Seven Days of Us(20)
“What kind of tea would you like?” asked her mother.
“Just normal, please,” she said. She wished her mother would let her make her own, sparing her the inevitable questions about how long to leave the bag in and how much milk she wanted.
“English Breakfast, then? Or Earl Grey?” asked Emma. “Or Lapsang?”
“Lapsang smells like frankfurters,” said Phoebe, without looking up from a magazine.
“Christ—you’re absolutely right!” said Andrew. “Couldn’t think why I’ve never liked it.”
“‘Ze Wurst Tea in Ze Wurld,’” said Phoebe in a German accent. “There’s your headline.”
“Ha!” said Andrew. “Maybe I’ll pitch an April Fool on a new sausage-derived tea.”
When Olivia sat down, he stood up, saying: “Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it,” and walked out with The Times crossword. Olivia pulled the main paper toward her, so that she wouldn’t have to talk. Phoebe was looking at her again, her doll-like head tilted.
“What?” said Olivia.
“Nothing. Just, that bowl’s, like, for pasta.”
“Does it make a difference?”
“Nope. Just looks a bit weird.”
Olivia went back to the paper. Being “weird” had always been Phoebe’s big fear. Even breaking bowl conventions was cause for concern. She turned the page and froze. For a second, she thought she might be sick. A photo of Sean in the bottom left-hand corner sat under the headline: “Irish Doctor Diagnosed with Haag Virus.” She skimmed the text, heart bounding. Then she read it all again, slowly, as if knowing everything might undo it.
IRISH DOCTOR DIAGNOSED WITH HAAG VIRUS
An Irish doctor who is the first person to be diagnosed with the Haag virus on British soil has been named as Sean Coughlan. Dr. Coughlan, a pediatrician, was among a team of 50 aid workers who volunteered with the charity HELP to treat Haag victims in Liberia, one of the hotspots of the current outbreak.
The doctor reported symptoms, and later collapsed, while waiting for a follow-on flight from Heathrow to Dublin yesterday. Dr. Coughlan was checked on arrival at Heathrow at 9 a.m., but was subsequently delayed for 10 hours due to fog. Following his collapse, he was transferred to the high-level isolation unit at Royal Free Hospital in north London, accompanied by a team of health workers in full protection suits. He tested positive for Haag last night.
Dr. Coughlan, 33, will be kept in a high-level isolation ward at the hospital while he is treated by Dr. Paul Sturgeon, one of the leading experts in the field. His condition is said to be critical.
The total number of cases of Haag worldwide is more than 15,420 and 9,120 deaths have been reported in four countries—Liberia, Guinea, Nigeria, and the United States.
There is no vaccine against Haag, and healthcare workers are particularly at risk as they come into direct contact with patients. Public Health England has confirmed that it will notify members of the public who may have had contact with the doctor while he was infected with the virus, though experts said the risk of transmission was low.
The health secretary chaired a meeting of the Whitehall Cobra contingencies committee and said that there would be a review of the procedures adopted by aid workers and other officials working in Liberia. The prime minister, who will be chairing another Cobra meeting on the situation later today, said that everything would be done to support the patient and protect public health, adding that “Our thoughts and prayers are with this courageous young man’s family.”
“He can’t!” said Olivia out loud. Her mother and sister both looked up from How to Spend It.
“What?” said Phoebe.
“Sean. Sean has it. He has Haag. No. No, he can’t! Fuck!” she said. Her mind bloomed with catastrophe: Sean dying, his funeral, getting Haag herself, the two of them lynched by the Daily Mail as the feckless “Haag Couple.”
“Haag?” said her mother, springing up.
Olivia pushed the paper toward them, grabbing her iPad. She needed more facts. “He was working with me at the center. You met him yesterday, remember?”
“Oh, darling, how awful.”
“How come?” said Phoebe, eyes alarmed. “Weren’t you all wearing the special suits?”
“Nothing’s one hundred percent,” said Olivia, willing Weyfield’s painfully slow Wi-Fi to hurry.
Her search brought up hundreds of results, but it was just the same report over and over, same stats and phrasing, same photo of Sean doing thumbs-up in terra-cotta-colored scrubs. Behind him she could make out the center’s familiar concrete floor, tarpaulin roof, and the door into the Red Zone, plastered in hazard signs. She knew that early Haag symptoms presented gradually, sometimes over several days, before worsening abruptly in a matter of hours. It was one of the cruelties of the disease, often resulting in late diagnosis. But still, Sean had seemed his normal self, right up until they’d said good-bye. Hadn’t he? She remembered how he’d refused the plane meal at 3 a.m., and her chest seized. The idea that he might have been shielding her, putting on a brave face, was unbearable. She needed details, but all she had was Sean’s own e-mail and mobile number—no use while he was in isolation. She had no contact for his family, and besides, they had sworn not to tell anyone their secret until quarantine was over. She wanted to scream out loud. She’d known they were being stupid all along. Should she say something—let her family or Public Health England know? Almost simultaneously she decided not to. Not yet. She would just be extra vigilant. After all, they’d barely touched since their last morning in her room. Haag wasn’t highly contagious until the later symptoms began. She should be fine. Sean had been asymptomatic when they parted. As far as she knew.