Time since last Internet usage: 1 day, 21 hours, 21 minutes and 48 seconds
‘What’s wrong?’ asks Jack as he follows my gaze.
‘I borrowed Alexis’s phone and now he’s coming back and I don’t know how I’m going to put it back without him knowing.’
The bumpy road is no match for the off-roader, and Rosie’s going to be back at the farm in no time.
‘When you say “borrow”, you mean, you stole it,’ he says, his scowl back on his face.
‘You say “steal”, I say “borrow”. It’s all semantics.’
‘Why did you need to take someone’s phone? What happened to yours?’
‘My sister threw it down a well, along with her own.’
He looks at me like I’m quite barmy.
‘Don’t worry, it was in Tupperware so it won’t get wet, and the well’s dry.’
‘Oh right, because that makes it much more normal.’
‘My sister’s making me do a digital detox; she thinks I’m addicted, but I’m totally not.’
‘And half an hour ago you were hanging off the side of a hillside trying to get a mobile signal. No, not addicted at all.’
Just when I was starting to warm to him . . .
I can’t believe I’m wasting precious time trying to explain myself when I should be trying to beat them back to the house. I start moving again, hurrying along, and I find myself accidentally dragging Jack along too, who’s still attached to the rope.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ he says almost jogging to keep up. ‘You’re never going to get there in time.’
‘But what am I going to do?’ I say, power-walking the best I can in my stupid shoes. I stop in frustration, wondering if I should just throw the phone into the bushes rather than get caught red-handed.
Jack sighs again. ‘Bloody tourists, they’re always getting themselves into trouble. Come on.’
He drops the rope, seeing as we’re now walking on the gravel path that, as far as I can tell, connects Rosie’s farm to his. I try to keep up and we make it into the courtyard of Upper Gables at the same time as the Land Rover.
‘Hello, hello,’ says Rosie jumping out of the car at the sight of us. ‘What the bloody hell happened to you? Go for a mud bath, did we?’
I can see her eyeing my appearance and carefully looking at Jack to see what role he’s played in all this.
‘Very funny. Just went for a little walk and it’s a tad muddy.’
‘Just a tad,’ she echoes, laughing. ‘I’m Rosie, by the way. I gather we’re neighbours.’
‘Jack,’ he says, shaking the hand she’s holding out for him.
‘Nice to meet you. Liz and Gerry were telling us all about you.’
For a moment I wonder if he’s going to abandon me and skulk off at the mention of the village gossips.
‘So I gather.’
Rosie walks round to the back of the Land Rover and opens the boot, revealing the extent of their shopping trip.
‘Oh wow, how many bathrooms are you renovating?’ I say, marvelling at the contents.
‘Daisy,’ says Alexis, rushing over and looking at my front in horror as he gets out of the car.
For a second I’m worried that he knows I’ve got his phone in my pocket, but then I realise that he’s looking at the mud.
‘Oh, I’m fine, just a little slip when I was out hiking.’
‘It is good? You are all right?’
‘Fine.’
‘Then, this is for you. A treat,’ he says handing me a Boost, my all-time favourite chocolate bar.
‘Thanks, my favourite. How did you know?’ I ask, looking at Rosie, but she shrugs her shoulders. ‘Thank you.’
I stare at it for a second, as if he’s just given me the crown jewels, but Jack coughs and reminds me of his presence.
Alexis looks him up and down as if unsure how he fits into all this, and I notice that he’s a bit slow to acknowledge him properly.
‘Alexis,’ he says thrusting his hand out.
‘Jack.’
‘Alexis is our help-ex worker,’ I say, before he thinks he’s Rosie’s husband.
I notice that he doesn’t say enchanté to him like he purred at us yesterday.
‘Do you want me to give you a hand? Perhaps Alexis and I can take this in?’ says Jack.
‘I should be able to manage,’ says Rosie, being more polite than actually protesting at the offer of help.
‘I insist,’ he says through gritted teeth.
Alexis leans into the boot, and as Jack follows suit he raises an eyebrow at me and I realise that that’s my cue. I scuttle over to the front door, throwing my shoulder to it with such ferocity that I’m like a human ramrod. I go flying through into the kitchen and manage to shove the phone back on the table just as Rosie follows me in, carrying bright orange carrier bags.
She dumps them onto the table before heading out to get some more.
‘You can help, you know,’ she calls over her shoulder.
‘Be right there,’ I say, double-checking the phone is in the same position that I found it in.
Alexis and Jack walk in carrying a toilet awkwardly between them, with Rosie shouting orders.
‘Let’s keep it down here in the living room until we rip out the old suite.’
I go to the back of the car and pick up a collection of boxed taps and some paint. Even that’s a struggle; my fingers still haven’t straightened themselves out since they were clutching the rock. The wind did change when I was up there. What if they’re going to stay like that forever?
Jack, much to his disdain, helps unpack the whole car. He scowls at me each time he passes, just in case I was in any doubt that he was doing me a big favour.
I go over to the kettle while everyone else goes back to the car to do the final run.
When Rosie comes in and shuts the door I look up at her in surprise.
‘Where are the boys?’ I say, thinking that after commandeering so much of his day the least I could do was to make Jack a cup of tea and offer him some of the handmade cake we bought yesterday.
‘Jack said he had to go to the village, and Alexis asked if he could go with him. Don’t worry, I asked him to pick up some more of those cookies.’
‘Oh, good,’ I say, suddenly feeling awful that I didn’t get a chance to thank Jack for everything he’s done for me – both the dramatic rescue and him covering up the phone theft. Normally, I’d send someone a text to say thanks, but it’s a bit tricky with neither of us being in possession of a phone.
‘I can’t wait to get started on the bathroom,’ says Rosie, clapping her hands in delight, the same way I do when I’m excited about something. It seems funny to be watching someone with the same mannerisms. ‘Now, do you want to use the shower before we rip it out? It’s going to be a few days before it’s plumbed in and ready to use.’
‘What are we supposed to do in the mean time?’ I haven’t asked before, too fearful of the reply.
‘Ah, now I did think of that when we were at the shops.’ She roots around in the bags until she finds what she’s looking for. ‘Ta da,’ she says, holding up a solar-powered shower, the type you use if you’re camping and desperate.
Having spent so much time with Jack this morning, I’ve got his frown down to a tee and I glare at her.
‘You want me to use that? Outside?’
‘Not exactly. I thought we could hang it outside to warm it up then pop it up in the barn, where it might be a bit warmer.’
‘And a bit more private.’
‘Oh, yes, there’s that too. I’ll get Alexis to whip up something this afternoon. I bought some value shower curtains, I’m sure he’ll be able to do something.’
I’m starting to appreciate how easy my life was this time last week. Sure, I was slaving away, working all hours to the point of exhaustion, but at least I knew I’d always have hot showers, a warm and cosy bed, and my beloved phone. I chide myself because there are people that live in these conditions every day, even for their whole lives. I suddenly feel awful about the private pity party I’m holding just for me. If this was a Facebook post, I’d totally follow with #firstworldproblems, as that’s exactly what this is.
‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, instantly manning up. ‘It’ll be like one giant adventure.’
‘Won’t it?’ says Rosie. ‘You know it’s so exciting actually living on-site and doing a refurb. Usually I’m just popping in and out, supervising the contractors before going home. Oh, I forgot, I bought this earlier.’
She picks up a Boots bag, pulls out a bottle of dry shampoo and gives me a nod as if to tell me that it’s going to solve all our problems.
I take the bottle and plant a fake smile on my face, ‘Great.’
‘And . . .’ she says, pulling out a bright blue box that appears to have an old-fashioned camera in it. It takes me a moment to register that it’s a disposable one.
‘What’s this for?’ I say, thinking that it looks like the type of thing that would look more at home on a wedding table.
‘You said you missed taking photos, and this way you’ll be able to snap away on your walks.’
I look at it and try and remember the last time I used a camera with real film in it. Was it the nineties? Just after? I scratch my head.
I take it out of the packet and smile at the faux snakeskin that gives it a vintage feel, which is in keeping for its surroundings.
‘Thanks, Rosie, that’s really thoughtful,’ I say, almost in surprise that my sister would do something so nice for me.
I run my thumb over the wheel to wind it on so that it’s ready to use. There’s something so satisfying about the physicality of it.
‘I bought a few,’ she says, pulling out pink and cream boxes too. ‘Thought it would be nice to have some in-progress photos as we do up the house.’
‘Great idea,’ I say, sitting down at the table, which is a bad move, I realise, as my wet jeans spread even more over my thighs.
‘So, what was Jack like, then? He seemed a bit less frosty than he was when we met him on the road the other day.’
‘You mean, when we almost ran over his dog.’
‘I didn’t almost run over his dog. His dog just did a very spirited run near my car.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Anyway, so, what is he like? He seems very helpful.’
Her eyebrow is raised in a way that I recognise; it’s so much like our mother it’s uncanny. I only need to pass within three feet of a man who’s vaguely my age and unmarried for my mum to get her fishing rod out for information, and it appears Rosie is the same.
‘Yes, it was nice of him to unload the car.’
‘Wasn’t it,’ she says nodding and staring at me as if I’m supposed to elaborate. But I don’t. I carry on trying to pick the mud off my jeans in big lumps. It’s fairly satisfying when you get a big crusty bit off intact, and it’s fulfilling my need to fidget now that I don’t have a phone to occupy my fingers.
‘So, did you just bump into him on your walk?’
I think my sister is going to strain her eyes with that eyebrow raising if she’s not careful.
‘Uh-huh. Now I’d better go and have this shower. Make the most of the luxury while I still can.’
My sister’s face falls in disappointment. It’s as if she could sniff there was more going on than a simple stroll in the country. Of course, she’d be right, but I’d rather she keep up the fantasy that I was attracted to our neighbour, rather than know the truth that I was trying to log on with Alexis’s phone.
As I walk up the stairs and head into the bathroom, I almost laugh at the state of it. I can’t believe I called this a luxury. I run the water and peel my clothes off slowly. The mud having dried makes the jeans more rigid, and it’s even harder than usual to pull them off. I finally succeed and step into the warm water. I close my eyes and try to appreciate the warmth, thinking how I’m going to miss it over the next few days. Hair washed in record time, I get out of the shower reluctantly, as I know that if I don’t, I will soon be reliving my ice-bucket challenge.
I dry myself off quickly and walk, in my towel, back to my bedroom and start rooting around in my suitcase, wondering what the hell I’m going to wear. I settle for the tracksuit bottoms that I slob around in at the weekends, and I team it up with a long-sleeve Gap T-shirt and a big woolly cardigan. It will have to do. I also decide to put on my smelly gym trainers too. They’re not the type of trainers that Jack was talking about, but I guess they’ve got to be more practical than the espadrille boots, which are now only fit for the bin.
I’m about to walk out of the bedroom when I catch sight of my writing stationery. I must write Erica a letter; yesterday’s postcard is already out of date, thanks to Alexis’s arrival and my near-death experience this morning.
I pick it up and an idea hits me – I could write Jack a thank-you note and leave it in his mailbox at the end of the road. I feel as if I need to thank him, and a note is far less invasive than heading round to his house to do it in person. An old-fashioned equivalent of a text message.
I pop back downstairs and see that Rosie is bent down at the oven.
‘Just shoving some jacket potatoes in for lunch. Are you hungry?’
‘Starving,’ I say, thinking that I worked up quite the appetite this morning.
‘They’ll be about forty minutes as I started them off in the microwave. I figure we’ll wait for lunch before we get stuck into any work.’
‘OK, I might go for a little walk, take a few snaps while I wait.’
Rosie nods and starts taking the bathroom supplies upstairs.
I lean over the table and write my note.
Jack,
Thank you for your knight-in-shining-armour impression – on both counts. Alexis didn’t seem to notice the adventure his phone went on this morning, and my hands are slowly starting to relax out of the claw pose that they’d been stuck in from clinging on to that rock for dear life.
You’ll be pleased to know I’ve thrown my espadrilles (those stupid bloody boots) in the bin.
I’ll try and be less touristy in the future.
Thanks again,
Daisy
I’m deliberating whether to add a kiss or not when Rosie walks back downstairs.
‘Hey, do you remember who used to present The Price is Right?’
She stops and leans on the banister. ‘Hmm, Bob Monkhouse?’ she says, wrinkling her face as if she’s not sure that’s the right answer.
‘No, I don’t think it was him.’
This really is frustrating. It’s the kind of question that would be answered in a nanosecond if we had the sodding Internet.
‘What about Des O’Connor?’
I do have a memory of Des presenting something with a shiny model.
‘Could be.’
P.S. What about Des O’Connor?
‘I’m just going to test out the camera,’ I say, as I fold the note over and give Rosie a quick wave. I shut the door and I hope this time I have more luck on one of my walks.