Virus Story

 

Steve Jones coughed as he got out of bed and he felt a twinge of pain from his chest. He smiled; Corona, not very likely. He was a fit 40 year old and very keen on running; he could often show the youngsters in the group a clean pair of heels. And he knew he needed to visit his elderly father in the care home. He sighed; dad had been there for two years after a serious illness and instead of being the kiss of death that Simon had hoped and prayed for, thanks to the home’s loving care, dad was healthier than ever. 

It was very frustrating for Simon; his ex-wife was bleeding him dry and he strongly resented keeping her in the lap of luxury. His dad’s money was the answer but the care home was even more expensive than usual. Of course he’d gone through the usual charade of 'nothing is too good for you, dad' but there were limits and these had been exceeded some time ago; enough was enough. Then halfway through his breakfast he stopped; suppose I do have Corona;. I am very likely to survive but dad?

Two hours later he walked into the home; he was much relieved to see it was still open. He signed in and then made a show of pretending to use the hand gel dispenser but took no liquid at all. Then he went into his dad’s room.

“Hi there; sorry I haven’t been for a while.” Steve hugged his dad a bit closer and longer than usual as if by way of apology and took his hand in both of his.

“Shall I switch off the TV? Do you mind?” He took care to touch most of the buttons on the handset. Then he sat down. After a while he made some tea and carefully put his hands all over the kettle and his fingers inside the mug he dad was using.

“If the old bugger survives that then he deserves to live” he said to himself. After another hour of complete boredom Steve decided it was time to go. He went through again the great show of close affection and slipped away.

“Stay well,” Dad he said. “We don’t want you getting ill.”

Next morning he woke with a bad cough and severe chest pains. Yes he thought; I have it. I will self-isolate for a while and lie low. I have plenty of food in so play the waiting game and phone the home on a regular basis. But two days later the care home manager knocked on the door of Mr Jones’s room and went in. He was in his chair reading.

“May I sit down please?” Mr Jones nodded.

“I am very sorry but there is no easy way of saying this. Your son has just died of Corona Virus.” He went on to promise that arrangements could be made to enable him to attend the funeral. And Mr Jones sighed. It was a bitter blow; no father expects to outlive his children. But he had been wondering for some time how to break the news to his son that he wasn’t leaving him any money but instead it was going to the severely disabled daughter of his lady friend in the home who had far more need of it. 

 

Tony Roberts