Judy drives straight home. Maddie meets her at the door.
‘Dad’s in his bedroom. He thought he should isolate himself.’
Judy is halfway upstairs before she considers the significance of ‘Dad’.
She opens the door of their bedroom. ‘Cathbad?’
‘Don’t come in,’ says Cathbad. His voice sounds reassuringly the same but, just as Judy is starting to relax, he starts to cough, a horrible racking sound that seems to go on and on.
‘Shall I get you some water?’ says Judy. Cathbad doesn’t answer so she goes into the bathroom, pours a toothmug full of water and looks in the cabinet. Surely there’s some cough mixture here? Eventually she finds an old and sticky bottle. Best before Jan 2018. Can linctus go off? Judy is bad with illness. Cathbad, as the parent at home, is the one who has had to cope with coughs, colds, ear infections, Michael’s occasional bouts of asthma.
She slides the bottle onto the bedside table on her side, without coming closer to Cathbad who is hunched on the other side of the bed, breathing heavily.
‘Have you called the doctor?’ she says.
‘No,’ says Cathbad, ‘but I think it’s Covid. I’ve lost my sense of smell and I keep coughing.’
‘I’ll call them,’ says Judy.
Maddie, Michael and Miranda are all standing in the hall. Judy composes her face into reassuring lines.
‘I think he’s OK. Maybe it’s just a cold. I’m going to ring the doctor just to be on the safe side.’
The surgery has a separate number for ‘patients who think they have symptoms of Covid-19’. Judy speaks to a sympathetic-sounding nurse called Zoe.
‘It’s best to avoid hospital if you can,’ she says. ‘Tell him to take paracetamol and keep his fluids up. Ring again if you’re worried.’
Judy finds some paracetamol and takes them up to Cathbad with a large glass of orange juice.
‘Vitamin C,’ she says.
‘Thanks.’ Cathbad is lying down, which looks so strange in the middle of the day that Judy feels quite sick.
‘The nurse said to take paracetamol.’
‘I will.’
‘You’ll be OK.’ Judy stands awkwardly in the doorway. She wants Cathbad to tell her that everything will be all right, but he has his eyes shut and seems to be concentrating on breathing.
‘Knock on the floor if you need anything,’ she says.
‘You should keep away,’ says Cathbad. ‘Keep the children away.’
Cathbad always wants the children with him. It’s as if his body has been invaded which, in a way, Judy supposes, it has.
Nelson can’t quite believe it either. If anyone could sail through the Covid crisis, he would have put money on it being Cathbad. He has an irritatingly healthy lifestyle, for one thing. Plus, he’s probably protected by hordes of pagan gods and goddesses and all the saints of the Catholic church thrown in for good measure. Nelson thinks of his mother, who took a great fancy to Cathbad when they first met. Maureen is praying daily to St Carlo Borromeo, who was said to offer protection against the plague and so may well perform the same trick for Covid-19. He must ring his mother tonight.
Nelson sends everyone home early. Tanya is still checking CCTV for any sightings around Avril Flowers’ bungalow. Nelson also catches her looking on Rightmove a few times. Leah is reorganising the filing system. Nelson tells her that she can work from home, but she seems keen to stay. ‘I’ll go mad at home.’ But, by five o’clock, they are all on their way out of the building.
Nelson hardly recognises his house. Laura has been to the shops and has even bought flowers. There’s a delicious cooking smell emanating from the kitchen and Radio 1 is playing upstairs.
‘Hi, Laura,’ he shouts. ‘I’m home.’
Laura appears at the top of the stairs. ‘I’m just doing some marking and I’ll be right down.’
‘No rush,’ says Nelson. He wonders what Ruth is doing. Now that he knows their routine it’s easier to imagine her and Katie in the cottage. Ruth will be at her laptop and Katie will be building something from Lego or writing her story about a cat. He wishes that he could ring them but doesn’t want Laura to come in halfway through. Instead, he calls Judy.
‘How’s Cathbad?’
‘Not too good. He’s still coughing and I think he’s got a fever.’
‘Paracetamol,’ says Nelson, drawing on his scant medical knowledge. ‘And lots of water.’
‘He’s taking paracetamol,’ she says. ‘I hope he’ll feel better soon.’ There’s a quaver in her voice that Nelson has never heard before.
‘Of course he will,’ says Nelson, hearing his voice sounding falsely hearty. ‘He’s as tough as old boots.’
‘He is,’ says Judy, sounding more like herself. ‘It’s just . . . I’ve never known him to be ill. Everything feels wrong. The kids and I don’t know what to do with ourselves. And Thing’s going crazy.’
The dog was always slightly crazy, in Nelson’s opinion. The bull terrier does not have Bruno’s superior intelligence. The house still seems very strange without Bruno. Nelson keeps thinking he can hear his claws clicking along the wooden floors or his tail swishing things off the coffee table. Maybe he’s being haunted by Black Shuck, a spectral dog who crossed his path – in a non-corporeal sense – on another case. Cathbad would definitely say so.
‘I’ll pray to St Carlo,’ he says. ‘My mum says that he’s good on Covid.’
‘I’m praying too,’ says Judy. ‘I just wish he’d get better.’
‘Me too,’ says Nelson. ‘Tell him get well soon from me.’
‘I will. Bye, boss.’
‘Bye, Judy.’
‘Who’s ill?’ says Laura, coming into the room.
‘Cathbad. He’s got Covid.’
‘Oh no!’ Nelson had forgotten that Laura, too, has a connection with Cathbad. He’d been kind to her after Tim died and Laura had attended Cathbad’s meditation classes for a while.
‘Let’s hope it’s not serious,’ he says, although something in Judy’s tone tells him that this is a faint hope. ‘Most people recover quickly.’
‘Cathbad isn’t most people,’ says Laura. ‘I’ve made stew for supper, but shall we FaceTime Rebecca and Mum first?’
‘Where’s Bruno?’ is the first thing Rebecca says when she pops up on his laptop screen.
‘He’s staying with Jan for a bit,’ says Nelson. ‘I’ve got a lot on at work.’
‘Why?’ says Rebecca. ‘Aren’t all the criminals locked up in their houses?’
‘Sadly not,’ says Nelson. ‘What’s going on with you?’
Rebecca tells him about going for walks on Brighton seafront with Asif. ‘It’s so strange to have the whole town to ourselves. We walked around the Pavilion yesterday.’
‘Take care,’ says Nelson. ‘Wear masks.’
‘We’ve got matching masks,’ says Rebecca. ‘It’s very cute.’
Michelle, speaking from her mother’s immaculate sitting room, seems delighted to see Laura and Nelson side by side on the sofa.
‘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.