You might not be worried, but I am

Here’s the thing about my darling South Africans: nobody thinks they’ll catch coronavirus from somebody they love.

We’ve mastered stranger danger, but the rest? Well, it’s like affection offers immunity.

Take, for instance, my wonderful neighbours. We arrive at my house and they appear with my wine, having taken delivery on my behalf. They’ve even chilled a bottle in readiness for me.

So they’re on my veranda, but they laugh as I make them wait, as I separate chairs, as I say that we – my people, my “bubble” – will sit here, and they can sit there. I give them nuts in a bowl just for them, tipped straight from the packet.

I insist they take the leftovers home, because their fingers have been in them.

They tell me they’re not worried. No, I say, but I am. Next – at last! – I visit my son, my faraway manchild.

We meet extended family for an outdoors breakfast. They leap up in happiness; they hug me. I hold my breath, cross my fingers.

Someone launches at my mum, demanding kisses. I’m like her bodyguard, fending him off. He’s not worried he tells me.

No, I say, but I am.

Meanwhile my friend goes to visit her father, which was her ultimate goal in accompanying me cross-country. They have socially-distanced breakfast on a terrace. They have dinner outside at a restaurant. She won’t get in his
car, or go in his house.

He tells her he isn’t worried.

No, my friends says, but I am.

Together we are a delicate bubble, trying to keep our loved ones safe. The next week my friend’s dad phones: would you believe it, he says, but his neighbour just got taken to hospital? He had tea with her only a week ago…

In the interim, my friend met him for that breakfast, that dinner. Our bubble has truly burst. Covid has long, stealthy legs – it creeps in, masked by warm familiarity.

And those who aren’t worried frankly don’t understand the gravity of the situation. My gardener’s brother died, my friend’s GP died, all in the last few weeks.

Then my neighbour messages: are you still isolating, or will you come over for a drink?

Of course I’m still isolating! For me, but for you too. For everyone.

Jennie Ridyard.

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