Ruby’s face lit up again, counting the poultry clearly wasn’t all that boring.
“Be my guests,” Darlene laughed, and then covered her cough with her elbow. She looked at us apologetically and added: “At least I’ll finally find out how many we have. Hugh recently rescued a baby fallow-deer, it’ll let you scratch it, if Ruby here wants to make a new friend. Don’t get too close to our bull though, he’s got a temper, but everything else is available. Actually, I could give you a tour if you like?”
I didn’t even have time to take a breath before my granddaughter started roaring that yes, we definitely do, while wriggling wildly on her chair. Darlene and I laughed.
“Alright then,” I agreed. “Ruby, you finish your breakfast, and I’m going to see how your Mum is doing.”
I brought Connie some fresh tea and put a new bottle of water on her bedside table, along with some more Paracetamol and cough drops. She was fast asleep and didn’t notice me at all.
The guided tour of the farm was successful. Happy memories of my childhood in a tiny village were coming back to me in waves, I could occasionally even forget the epidemic raging around us. I spent most of the day just enjoying being so close to nature, walking in a nearby forest and the fields belonging to the farm, being around animals. Ruby was thrilled to discover a small playground, which had been left on the farm by its previous owners. Conveniently, it was visible from both of our bedrooms and the back patio where we were having a late lunch. Despite the fact that Darlene didn’t have any children, she talked and played with Ruby completely naturally. I was sure that Connie would have found a way to tactfully ask why Hugh and her hadn’t become parents. But I wasn’t the type to pry into other people’s privacy, and possibly into very painful subjects, so I let it go.
Throughout the day I went back to check on Constance a few times, while Darlene was keeping an eye on Ruby. I assured her that my granddaughter can play on her own for a while–she was just proving my point by digging a hole in a sandpit so she could bury her legs in it, her back to us–but Darlene waved me away, laughing: “Oh come on Frank. You won’t deny me the opportunity to watch a child play, will you?” She sat down next to Ruby and started digging her own hole.
My daughter was out of it for most of the day, or at least when I came in to check on her. Her food laid there untouched, but at least the bottle of water was always empty. Only in the late afternoon I finally found her completely awake. Thank God.
“Where is Ruby?” she asked.
“Outside with Darlene. They’re having fun in the sandpit. I’m going to watch the news now,” I added, expecting Connie to lay back in bed. To my surprise, she asked me to help her put on her robe and walk to the sofa in the living room.
She was light as a feather. She’d been so thin even before she got sick, but now? She looked like a skeleton, not even three robes would have hidden it.
The evening news was more depressing than all the previous ones put together. The number of infected people had soared to astronomical heights. The World Health Organisation had mandated the use of face masks and protective gloves; companies, restaurants and gyms were closing, it was forbidden to socialize in groups larger than two people. There was talk of closed schools and borders, cancelling repatriation flights and God knows what else. The list of bans, warnings and recommendations was endless. Given how much attention was paid to the situation, I felt like they were very vague about any test results. Why?
I kept staring at the screen, feeling troubled, even after Darlene had turned it off. I didn’t even know she was standing in the shadows, watching the news herself.
“Ruby’s asked for some more time. I’m going to check on Hugh now and go to bed,” she said, clearly upset herself, and walked away.
So many ill people…? Connie. Hugh. Darlene. And basically everyone else around us.
“They’re closing the borders…” I choked out. “Shouldn’t we go back to Perth? Before it gets worse?” Would we manage to even get on a repatriation flight anymore?
“They won’t let me onto a plane like this, Dad…” Constance said. Her eyes were unfocused.
I knew she was right. According to healthcare workers, nobody displaying any symptoms should be going out into the public. They’d kick us out of a taxi in less than two minutes.
She sat down and I felt a stab of anxiety, seeing how much effort it took. She looked me in the eye and for some reason, I got nervous.
“I’m sick, Dad,” she broke the silence.
My stomach clenched up in knots. It was obvious that she was sick, her voice being so hoarse, the way she coughed wildly day and night. But I knew for certain that she wasn’t talking about some flu now. She wouldn’t have needed to point out the obvious.
“Cancer,” I thought immediately. I didn’t want to say it out loud, but my body didn’t let me decide. “It came back?”
“It has nothing to do with cancer. Well, not really,” she shook her head. “It’s something else.”
I frowned, and just to be sure, asked: “You mean the flu then?”
“This isn’t any flu, Dad,” she said and started coughing. It took several minutes before she could take a breath again. “It’s a deadly virus. I… I’m dying.”
I decided to ignore that last word, even though it was ringing through my head, louder than anything I’d ever heard. “A deadly virus?”
“Pneumonic plague. Highly infectious and aggressive. I guess they call it the flu on the news because
