‘I’m so glad you’ve got company, Harry.’
It’s really only Michelle and his mum who call him Harry these days. The name sparks an almost physical response, a twinge in his gut that’s somewhere between love and guilt.
Georgie appears and the twinge becomes a wrench.
‘Daddy! Laura!’
Georgie looks really well, tanned from all those trips along the Blackpool sands. Michelle, on the other hand, looks pale and rather drawn. Nelson asks if she’s OK.
‘I’m fine,’ says Michelle. ‘It’s just hard being so far from home.’
‘Surely you can leave Grandma soon,’ says Laura.
‘I don’t know. I’m really worried about her with this awful Covid.’ Michelle says it as if the virus were an unpleasant neighbour.
But, when Michelle’s mother appears on screen, she seems in better shape than her daughter, immaculately dressed as ever, talking about online fitness classes and someone called Joe Wicks.
‘Mum will be home soon,’ says Laura when they ring off. ‘Grandma looks very healthy to me.’
‘She does to me too,’ says Nelson.
‘Don’t worry,’ Laura gives him a quick hug, ‘Mum will soon be back and Cathbad will get better. Are you ready for some vegetarian stew?’
The word ‘vegetarian’ always makes Nelson feel depressed.
Judy sleeps on the sofa. Thing is delighted and fetches his favourite squeaky toy so they can make a night of it. Judy manages to banish the toy but she can’t do anything about the solid bulk of the bull terrier, who takes up most of the space and snores loudly in her ear. Not that Judy sleeps much. She can hear Cathbad coughing and twice goes upstairs to see if he needs anything. ‘I’m OK,’ comes the reply, ‘don’t come in.’
Judy lies awake, with Thing across her legs, wondering what to do. She wants to go into the bedroom but she can’t afford to get Covid. She has to stay well for her children. It’s as if the virus is lying in wait upstairs, as monsters of childhood are said to do. All she can do is hope that Cathbad’s strong constitution will defeat the ogre. He’s the fittest person she knows, honed by walking and yoga. Tanya says obesity is a contributory factor but Cathbad doesn’t have an ounce of spare flesh on him. ‘Irish peasant’s physique,’ he’s fond of saying. He eats well and has never smoked, unless it’s for hallucinatory reasons in his past life. ‘As tough as old boots’, that’s what Nelson said. Surely Cathbad will defeat corona?
She must have fallen asleep because Thing wakes her at six a.m. by licking her face. She lets him out into the garden. The sun is coming up and the birds are singing in the trees. Judy puts on her mask and goes upstairs.
‘Cathbad?’
There’s no answer. Judy pushes open the door. Cathbad is lying on his back and, for a heart-stopping moment, Judy thinks he’s dead. Then she hears a faint rattle of breath. She puts a hand on Cathbad’s forehead and snatches it away again. The dry heat tells its own story.
Judy runs downstairs and phones for an ambulance. The operator is reassuring and says they are on their way. Judy looks up from her phone to see Maddie in the doorway, wearing only an oversized T-shirt saying, ‘Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital’.
‘Is he really ill?’ she says.
‘His temperature is very high,’ says Judy. ‘And I think he might need oxygen.’
Maddie puts her arms round her. ‘He’ll be OK. He’s tough.’
‘I know he is.’ Judy hugs her stepdaughter. They both jump when Thing barks from the garden, keen to get inside and start his day.
The paramedics are in full hazmat suits. They carry Cathbad downstairs on a stretcher. Judy and the children watch from the hall. Miranda is crying but Michael is silent. Maddie has Thing on the lead and he pants to follow the strange procession. Judy knows how he feels.
‘Can I come with you?’ says Judy, knowing the answer.
‘I’m afraid not, love,’ says one of the suited figures. ‘Covid restrictions.’
‘How will I know how he is?’ asks Judy, hearing herself sounding like a frightened teenager, not like a tough detective inspector, used to dealing with life and death situations.
The paramedic hands her a piece of paper. ‘You can ring this number but give us time to get him to the Queen Elizabeth. We’ll give him oxygen in the ambulance. His levels are very low. You and your family will need to go into quarantine too.’
Some of the neighbours have come out into their gardens, shivering in the early morning air. The ambulance moves away, lights flashing.
Thing starts to howl.
