The Corona Chronicles

A tale of domestic non-bliss as one family struggles with self-isolation

Telegraph columnist and bestselling novelist Allison Pearson continues her new series documenting the fictional world of Carrie and Robert and their three children as they embark on life in lockdown… Part three

Sunday April 5 – Day 13 of Isolation

It’s coming closer. Nearly everyone knows someone who knows someone who’s had it. Yesterday, Apocalypse Anna, that eager bearer of bad news, told the neighbourhood Whatsapp group that an ambulance had pulled up in her deserted road, just half a mile away from ours, and two nurses “in the full spacesuit” got out. They took away a 27-year-old who was living with his parents. Initially, the rumour was that he had returned recently from “working abroad”. By lunchtime, it was “definitely Asia”. It only took until early evening for simply everyone to agree that the poor guy had been “a TEFL teacher in Wuhan”. That’s what we used to call Chinese whispers.

Has our town got its own superspreader? Nobody knows for sure. What matters is the area’s one suspected Covid case provided the perfect petrol for Anna’s public-spirited paranoia. Her daily tips on how to survive isolation now arrive hourly. Oh, joy! Whatsapp has become the crisis’s bush telegraph, spreading virtual prosecco parties and panic.

It’s easy to get slightly drunk on disapproval. Have you noticed that? The way the lockdown makes finger-wagging Puritans of those of us who are obediently abiding by the restrictions.

10.47am

Such a beautiful morning on what I think of as our hill, mine and Max’s. As the toffee-coloured hound bounds ahead, I turn and take in the view. Can’t remember the sky being this perfectly blue. With aircraft grounded there’s no more frenzied scribble of white contrails. It’s spring as it used to be. Up here, I can almost feel the season quickening like a baby in the womb. Lovely word, quickening. No contrails means more sunlight reaching the surface of the Earth. And they say the virus prefers the cold; got to hope this sudden blast of warmth chases the wretched thing away before there’s no normal left to return to. Robert has a Zoom meeting tomorrow to discuss pay cuts and redundancies across the board with his senior team. “People have no idea how bad it’s going to get,” he says.

I breathe in the delicious clean air. What a relief to escape the house for my hour of permitted “exercise”, aka Window of Sanity. Matt Hancock said that if people continue to flout the rules going outside could be banned altogether to “save lives”. He’s got to be kidding. If they take away my daily dog walk, I, for one, will murder my entire family.

Cabin fever already causing heated territorial disputes at Davies HQ. I left Harry and Izzy squabbling over who gets to sit in this one particular chair. I pointed out, rather gently I thought, that there were five other identical chairs to choose from.

“Butt out, Mum,” Harry shouted. (He has headphones on permanently so he never speaks at normal volume any more.)

“But it’s my CLASSROOM CHAIR,” wailed Izzy who has requisitioned the far end of the kitchen table for home schooling.

Poor Chloe. She had no idea that bit of the table was her sister’s classroom. Last night, she and her Italian boyfriend Paolo came out of quarantine (formerly the sitting room), keeping a careful distance from the rest of us, and put a charming sign made of green card on Izzy’s “desk” saying “Calm Corner”. “It’s for jigsaws and drawing and stuff. So the family can enjoy some quiet reflective time instead of stressing about the pandemic,” Chloe beamed.

There was an almighty crash. “Isabel, please don’t throw things. Your sister was only trying to be thoughtful,” barked Robert.

“The ’Arry Potter jigsaw Izzy she has put on the floor, why not,” said Paolo laughing nervously.

“Why is this family so f------ mental?” shouted Harry.

“Harry, LANGUAGE, please!” “Harry, are those my headphones?” demanded Chloe.

“You two should get back in your room,” scolded Izzy, the fierce 12-year-old headmistress of Home School. “Do you realise scientists now think that corona droplets can spread from TWENTY-FIVE METRES away? You’re literally killing us.”

As Chloe and Paolo beat a rueful retreat, the only family member not actually weeping or furious was Max.

He lay on the floor chewing contentedly on the Calm Corner sign.

And they wonder why people have started referring to the years BC (Before Coronavirus) as “peacetime”.

11.09am

Still doing my authorised exercise, I spot two very small, grey-haired women coming towards us and take evasive action. Put Max on lead and pull him firmly to one side. As the ladies draw level, not only do they come across the path, they insist on bending down to make a fuss of Max while I hurl myself into hedge to maintain correct social distance!

“It’s all right, we don’t mind,” one of the ladies smiles.

And I thought crossly: “Well, sorry, but I bloody well mind. We are literally doing this for you, putting our society on pause specifically to save people of your generation. And here you are, not only failing to sensibly stay indoors, but recklessly petting my cockerpoo, while failing to keep the regulation two metres away from us.”

I’m so glad I didn’t say anything. “We always used to come up here every Palm Sunday after church with our parents,” the first lady said. “Couldn’t come for a while because Pat had her stroke, didn’t you, Pat?”

She gives her sister’s arm a squeeze and Pat smiles a faraway smile. “I know we should stay indoors like they say on the news, but it’s such a glorious day. And at our age, you don’t know how many springs you’ve got left. Do we, Pat?”

When the sisters have gone, taking the path through the woods, I let Max off the lead and think of Chloe. She was standing outside our bedroom door, observing the correct distance, while I rested on the bed. (Do you find this situation strangely exhausting? I do.)

“What is it, darling?” I could tell by a creak in her voice that she was tearful.

“It’s just there’s nothing to look forward to, Mum. All the festivals are cancelled. We were taking that play to the Fringe, remember? We did so much rehearsal and it was really good and now… nothing.”

“There will be lots of things to look forward to again, love.” “When? When will there be?” The danger is the young lose faith that spring will come again; and the old take their chances because this spring may be their last.

What Chloe was asking of me was the Double Black Diamond of parenting: offering reassurances where there are none to be had.

“Soon, really soon, darling. It won’t be too much longer, you’ll see.”

8pm

Whole family gathered together around TV as in olden days. Have wiped the remote with antimicrobial wipe as a precaution, but everyone crammed onto sofa so virus probably abseiling from one head to the next. This hygiene business can drive you nuts. Was already feeling bit weepy, but the Queen tipped me over the edge. That bit where she talked about her first broadcast during the war.

“Who’s that next to her, Mum?” “That’s her sister, Princess Margaret, Izzy. Same age as you are now. Lots of children had to be sent away to the country because of the bombing. Princess Elizabeth was trying to reassure them. Just like she’s trying to reassure us now, 80 years later. Isn’t that amazing?”

“She’s really old, Mum. Will she die of corona?”

“No, darling.”

“How do you know?” “Because we simply could not bear it. Not now. The country couldn’t survive without her. The Queen will see us through this.”

“Your mother’s right,” Robert says. “We’re incredibly lucky to have her.” I can feel his breath on my face. Quite a while since he was that close.

Just then, the phone in Robert’s lap lights up with a text. He hastily swipes the screen to clear it, but not before I’ve seen two words.

“Magic fingers!” Why is someone called Jenny texting my husband about magic fingers?