Mum was sitting in the kitchen with her hands wrapped around a coffee mug. 'How was it?' she asked.
'It was so amazing, to be there and share that kind of feeling with everyone. I feel like we all needed it.'
'Sit down,' she said.
I sat down at the kitchen bench beside her.
'Your dad is staying in a hotel for the next two weeks,' she said.
'What?'
'He was furious that you've exposed yourself to 10,000 people and he can't take any chances with the football club. He's one of only twenty staff they've kept on. They're back training now. If he was to catch COVID and pass it onto a footballer, he'd be sacked. You know that.'
'But you said go.'
'I know. He's angry with me too.' Mum was still in her clothes from this morning. She was wearing black lounge pants and an oversized black cashmere jumper. Her hair was unbrushed and she hadn't worn makeup in what seemed like months.
'This is stupid ... I'm going to school and exposing myself to hundreds of kids every single day. There's hardly any cases in Australia. No one is dying here. I mean, hardly anyone. What is it, one hundred deaths?'
'It's not over yet, Ivy. We're probably only at the beginning of all of this. And your dad ... well, he's stressed. This has been really difficult for him.'
I took a banana out of the fruit bowl and peeled it. I took a bite off the head. 'It was important ...' I said. 'Black lives matter.'
'I know,' she said. 'I'm sympathetic to the cause too. But there's a time and place for everything and this health crisis means that every life matters.' She put her coffee mug down and stretched her legs out under the bench. The identikit of my family was being redrawn, from carefree privilege, to struggle street. The head of my table was now staying in a hotel for two weeks. He was mad at me and mad at my mum and mad at the state of the world.
'You're all right, aren't you?' I asked. 'Like you and dad are okay?'
'Yeah, of course darling, we're okay. We're going to be okay,' she said, but it felt as though she was reassuring herself more than me. She was articulating her words at the kettle and at the toaster and at the Le Crueset dish that was still soaking in the sink from last night. She was saying the words to appliances in the kitchen, and the words themselves had no meaning.
'Can I call him?' I asked.
'Of course, darling. You can call him.'