No matter how many articles on coronavirus I force him to read, he never seems quite scared enough
Scrolling through Instagram recently, I noticed a picture my dad had posted of Smithfield market. Immediately, my heart sank.
“What are you doing in central London?” I texted him.
“Seeing a friend,” he replied, “I drove.”
“Which friend?” I asked, hoping it was one of his less “bad influence” ones.
The night before, my sister had phoned me in a thundering rage. She’d just FaceTimed our dad, to find him at a dinner party. “I don’t know how to get it through his thick head,” she said, almost in tears: “he just won’t listen.”