The church bells are ringing again. In the middle of the morning, the daily drone of the single bell tone is calling out across Città Alta to inform us of yet more death. An echo of the bells from Città Bassa follow our church's deep chime, slightly higher in tone and just out of sink with the rhythm, further away in strength. Some mornings I can catch the ghosts of other bells tolling from the communities laid out below Bergamo's rise. They repeat the same sad story in differing beats.

Ambulance sirens fading in and out attempt to replicate the missing roar of airplanes overhead. Residents wait to see if their flashing lights are coming to a point near to themselves, shutters pulled open and windows splayed apart as they check that it's nobody they are close to.

One of the fallen is the mother of a girl in Simon's class. A spate of whatsapp messages appear on the class group and a fund and help network is instantly set up. It's run by one of the mothers that I previously thought of as only a nosy busybody. Now I have to eat humble pie. And not just one piece of it. Apart from this lady who can only be described as a real life Wonder Woman, the first person to offer a very substantial amount of money and help is the sour faced lady from the truffle shop! In a case of half an hour, the deceased woman's family is well and truly taken care of by the locals.

By the end of March and the beginning of April, the cry of ambulances and church bells are all we ever hear. Quite literally. The rest of the world outside our apartment is silent of humanity. Birdsong and dogs barking have taken the place of the car engines that we became so used to, revving up the steep road behind our building.

This particular morning is a Tuesday, I think, the only way to distinguish the weekdays is by which online classes the children have got. Today is history and science for Simon and English for Charlie. That means it must be a Tuesday.

Jack is sleeping in. He does that a lot. Without work hours to guide him and focus his mind he's lost at sea.

I remember to fix on my mask and gloves then grab Sissy's lead and take her down the stairs, outside for her morning relief. We hustle down the street to the closest patch of weeds along the gutter and she does the necessary. This is as far as she can go. One hundred metres maximum. I turn her round to go back but she pulls on the lead to continue up the hill for her old, usual walk. I have to pick her up in the end - whimpering at the loss of meeting her furry friends - and carry her back upstairs.

The first of today's three phone calls happens while I'm fixing a drink to take out onto the balcony. It's a clear morning and the sun already feels warm. So I sip my mug of English style coffee and look out over the railings, listening to the bells.

The call is from the building's administrator.

"Signora Firenze?"

"Yes."

"I want to ask you a favour. If I may?"

"Of course... Have we done something wrong?"

"No, no, signora.. I was wondering if you could help me out with a problem I have with Sig. Brambilla downstairs..."

"Ah, Aldo."

"Yes. Aldo. As you may have heard he passed away on Sunday in hospital, and we have something he has left which needs taking care of."

Aldo's death is news to me. I hadn't seen him around for a few days, but it wasn't unusual not to bump into the neighbours regularly. The demand is now so high that the large, decorated paper squares of funeral announcements are no longer pasted to the outside of a recently departed's abode, so no one but his family are any the wiser.

"Oh, that's a shame. Poor Aldo. What kind of a problem is it?"

In our current state of unemployment I'm set off thinking: what if it's financial, how are we supposed to help?

"Aldo's daughter-in-law has called me to say that he has left a kitten in the apartment and nobody from the family - or anyone they know - wants to take it. I know that you already have an animal so can you take care of it too?"

"Yes. Of course!"

I don't even hesitate to ask the rest of the family as I know they will be on board.

"How do I get in there?"

"Sig. Rossi, Carlo, from apartment 2a is going to leave the key in your post box for you. All you need to do is put it back into his when you have finished."

Not counting the sad news of the cantankerous first floor neighbour's death, this morning's turning out to be the most exciting we've had in weeks. I jump onto Jack, who's lying on the sofa bed and tell him the news quietly, so that the children in the other room won't overhear and disrupt their lessons. He mumbles in his slumber until the news reaches his foggy brain and the sleep clears away.

"Aldo had a kitten? And he didn't eat it?!"

I go to collect the key along with a scruffy written note from Carlo and carefully open Aldo's door. Just an inch to make sure nothing escapes past me. It's dark with the shutters left down and the smell of stale cooking and cat litter assaults my nostrils as I quickly enter.

Something rustles from the foot of the reclining armchair and a discarded newspaper lifts up creating a triangle of black which emits a pathetic mewing. I pull off the paper and meet the newest member of our family.

It's a tabby kitten with a white front and two dark, patches of fluffy fur surrounds its eyes. It's old enough to be weaned and young enough to be cute. It's extremely happy to see me.

I take it back home, along with the paraphernalia which goes with it.

"Oh what!" Is Jack's reaction. He's finally out of bed and has got Sissy by the collar just in case. "How cute is that...?"

At this point Simon and Charlie come rushing in, their classes simultaneously finished. Simon is immediately in love and Charlie is jumping up and down.

"I think it might be hungry.. " Simon whispers. "... I'll get it some milk."

Charlie is still jumping, "What's its name mamma? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"The note left by Carlo says it's a boy."

Simon returns with a bowl and I put the furball down, he immediately laps up the liquid hungrily.

"What's its name?" Charlie insists.

Looking at the dark eyepatches I'm reminded of someone.

"Let's call him Harry."

My family are absorbed for the rest of the morning, cuddling and feeding and grooming little Harry. Sissy is just as keen to get in on the action and washes the kitten any chance she gets.

The next phone call is just before lunch, as I'm searching for inspiration as to what to cook. I'm now the official provider of three meals a day for three differing tastes. A tall order that any 'Masterchef' hopeful would find demanding on our limited supplies.

This time it's a call from Angelica. She's finally found a moment to return the many messages and silly pictures I've been sending her as I try to help her lighten the stress load I can only imagine the situation is having on her.

She sounds tired.

"Jilly... Sorry I haven't got back to you sooner. Is everyone ok?"

"Yes, we're fine. How are things there? Is it getting any better?"

There's a pause on the line and I can feel her searching for a way to express things in a non disturbing way.

"We have all the staff possible. We have all the equipment possible. We have no more room until the trade fair field hospital is opened. And the army is moving out the bodies daily because we have nowhere to put them...."

She speaks with such a normal, regular expression that her words sound like the beginning of a joke to me and I find myself waiting for the punchline to offer some kind of relief to the strangeness.

"I hope you don't mind but I needed to talk to someone...."

"No, of course not.. Carry on Angie..."

"They're not giving us permission for the autopsies. Oh, Jilly, how do they think we can beat this if we don't have a clue what's causing it?... It might not be a case of respiratory damage... There's other reasons we could be missing completely. But we'll never know if we can't look...Santo Cielo... We can't continue this way. We are told which patients to help and which ones have no hope...the ones we have to let go..."

"I'm so sorry Angie... I had no idea it's got that bad. I saw the army trucks on the news around the hospital but I thought they were controlling the public."

"They're doing more than that. If you watch them leave you should know that they are stacked with coffins ... One minute... These bloody overalls are rubbing me sore.... Ok, that's better ... You know that lady I was telling you about? The one I can't give you a name for yet, but she's from Alta.. She died this morning."

"Sorry Angie." Is that all I'm capable of saying anymore?

"Last night, I held up my tablet for her, so that she could say goodbye to her son and daughter."

"Oh, Angie.." My heart is reaching out for her as I recognise that the monotonous way she's recalling this event is showing just how normal this scene has become for her.

"They were lovely people. The daughter couldn't stop crying long enough to say much, but the son said some beautiful things to his mother. He told her how much she meant to them all. And how the grandchildren adore her. Then the lady started smiling and I thought she was going to pull round for a while. She put her finger on the screen and stroked her son's face...."

My friend stays silent for a moment and I give her the time she needs to gather herself together. It also gives me a chance to wipe away my tears.

"... I don't think I can do this anymore Jilly."

"You can Angie. You have to. You're the strongest person I've ever met...."

"... Merda... How can I give them the dignity they deserve... They should be with their families not with me..."

"Don't give up now. It's got to change soon. Nothing this bad can go on forever Angie."

More silence.

"I have to go Jilly. Thank you."

She hangs up the phone before I get the chance to say it back.

I have lunch with my family. They're giggling and excited over the new kitten and I couldn't be more removed from the moment. I eat on automatic pilot.

After cleaning up, I fill in the form for self certification. It's something I will have to hand over to the police if I get stopped and questioned on my motives for being outside. Then I go to do the weekly shop, attempting to clear my mind from the reality of the other world my friend is dealing with. I dress up again in the correct attire and make my way up the hill to the local food store.

These are the only shops that are open, apart from chemist's. There's a queue of about five people - not bad considering it's near the common outing time of three o'clock.

I wait at the back and listen to the customers as they play that infamous game of the month called 'guess who's died'.

It will take about an hour to get in the shop, done and out again, and I have to hope that the small shop's supplies haven't been bought up by the time I get in there. This is still preferable to waiting at least two hours outside the big supermarket. Pasta is bound to be gone, probably flour and fresh meat too.

The older man in front of me is conversing with a middle-aged woman ahead of him. I recognise her from the restaurant which sells the town's best truffle casoncelli. As she turns to talk to him, she notices me and waves with no enthusiasm.

"It's 108 more infected today..." The man is saying. "... That brings us up to nearly eight thousand dead here in Lombardy alone!... What kind of world do we live in? I don't want to live in it."

"I know..." the restaurant owner sympathises. "Did you hear about Giovanna?... She can't get an answer from the hospital about where her mother-in-law's body is going. Aparently the crematoriums are full to bursting and she will be sent to Como somewhere. Then they'll get the ashes back at some point in the future. They have no idea."

"Poor Francesco... His mother would have hated to know she was on her own at the end... And the dog?.. Is he going to take it in? Because I will have him if they don't want it with the kids... Boris isn't it?"

I catch my breath.

"Yes, she named him after that prime minister who might die from the virus..." The lady continues as a shopper exits and allows us all to shuffle up a place. "... Heaven only knows if they will get back the right ashes.. I've heard that they pile them all in together in the industrial burners... Imagine that!"

"Or maybe they use the same ones as the animals?"

I begin to feel sick thinking that this woman's remains that they are talking about maybe someone that I have a great affection for.

"Either way it's not correct and the government should have locked us down a long long time before..." The man complains.

"And my business?.. And worse case, I don't want to end up in a hospital bed all alone like old Signora Locatelli!"

Bingo. It hits me. My head spins and I grasp at the wall. My poor, poor, kind friend.

I rush home immediately, howls of pent up tears finally escaping after over a month of being held back. The continuing attack on our entire perception of normal life is brought to a head at the memory of how Angelica described Signora Locatelli's last moments this morning. But somehow, by the time I arrive home the hurricane has passed.

Coming in as quietly as I can, I go straight to the bathroom and wash my face. The family is playing with the kitten and the computer on the dining table begins to play the incoming Skype call tune.

The third and final call this day is from England.