At midnight we get a knock on the door. We're all asleep, so it takes some hammering to rouse us.
I open the door (again in my PJs) though this time I'm still half asleep. There's a policeman wearing a mask. You can't leave, he informs me. I'm dumbfounded.
Sorry? I reply. We've been given the okay. We have wristbands! Our test results were negative. We have our quarantine paperwork. We were told we could leave any time after midnight. This has to be some kind of mistake?
The directive came out an hour ago, Ma'am, I am sorry. He shakes his head. He's just the messenger. We're not the only ones affected and the front line staff have the awful task of informing everyone. He realises the number of times our release date has changed, but can offer no sane explanation. And our paperwork? It's now void.
I explain our situation again - the urgency - I can try for an exemption but then we wouldn't have completed our quarantine period, which would only mean further problems once we get to Queensland. I understand the severity of Covid-19 and the measures to contain it's spread - but retaining people who they have tested and know don't have it? How is this aiding the situation?
We return to our beds, stunned. We're all now wide awake. So we sit and stare at our packed suitcases and contemplate all the calls to make in the morning. Telling Mum it's changed, yet again, will be the hardest.