I am pacing the kitchen in tiny circles, my phone overheating by my ear. This is now the tenth time I have listened to the message. In frustration I finally put the phone down and pour myself a large glass of wine. It’s only four o’clock, but it’s not like I have any work to do, and there is a global pandemic raging outside. I sip the cold wine greedily, enjoying the little head-rush it gives me. Hannah sends me a picture of an elephant with a little squiggle over his face: If you can guess the animal, I’ll open some wine.

Not just me then who is blurring the lines between what is acceptable and what is not with regard to day drinking. Hannah has decided to spend lockdown with her mum and all those cats. She sends another picture, this one of her sitting on the sofa with a large glass of wine in one hand and a ball of gray fur curled in her lap: Lockdown buddies

It looks like Hannah and Earl are becoming fast friends.

My phone ringing on the kitchen surface brings me back to reality. Finally, the home is calling me back.

“Mrs. Hardcastle?” It’s Tina, the friendly nurse who always has plenty of time for my mum, who makes sure she has a shower, that her hair is brushed and her nails trimmed.

My heart is hammering in my chest when I hear it is her and not the brusque receptionist I was expecting. “Is… is—”

“Everything is fine,” Tina says. “Your mum is fine. Please don’t worry.”

“When I couldn’t get through, I thought…” I trail off. I’m not sure what I had thought, to be honest.

“We’re sorry for the worry. We just needed to make sure our protocol was in place. We have decided to fully lock down the home. All staff are moving in, no contact with the outside at all for the duration of the lockdown. No visitors, no nothing.”

“Oh.” I’m struggling to process what that actually means.

“You won’t be able to visit, I’m afraid. But I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“But you’ll be there?” I ask, thinking that at least Mum will have one friendly face.

“Yes, we’re putting up tents in the back garden. It’ll be a bit of an adventure for all of us.”

“A tent?” Tina is fifty-eight and I’m not sure she has much camping experience.

“Needs must. So, don’t worry about your mum, I’ll call every few days to check in.”

The relief floods over me. At least I know that Mum is safe and being well looked after.

The next day, the sun is shining and I have no work to take my mind off everything, so I take a coffee out into the slightly scraggy garden. In the far corner is what the estate agent called in the sale particulars the “summer house,” a pentagon-shaped wooden structure with peeling paintwork and only one remaining window. The other is covered in plastic and cardboard.