"Will you JUST stop going on about Gordon!" I had to tell him, as we were making breakfast. "And will you go easy on the milk please John. You're slopping it over that cereal like there's no tomorrow."
He'd been incessantly carrying on about Gordon like he was the bloody Antichrist since yesterday afternoon. To hear John speak, you 'd have thought that he'd come after Marcus and Molly with a machete. "Well I'm sorry Daisy, but that bloke has really shown his true colours since all of this business started. The man's a public menace!"
"Why don't you do something useful today, like pop to check on your mother? It'll take your mind off it."
"I suppose I should really. I'll text her later to see if she needs me to bring her anything. I bloody hope not though, cos I don't fancy dicing with death and going into any shops today."
Luckily, all June needed was a bit of sugar, which I said we could spare from our cupboard. Straight after breakfast, John grabbed his coat and car keys and I could hear him calling to the twins, "Remember not to touch that ball while I'm gone! Leave it on the lawn where it is! Apparently, if you leave things with hard surfaces out in the sunshine for a decent period, any bacteria will die."
I don't think they heard him. Cleo was coming down the stairs, rolling her eyes. "Where's Dad going?"
"To Granny's. Fancy a pancake?"
Cleo and I finally had a lovely, civilised breakfast in the garden, chatting about this and that. "You should give your father a break now," I said. "It's only because he cares. He loves you loads."
"I know. It's just that …. why does he always have to be such a knob about it?"
"I don't know babe. It's just the way he is!"
I knew that John had been lurking in his mother's bushes from the tell-tale leaves in his hair. He came in, talking about how we should think of perhaps getting her some sort of radio mic contraption so that we could hear what she was saying from the garden. "Like Madonna?" I asked. I didn't dare tell him that I'd moved my deckchair to the four metre line when I'd visited, which made her reasonably audible. It just wasn't worth it.
"Should we facetime Grandma and Grandpa?" I asked the kids. "We do usually see them at the weekend."
I kind of wished I hadn't. They were in the hot tub ffs. The hot tub! They were clearly a bit tiddly and were quite frankly, behaving very childishly.
"Ah, Marcus! Molly! And where's lovely Cleo? Wave everyone!" said my mother, waving in a very animated fashion. "Are you having a lovely time, children?"
"Mum, we're on Lockdown. The kids haven't been anywhere at all."
"I know. Isn't it fun? Say hello to Grandpa!"
My father in his Speedos was not a sight that any of us needed to see. Marcus and Molly didn't seem to mind. They just started whining about how they wanted to get their swimsuits and go over to visit. Cleo muttered to me, "I think I've just been a bit sick in my mouth," and made me giggle.
"What's that darling?" Mum asked.
"Nothing! Have you heard from Rosie? I've been meaning to call her."
"Yes. She told me you hadn't been in touch with her."
I saw red. "Did she now? Why is it always me who has to get in touch? She's perfectly capable of phoning me sometimes."
"Oh now I wish I hadn't said anything. Don't get mad darling. You're killing the vibe!"
The vibe?? Pardon me from killing the vibe of a pandemic and bringing everyone down!
I puffed and blew while the twins had a nonsensical conversation with their cavorting grandparents, all the while composing a fitting text to my sister in my head. Hadn't been in touch with her, indeed!😤
I was pleased to see John and Cleo watching TV together after dinner. I brought them each a cup of tea and had just squashed in between them on the sofa, when a Breaking News Banner flashed across the bottom of the screen - Boris was in hospital!
"See what I mean!" exclaimed John, jumping to his feet. He never seems to start slowly and build up to hysteria. He invariably goes from 0 to 100 in half a second. "If the Prime Minister can get really ill from it, any of us can!"
"Yes. We know that."
"This is why you can't be treating it like it's a big joke!"
"A big joke! When did we treat it like it was a joke?"
"Oh God! I can't be bothered with another round of this," said Cleo, getting to her feet. "I'm going to my room to facetime some sane people."
"Now look what you've done!" I said. "Why can't it just be ….. nice ….. for more than five minutes? Is that too much to ask?"
"What have I said now?" he asked.
"Just …. just give me that remote control and don't speak for at least the next two hours!" I said and switched the channel to reruns of 'Friends'. That was always a sure-fire way to send him packing.
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