘Back off!’ I yelled again, turning to the smaller kid as I said it. He stepped back, and I picked up the bike and ran with it to towards the road. At the edge of the park I turned back; the larger youth was bent over, clutching his middle. The other was beside him, looking helpless. They were no longer a threat, but as I watched, three more youths drifted in towards them, looking up towards me. I quickly took the bike down into the middle of the road, got on, and peddled away.

I was high on adrenaline and the success of that punch, and wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings. I cycled on, mindlessly crossing the main street and coasting down along a flat curving road for a couple of minutes before crossing another junction and slipping between two parked cars half blocking the road. It wasn’t until I glimpsed the men rising from the chairs behind the cars that I realised I had drifted into one of the barricaded areas.

I won’t pretend I wasn’t terrified. I was already going at a decent speed and I pumped my legs round and sped out of there as fast as I could. I veered into the next left I came to and kept going. The area was a maze of streets, and once off the main road, none of them looked familiar. After a minute, I reached another junction, right or straight? I couldn’t decide. I turned right. I was trying to get north, up to the big Uxbridge road that bounded this whole area.