David Calls

I’m in the garden enjoying the day. A bit vague, but that is how we like it. Thinking about myself, lost in the day.

David calls responding to a text I’d sent him earlier.  He says he is feeling better from the flu. “Oh, it’s been terrible.” And then he drops the bombshell, he is still in Melbourne.

“WHAT?”

“Didn’t I tell you that?”

“No.”

“Really?”

He has been secretly hidden away in a hotel in Melbourne, claiming he was too unwell to get on his plane last Monday. (Do the maths)

Seriously, I have known you for 30 years, mate.

“Oh, you know, when they ask if you have any of the following symptoms? A temperature of 104 would ring Covid alarm bells. Who can deal with that. So, I booked into a hotel.”

“All week?”

“Yes.”

“Barely any contact?”

“What?” (He seemed kind of up, a contained volcano)

“No mention of you being still being in Melbourne.”

“I’m sure I told you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I kept meaning to call you, but I know how germ phobic you are.”

What? “I am not.”

“When I was leaving your house and I told you I was coming down with the flu, your response was, “Get out!”

Chuckle. I didn't want it. And he was leaving anyway, literally walking out the door. In fact, now that I remember that moment, my initial reaction was, I didn't realise you were sick.

Really? I smell a rat Cherie. The only thing that made me do, was doubt the whole flu story/lie.