Number of days since lockdown: 70

Number of cigarettes: I’ve stopped counting. Therefore very bad.

Number of times I’ve thought that things can’t get any worse, and then they get worse: you don’t want to know.

When I got back from the hospital, I made Mum a cup of tea and went and sat with her in the garden. I said that I’d had to nominate a funeral directors, and had chosen the Co-op and I hoped that was alright, and she said what if it wasn’t and I said I could ring the lady and change it and she said not to bother.

And then she said are we allowed to have a funeral then? And I said yes, but it would need to be small, with a maximum of eight people. And she said good, because I’m not going.

And I thought, I’m going to wait for Lydia to get here before I fight that battle. And I started making lists of things we needed to do next, such as ring the funeral director and look at Dad’s will so we could start to sort out probate and check all the finances to make sure that Mum could pay the household bills, and contact all the people we hadn’t yet let know about Dad having died. Which when you get to 89 is sadly not a very long list.

And I made some supper which neither of us wanted, and then I took the dog out. I decided to walk to Brian’s house because I really desperately wanted to see him, even though hugging still isn’t allowed. But he wasn’t there. And I felt so sad and empty. I decide not to leave him a note.

And then I walked home and there was a message from Lydia saying Ring me. And it turns out that she has got a sore throat and a cough and a terrible headache and she thinks she has corona virus and she has sent off for a test and is going to have to self isolate which means not driving here to see us because she isn’t like Dominic Cummings. She says can I talk to Mum and tell her and I pass the phone over and it isn’t a good conversation.

And I think, I don’t think I can do this on my own.

And then just when you think things can’t get any worse, they do. Because on Saturday I did something very stupid.

On Saturday morning the doorbell rang and there was a beautiful bunch of peonies and roses from The Real Flower Company with a note from Richard to say how sorry he was to hear about my Dad. And I thought how kind of him. I showed them to Mum but she wasn’t really speaking to me. So I put them in a vase and sent Richard a text to say thank you. And he replied and asked if he could come round and see me later. And I said no, because of Mum being there, and he said what about after she had gone to bed. And I said OK.

You can see where this is going, can’t you?

So he came round to the side gate at 10.00 as arranged and he had brought a bottle of really nice wine with him and we sat in the garden talking quietly about my parents and our lives together and we drank the wine and he told me I looked very beautiful in the moonlight. And I said would you like to sit in the summerhouse and we did and it was like putting on an old comfortable pair of shoes except that instead of wearing shoes we took off most of our clothes and did things we haven’t done together for a long time.

And now I hate myself.

And on Sunday my mother said, was that Richard’s voice I heard in the garden last night, and I said oh yes, he just popped round and she said you can do better than him, Sadie and I said I know I can. And I spent the whole of the rest of the day crying.

So how was your weekend?

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Number of days since lockdown: 59

Number of times Brian has been in touch: can you please stop asking me that question.

I have nothing to say about Bloody Brian right now. He has stolen my heart and made me feel like a love-struck teenager. He can go to hell. If he messaged me now, I would just ignore him. Probably.

Plus I have work to do getting everything ready for my Mum who I will be collecting from the hospice at 11.00 on Saturday.

I feel anxious but also quite excited at the prospect of dusting off my rusty nursing skills. Having Dad to stay was lovely, but he was just an elderly house guest. Mum is going to need a lot more input.

I spoke to her at the hospice again yesterday. She’s not up to Zoom so we just use her phone, which I suspect Constance dials for her – she was never one for new technology. She was her usual slightly imperious self, even with the breathlessness. I said how much I was looking forward to having her to stay and she said Really? And I told her how I had been over to Wayfield Heath to collect some clothes and other bits and pieces and how everything was all safe and secure at the house, and she said that she didn’t really care. And then I said how nice it would be for her to be able to sit in my garden and she said For God’s sake Sadie, I’ve got depression, not dementia, there’s no need to talk to me like I’m an idiot. I will sit where I like, thank you.

That told me.

The good news is that she is managing the stairs. She goes up slowly one step at a time using one banister, hand over hand, with someone walking behind her, in case she slips. And she comes down the same way, but with someone in front. They have even had her practising on a set of steps with the banister on the same side as mine. Luckily I have a downstairs loo. So there is no need for me to ask Toby to come round and break the rules and help me move the bed downstairs. Nobody in authority thinks of the practical things in lockdown, do they?

I think I have said before that my mother is a very private person. I have never seen any photographs of her as a child. I asked her once or twice and she was very dismissive and said they had probably all been thrown out. She didn’t get on with her family, and had stopped seeing them before she met my father, I think. I remember years ago when I was reading Oranges are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson and she picked it up and looked at the back cover and said, That was what my so-called mother was like. I said would you like to borrow the book, Mum and she said, God no, I don’t need reminding, thank you.

I think she must have been very unhappy as a child.

I went to the supermarket and tried to get all the things she likes, although I think I have said before, she is not all that interested in food. I got Shredded Wheat and Heinz tinned tomato soup and Jacob’s Cream Crackers and Marmite and ginger nut biscuits and very small Cox’s apples and Robinson’s Lemon Barley.

When I got back, I mentally made a note that I must tidy up the front garden before Mum arrives. She hates to see things in a mess. There has been an east wind and the path up to the house is full of leaves and paper and other rubbish and it looks awful. I need to do a spot of weeding out there too, it is dandelion city.

But the inside of the house is more pressing so I started on that. I made her bed and cleared out three drawers and all the surfaces in the spare room and put a nice lamp and her alarm clock and a bottle of water and a new box of tissues and my Roberts radio by her bed. And I hauled the armchair out of my bedroom and put it by the window in her room so she can sit there and look out onto the garden with a flowery cushion from home for her back. And then I cleaned the bathroom and the kitchen and the sitting room and walked around all the bits of the house she would need to get to imagining I was using a Zimmer frame and moving furniture out of the way which I piled up in the dining room. I created a cosy corner for her in the sitting room with a footstool and a side table and a reading lamp just for her, and I put the TV remote and the house phone on the table so she would feel connected.

And then I did what I had been dreading all day, and phoned the hospital to get news of my Dad. And there has been little change, so they will be moving him to a rehabilitation hospital, probably also on Saturday. My poor father. I couldn’t get to sleep thinking about him.

And the latest from our ridiculous government is something about picking fruit for victory over Covid? And still only promises about test, track and trace whilst most of the rest of Europe have their systems up and running, even Greece. I’m going to give up the daily briefings and listen to The Archers when it comes back in lockdown mode starting next week. It will be much more enlightening

I woke up ridiculously early and surprised Harvey with a walk on the Downs while the ground was still wet with dew and there were a satisfying number of rabbits for him to chase. As early as it was, other dog walkers were still wearing masks. This is such a strange time.

And when I got back, I grabbed a coffee and set about clearing up the front garden.

And that was when I found Brian’s note, which he had apparently left on Saturday afternoon with a glass jar full of flowers that must have somehow blown under the hedge. The jar was broken and the flowers were in a sorry state, and the note had got wet and then dried but was still legible.

Dearest Sadie

Thank you for letting me break the rules with you.

I will be tied up this week as you know. Will be in touch on Saturday. I cannot wait.

Good luck with all your challenges, my darling girl. Know this: you are amazing.

Brian xxx

Queue tsunami of deleriously happy sobbing.

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Number of days since lockdown: 57

Number of times I have relived Friday night in the summerhouse with Brian: far too many

Number of times he has been in touch since then: zero

Number of times I have very nearly WhatsApped him: I am ashamed to tell you

It’s all my own fault, isn’t it?

If I hadn’t

• a) allowed my passion to get the better of me, and played a bit more hard-to-get or
• b) written about Jane bloody Eyre yesterday,

I might now be in a relationship with Brian, rather than having him disappear out of my life the day after we went completely over the top in breaking the social distancing rules.

And in any case, I have other things to worry about. Because that Zoom call with Nurse Constance was a bit different from our previous chats. Constance says that the staff at the hospice think that Mum is very depressed. She says that she has turned her face to the wall, which is nurse-speak for giving up on life. It is a syndrome they are seeing a lot at the moment in care homes and hospices, especially amongst the elderly. Here is an article in the Guardian that Constance recommended.

I found myself getting very upset. Constance was lovely. We talked about Mum, and how she is a very private person and doesn’t ever talk about her feelings, but that how family is everything to her, and not being able to see any of us is causing her great pain. Constance asked about her background, and I explained that we know very little about her life while she was growing up, just that it wasn’t a happy time. In fact we know almost nothing prior to her meeting Dad at a Young Conservative dance in 1950, when she wore a yellow dress and he couldn’t take his eyes off her because she was so lovely. And how he has been her rock, especially when Ruth died and she lost touch with reality for a while. And then again more recently.

And we agreed that she must be missing Dad very much, but that we had no way of knowing when or even if he would be ready to go home. And even then, how he was going to be and how much care he would need. It all must feel very uncertain, especially as we can’t be with her.

And after a bit more discussion, Constance suggested and I found myself agreeing that the best thing would be to work towards her coming to stay with me for the time being, rather than remaining at the hospice until she was ready to go home. In Constance’s world, this is what daughters do.

So now I will be opening up my house as a very small care home for one sad lady resident. Lydia is delighted and the children think it is great.

But I can’t help feeling that my life is slipping through my fingers. And anyway, without Brian, what else do I have to do?

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