After a month at Lolly’s, Harper could barely remember her first night. So much had happened—not to Harper but to the world.

She never used to watch the news with Liz and Larry because they liked chatty dinners and made Harper go to bed before nine. But Lolly kept the television on all evening and told Harper that she was old enough to decide how much sleep she needed. Which meant that Harper saw all the news about the pandemic. She was watching when the newsreader said that people had started to die of the virus. She was watching when the number of deaths passed a thousand. It was rising towards a million around the world, with no sign of stopping.

There were days when the numbers didn’t feel real until an image on the screen reminded her that the numbers were people. Australia was doing all right compared to most countries but Harper kept hearing that it would only be a matter of time before things got worse.

The only quiet room was Harper’s bedroom because Lolly kept her radios on day and night, a different station in every room, talking here, violins there. It sometimes felt like Harper lived with more people than just Lolly.

Once, when she was washing her hands in the duck-egg-blue basin, she heard a radio voice say that the government might shut all the schools and another voice say that would never happen in Australia. Then some gentle classical music came on as if everything was normal.

Whenever she thought about Liz and Larry she got a burning sensation in her throat that made her wonder if she’d caught the virus. But as soon as she stopped thinking about them, her throat stopped hurting.

Lolly said that Harper was not to worry because the virus was only a proper danger to old people. ‘Are you worried, Lolly?’ Harper asked.

‘Not a bit. I’m as strong as an ox. Now, put the kettle on and try not to fret about things that can’t be helped.’

Lolly’s kettle rarely went cold.

Harper couldn’t tell if Lolly worried about anything. She was shut-up and sturdy like Liz. She had a way of making questions bounce off her and go in unexpected directions.

Still, Harper memorised the guidelines about how to wash your hands like a surgeon and what symptoms to look out for. There was a new thing called social distancing, which meant not standing too close to people. Harper tried to do it at home without Lolly noticing; she kept quiet about how scared she was of catching the virus at school and passing it to her grandmother. Lolly had quickly become someone she could truthfully say she loved. Maybe deep down she’d always loved Lolly, the way you did with family, but it was different when you spent every day with someone.

At school, Cleo and Ro were obsessed with their leadership roles. Most lunchtimes they were in a huddle with the other leaders in the new garden. They asked her to join in, but what was the point? Harper knew how everyone felt about the library. And they were planning things that were months away. Since the pandemic, Harper didn’t like to think about the future. It couldn’t be trusted.

But at home, she and Lolly were learning about each other. It felt easier than school. Lolly divided up household chores as if she and Harper were equals, but she never said a word if Harper’s bedroom was a mess (it usually was). Lolly had lots of opinions, which she liked to shout at the television. She didn’t always have the nicest things to say about people who got on her nerves, but Harper got the sense that she was always fair. And she laughed a lot. Lolly always seemed to know where Harper’s glasses were, and she respected Harper’s hatred of eating fish by never suggesting it for dinner.

Lolly expected a bit more of Harper—dog-walking, chopping vegetables, a dash to the shops if they’d run out of something—but Harper wasn’t sure if there were any real rules. Or if there were, she had to work them out herself. At home, there’d been many rules, which Liz designed and Larry went along with: never whisper to someone when you’re in a group of people, don’t answer the door if there’s no one else at home, no candles in the bedroom, don’t lean back on your chair at dinner, and never drink from the milk carton.

Well, she’d seen Lolly do that more than once.

The cats were beautiful and puzzling, both of them girls. Lolly had bought them from a rescue shelter a year or so ago. She explained that names she came up with never seemed to stick. They’d feel right for a moment, and then wrong so she’d stop using them. She’d decided not to rush it. Meanwhile they were simply: the cats.

Sometimes they were aloof; other times they’d make Harper feel welcome by brushing against her legs while she was waiting for the kettle to boil or cleaning her teeth. They weren’t allowed outside because, Lolly said, they had an appetite for birds.

Harper now had holes in all her socks. This was a mystery until she’d caught one of the cats hooking a sock out of the laundry basket with a claw and taking it away in her small, sharp mouth, like it was a mouse without the energy to resist. Occasionally the cats worked together to take over the couch. Usually they occupied different places: on Harper’s spinny chair, or in a stretch of sunlight.

Sometimes Harper would come up with one name—stolen from a novel—but when she tried to match it with another, and tried them on the pair of them they didn’t fit.

While the cats belonged to themselves, the dogs were Lolly’s.

Most of the day, Annie and Murph lay on the floor like rugs—rugs that burst into life as soon as Lolly picked up her keys from the table. They both had long pointy faces that seemed noble and serene. Though they never refused a walk, once they were home they didn’t move around much. It was just as well with dogs that large in a flat that small.

But Hector was always sniffing at doors, growling when the pipes clanked, poking his head through the balcony railings, digging the couch for a ball he’d buried between cushions. He’d tolerate a gentle stroke of his back after Harper filled his food bowl, but she still wasn’t sure what he thought of her. He didn’t lick her face when she came home from school, or snuggle on her lap. He was a busy little dog.