Time since last Internet usage: 1 week, 4 days, 20 hours, 2 minutes and 19 seconds.
‘And the grand total is –’ says Rosie, as she taps the final figures into her old school calculator. She puts her hand over the screen. ‘I can’t look.’
‘Come on, Rosie, be brave,’ I say as I place the final teacup on the draining board and dry my hands. Those builders can certainly drink some amount of tea in a day; I feel as if I’ve been washing up all morning.
I go over and sit next to my sister, getting ready to help her reveal the project spending.
‘OK,’ she says, moving her hand and showing me the amount on the calculator.
‘Oh,’ we both say.
‘That’s more than I thought,’ I say, wincing slightly.
‘Actually it’s only seven hundred pounds over budget so far,’ she says, slightly optimistic sounding.
‘And that’s a good thing?’
‘Well, not a great thing, but considering that the plumber talked us into putting en suites into all the bedrooms and I hadn’t originally budgeted for them, that’s not too bad. Of course, he’s only put the plumbing in for it, so I’ve still got to buy the suites for them, but with the discount at the plumbers’ merchants he’s going to organise, hopefully it won’t be too bad. Phew. God, I’m so relieved,’ she says as she starts copying some figures down, and I’m relieved that she’s happy. ‘See, with me doing the figures, and you doing the project management, we’re making a pretty good team.’
‘Yes, we are,’ I say nodding, and realising how right Jack was.
The noise in the house is testament to the good job, as there’s banging and clanging all over the place as the plumber and the carpenters are finishing off their work. Rosie’s given Alexis the day off, and she and I are sorting out the paperwork. I’ve spent the morning making tea and researching the competition.
‘You know, you shouldn’t go back to London, you should go into business with me. We could do more projects like this.’
I look around the falling-down kitchen. ‘Ha, that’s funny.’
‘I’m serious. You’re good at the project management, and I’m good at the finances; we work well together.’
‘That’s only because it’s not actually work,’ I say. It’s true, we’re getting on pretty well considering we used to be at each other’s throats as teenagers.
‘But that’s the point; it never does feel like work when you’re working for yourself. Think about it. At least I wouldn’t care about your “priceless” tweet.’
‘You’re probably the only person who wouldn’t,’ I say sighing. Perhaps that’ll be my only career option. My thoughts turn back to my chat with Jack yesterday, about starting over on a career, but the thought of it turns my stomach. Could I really do it? And do I really want to?
I turn my attention back to the leaflets in front of me, picking up one for another holiday cottage in the area. I read over it and spot the familiar selling points: family friendly, dog friendly, accessible to walks, and it causes me to sigh.
‘Still haven’t thought of a marketing plan, then?’ asks Rosie, wincing as she knows the answer’s going to be no.
‘Not yet, but give me time,’ I say, thinking that it would be almost impossible to stand out from the crowd in this marketplace. All I can hope, for Rosie’s sake, is that there’s room for one more.
She looks down at the figures again and I can see a slight look of worry. I know she’s pleased that she’s not too far over budget, but she needs to turn a profit as quickly as she can to show Rupert that she made the right decision doing what she did.
‘Oh my God, check out this place,’ I say, my eyes popping out of my head.
‘Wow, that’s like a set from a seventies porno,’ says Rosie, laughing.
‘It even has pampas grass in the front.’
‘Oh, that’s too cool.’
At least that’s one cottage we probably won’t be competing with.
The laughter stops, but Rosie still has a smile on her face, which is nice to see as she’s been so down since Rupert’s visit. She’s only spoken to him once since then and apparently he was monosyllabic.
‘Excuse me, Rosie, can you come and show me where you want the en suite in the attic room?’ asks a builder as he leans down the stairs.
‘Sure thing,’ she says getting up.
‘I think I’m going to head out for a walk,’ I say, hoping that the fresh air will help, and the sun will actually be shining.
‘OK, see you later on.’
I’m wondering if I should leave a note for Jack to say thank you for taking me to Angel Hill yesterday, only I’m not entirely sure what to write. I slip a pen and paper into my pocket in case I think of something on the way.
For once I’ve got no hidden Internet agenda when going for a walk, mainly because I’m all out of ideas, short of divining for Internet wires.
I walk up the drive, past the crumbling wreck of a building that seems to get entombed by nature more and more each day, and past the sheep in the fields. They have it so easy, being moved from one pretty field to another to eat all day. We’ll just gloss over the fact they’re out here in all weathers and eventually will end up on a plate, but until then, they have it so easy in comparison to us humans.
There’s something so comforting watching them spring around; it’s something I’m going to miss when I go back to the real world. I shudder at the thought.
I try to force myself to think about my situation, just as Jack suggested, and I try to contemplate what it is I want from my life.
I’d always thought it would be in London, but ever since Jack put the idea of moving into my head, I can’t seem to get it out. Could I really do it? Could I really leave the big smoke? And where would I go?
I look up at the hills and think there are worse places to be than here, and I’d have the added bonus of being able to stay friends with Jack.
I realise I’m at the mailboxes and I’m delighted when I see a letter from Erica waiting for me. I settle down in a nook in the wall at the far side and read it.
Daisy!!!
It sounds amazing up there. If only work wasn’t so hectic I’d come and visit. In a way, I’m slightly jealous of your digital detox. Without our conversations I’m pretty much spending my time staring longingly at my phone and trying to work out which bits of Kim Kardashian are still real from her Instagram feed – I’m at a loss to find anything . . .
I want to see Jack and Alexis. If only you could message me a bloody picture! I need to know EVERYTHING about them, please. Sounds a bit like heaven, being stuck in the middle of nowhere with hot men and no phone. Please tell me you are making progress with at least one, if not both of them. If anyone needs a holiday romance it’s you.
The estate agent came round and we’ve put the flat on the market as of today. I woke up this morning in a massive sense of panic, wondering what I’d done. It’s ironic that I used to wake up in a blind panic wondering how I was ever going to afford my mammoth mortgage and now that problem’s going to disappear with Chris and me taking out a joint mortgage, I’m panicking about sharing it with him. Sometimes I miss the simplicity of our uni days when all we worried about was how drunk we could get on a fiver. Remember when we used to take one five-pound note out of the bank for a night out? LMAO.
BTW : I did as suggested and put your stuff in my loft. Unfortunately, it still looks like a broom cupboard, but at least everything’s packed up ready for you - if Rosie ever lets you leave!
Lots of love,
Erica xx
P.S. Please, please, please send photos – of the scenery and Jack and Alexis too!!! Instagram has ruined my imagination :)
P.P.S. an official-looking letter came for you. Do you want me to forward it on to you?
I miss my bestie so much, but it sounds as if she’s moving on without me. If only I could get my life as sorted.
I’m about to reach into my pocket to pull out my pen and paper when I see Buster bounding up, and my heart starts to race as I see his owner coming into view. From my vantage point, he can’t see me tucked away here, and I feel a flutter in my belly as I spot a letter in his hands.
‘For me?’ I say as he goes to drop the letter into our box. He practically jumps a mile.
‘For God’s sake, woman, you scared the life out of me.’
‘Sorry, not sorry,’ I say grinning. That’s the best laugh I’ve had all day. ‘So can I read it?’
‘This?’ he says examining the letter, and I see a blush of red in his cheeks.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Well, you’re here now, so I can actually talk to you,’ he says shoving it into his pocket.
‘Come on, what did it say?’ I say, wishing I’d waited until he’d deposited it in the box before scaring the crap out of him.
‘It didn’t really. Just the normal stuff. You know, Price is Right guff, talk about the weather: same old, same old.’
‘Right,’ I say, doing a slow nod. ‘And you walked all the way here just to post a letter about the weather.’
‘Well, I guess now we’ll never know, will we?’
He sits down on the wall beside me and brushes my leg with his, causing my cheeks to burn a little.
I’m tempted to reach into his trouser pocket to pull out the letter. I’m not too sure what stage it is in a friendship where you can stick your hand down someone’s trousers with the potential to accidentally grope them in the process, but I’m pretty sure we’re not there yet.
‘So what are you doing sitting here – apart from trying to scare the living daylights out of me?’
‘Oh, you know. Just thinking about things, and hoping you’d come by with a letter for me. I really do want to read it.’
‘Never going to happen,’ says Jack, shaking his head. ‘It’s bad enough that I know you actually read something I’ve written, let alone that I see you do it. No, I shall take this one with me to the grave. So, thinking more about what we were talking about yesterday?’
‘Uh-huh. More about what the hell I’m going to do with my life, and how I’ve made such a giant mess of it.’
‘You’ve got to stop thinking you’ve messed it up. You’re not on your deathbed, you know. Whatever happened was a small blip.’
‘My boss wouldn’t agree with that.’
‘Well, bosses can be idiots just like anyone else. You know, so many people would envy you at the moment. You’re free: no commitments, no strings. You could go wherever you wanted to go.’
I stare at Jack as he’s talking, knowing he’s right, knowing that I could go travelling or move to Land’s End, yet the only place I seem to want to go at the moment is right here.
It’s funny, as I’ve only been here for just over a week, and I know I don’t really know anything about him, but at the same time, I want to know everything.
‘I know you were saying it’s a bad thing that you have no attachments, but use your time wisely as I’m sure you won’t stay single forever.’
‘I should bloody hope not,’ I say, thinking that this pep talk is suddenly taking a depressing turn.
‘You do know I was trying to say the opposite of that; it came out all wrong. What I meant to say was, if I’d met you when I was living in London, I wouldn’t have been interested in a one-night stand.’
‘Oh great, so you wouldn’t have wanted to have sex with me – what’s wrong with me?’ I ask, turning and raising a provocative eyebrow.
Jack looks flustered and he’s scratching his head as if wondering how the conversation went so badly wrong.
‘I’m just messing with you. Thank you, that’s sweet to know,’ I say.
It wasn’t lost on me that he said if he’d met me in London, which is a nice way of saying nothing’s going to happen now.
‘You know, if I had my phone, I’d totally take a selfie,’ I say, looking behind me. ‘I mean, look at the sheep ready to photobomb us in the background. Talk about hashtag squad goals.’
‘Hashtag what goals? You do realise you talk a different language sometimes, don’t you?’
‘I’m sorry, Granddad, I forgot you’re not down with the cool kids.’
‘You know you’re over thirty, right? I’m pretty sure we’d tick the same boxes on most marketing surveys.’
I stare into Jack’s eyes, trying to get an idea of his age, but that damn beard is a real pain for guessing. I mean, is he mid-thirties, early forties? Who can tell with a disguise like that?
‘Go on, then, how old are you?’
‘How old do you think I am?’
‘Why do you answer every question with a question?’
‘Oh, sorry. Habit. I’m thirty-seven.’
‘Really? Is that all?’ I say, biting my tongue to stop myself from laughing.
He pushes me playfully on the arm. ‘It’s the beard, right? Rodney’s always telling me to get rid of it. It’s just, without it, Liz and Gerry kept ID’ing me in the village shop.’
I laugh, ‘Got a right baby face under there, have you?’
I can’t help stroking his face, and as I look into Jack’s eyes, I suddenly want to kiss him. He’s smiling back at me and I get the impression that he wants to too. I take a deep breath and I go to lean forward, when the sound of a car horn blasts and I leap up. Now I know exactly how Jack felt when I made him jump.
Rosie winds down her window.
‘Ian wants me to grab some more bits for the en suites so I’m off to the plumbers’ merchants. You want to come? Thought we could stop off for scones at that little tea shop on the way back.’
I look between Rosie and Jack.
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Those scones at Mrs Farley’s are to die for.’
He stands up and calls Buster over. ‘I was going to take Buster up to see Rodney anyway.’
‘Are you sure you don’t need to post anything first?’
‘Quite sure,’ he says winking, before he waves at Rosie and crosses the main road.
‘That looked cosy,’ says Rosie, as I climb onto the passenger seat.
‘He was just checking his post,’ I say, still not ready to explain my friendship just yet.
‘Uh-huh. Very attentive to that mailbox, then, just like you.’
I fold my arms defensively and look out the window, daydreaming about what was in his letter and gutted that I didn’t find out.
Dear Jack,
I know you haven’t seen me around for a while, so I thought I’d let you know that I am safe and well now that you’ve stood down on your rescuing duties. I’m not stuck down a well or anything (I still haven’t worked out how I’m going to get my phone out . . .)
Seeing as the weather has been so wet it’s been quite easy to throw ourselves into getting the house sorted. It’s gone a bit mental this week with contractors everywhere. We’ve now had new windows installed and I’m no longer shivering, although maybe that’s because I’m now dressed in a polar fleece all day. There are also doors on each of the bedrooms, so I can no longer hear Alexis snoring in the night. Someone has come in to plasterboard the ceilings and we’ve got rid of that awful Artex. It’s just like DIY SOS! Unfortunately, Nick Knowles isn’t here to lend a hand, so Rosie and I have started to do the painting, but it’s coming on in leaps and bounds. I’m sure next time you visit you won’t recognise the place.
I hope that Buster is well and isn’t attacking too many pigeons, and your day job is keeping you busy now you don’t have me to rescue. What exactly is your day job? You’ve never actually said . . .
Daisy
P.S. Did John Major’s son present The Price is Right, or was he a contestant? I can just see him winning a boat, or was that Bullseye where everyone won boats?
DEAR DAISY,
FLIPPING HECK – BULLSEYE . . . I SO WANTED ONE OF THOSE MUGS AND A BOAT TOO, OBVIOUSLY. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN QUITE HANDY WITH ALL THE RAIN THIS WEEK. THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO APPRECIATE THIS WEATHER ARE BUSTER AND THE FROGS HE’S BEEN CHASING ABOUT.
GLAD YOU ARE COPING OK WITH YOUR SOUL SEARCHING. I WAS WORRIED THAT I HADN’T SEEN YOU AROUND. NEARLY MADE A TRIP TO RODNEY’S HOUSE JUST TO CHECK.
I’M INTRIGUED TO SEE THE HOUSE. I’LL COME AND DO MY BEST KEVIN MCLOUD IMPRESSION WHEN I’M PASSING.
WHAT DO I DO? NOW THAT’S A QUESTION . . . I BET IF YOU WERE LOGGED ON, YOU WOULD HAVE LOOKED ME UP ON LINKEDIN ALREADY. WHAT DO YOU THINK I DO??
JACK
Dear Jack,
I saw the sun yesterday. The sun! Did you see it too? I’m guessing you might have blinked and missed it. So just in case, I can confirm that at 2.32 p.m. on Friday, 18 May, the sun was indeed out. I never really got how people talked so much about the weather, but that’s clearly because I’d never spent a significant time in Cumbria before. It’s amazing how it changes on a minute-to-minute basis, and it makes London’s weather seem pretty dull in comparison.
I’ve been giving your day job serious thought and have drawn a blank. You clearly aren’t a farmer, as you don’t appear to have any animals other than Buster, and I think I spot more weeds in your fields than in ours. You spend a lot of time at your house, so you don’t appear to keep normal office hours. So what does that make you? Professional stay at homer? You’re not an IT genius or you’d have faster Internet than dial-up, so what do you do? The only clues I have are a conference call and that you used to work in Canary Wharf. The mind boggles.
Now, you underestimate me. I may not have LinkedIn, but I do have Gerry and Liz at the post office. I bet they know ;)
Daisy
P.S. I think you can get one of those Bullseye tankards off the Internet on one of those gadget sites.