My parents told me to empty my farmhouse for their forty anniversary guests. I said my daughter was eleven days out of a bone-marrow transplant. Mum said: “Lock her upstairs.” I agreed — and on Saturday the sheriff was waiting at my gate.

of her.

And I want to say one more thing about the Friday, because people have been very kind about it and I do not entirely deserve it.

When my mother said lock her upstairs, there were about four seconds before I said all right.

And in those four seconds, I did the arithmetic.

Six hours. Upstairs. Door shut. Mask. Nobody goes up.

I did the sum on my daughter’s immune system against the cost of a fight with my mother, and for about four seconds the sum was not obviously in Nessa’s favour.

That is the truth and it is the worst thing in this account and it is mine.

It has been five months.

There is a civil process about the money and I am not going to write about it.

The bookings are cancelled. There were four in the diary, and I wrote to all four couples