It Started With A Tweet

by Anna Bell

  ‘Right, then, let’s get sorted,’ she says, slamming the boot shut and taking charge once more.

  I look over to the well in the corner of the courtyard, its tiled roof dappled with pale moonlight. My heart aches for the phone lying in the holey bucket at the bottom, yet I’m too exhausted to do anything about it.

  ‘I’ll get you back soon,’ I whisper, before I head back inside.

  Chapter Eight

  Time since last Internet usage: 20 hours, 5 minutes and 11 seconds

  ‘Ooh that tickles,’ I say, giggling, as Aidan Turner’s curls fall over my toes. The tickles continue up my leg as his head moves higher, and I’m longing for him to reach his destination.

  ‘Are you finally awake?’ shouts Rosie.

  I snap my eyes open and find myself alone. I momentarily wonder where Aidan’s disappeared to before I take in the hideous Artex ceiling and peeling wallpaper. It seems my love affair with Aidan was the stuff of dreams, and unfortunately for me this dilapidated farmhouse wasn’t some awful nightmare.

  The memory and shame of how I ended up here comes flooding back and I close my eyes wishing I could just go back to my dream.

  Rosie pokes her head through the door, her hair wet presumably from a shower.

  ‘I thought you were never going to wake up, it’s gone eleven,’ she says, leaning against the doorframe. ‘I’d forgotten how much of a lazybones you are.’

  I rub my eyes, a little miffed to have been woken up from my dream, before the tickling commences again.

  I check under the cover for Aidan just in case, and I’m met, not by his brown eyes, but by the eyes of something else.

  ‘Ahh!’ I scream as I throw the covers back and go running across the threadbare carpet to hide behind Rosie.

  I watch as another little mouse, or maybe the same one I saw yesterday, scuttles out from my blanket and across the floor and into one of the large holes along the skirting board.

  ‘I think he likes you,’ she says laughing.

  I give her a look to let her know that I’m not amused.

  ‘Right, mouse poison – it’s on the list,’ she says shrugging. ‘I was going to go out earlier to get the shopping but I thought you’d freak out if you woke up here alone. But I need to go now or else we’ll be eating cup-a-soup for lunch.’

  ‘I’ll get dressed and come with you.’

  ‘I think it would be best if you stayed here. I mean, I think you need time to be by yourself without temptation.’

  ‘But I’m fine. Look, it’s not like I’m a drug addict, I don’t have the shakes. And it’s not as if I’m going to scratch someone’s eyes out to see what’s going on with Twitter.’

  She gives me a look that suggests she’s not so sure.

  ‘I haven’t even thought about my phone since I woke up.’

  Mainly because I had more pressing matters, like a rodent crawling up my leg. But now that I’ve realised my phone is missing, I’m not going as crazy as I thought I would. I might be intrigued to know how many people have retweeted my awful tweet, and I might want to see if my boss has emailed me to say they’ve realised it isn’t such a big deal and I can have my job back. But it’s not like I’m going to be climbing down the well to rescue it or anything . . . at least not yet.

  ‘Why don’t you jump in the shower and have some breakfast, and I’ll be as quick as I can? Now, apart from mouse poison, I’m getting light bulbs, an extra torch, a cheap watch, enough food for two or three days – any special requests?’

  ‘Chocolate and wine. I’m allowed wine on the detox, right?’ I think the only way I’m going to get through spending so much time with my sister is by drinking.

  ‘I bloody hope so. Right, wine and chocolate, done. See you later on.’

  As she pounds down the stairs I head as instructed towards the shower, desperate to wash off the intimate encounter with my rodent friend.

  Surprisingly, after the events of the last two days, I slept pretty well. We went to bed around 9ish and I don’t remember waking up in the night. I expected to replay what happened with my job over and over in my mind, but I must have been truly exhausted.

  I walk into the bathroom, trying to ignore the mould on the wall, and the windows, which look opaque from dirt rather than frosted glass, and run the shower. At least the bath looks clean and the shower curtain looks new. I peel off my clothes and step into the bath as the water splutters out in a chaotic fashion, just as it did downstairs.

  I put a hand under it, and to my amazement it’s hot! What a bonus. I put my whole body under it and immediately start to feel refreshed. I pick up a bottle of expensive shampoo, which Rosie must have left in here, and lather it all up, when all of a sudden the water starts to go lukewarm.

  ‘Oh no you don’t.’

  I start desperately turning the hot up and the cold down, but nothing seems to be happening. The water temperature is dropping by the second and I can feel it getting colder and colder.

  ‘Stay with me, hot water,’ I say to the taps, as if I’m a doctor pleading with a dying patient I’m trying to resuscitate, but it’s no use. I’m forced to jump back to the other end of the bath and I shiver as I assess my options. I know that I have to wash the shampoo out of my hair. I take a deep breath and lean my head in, my teeth chattering as the water makes contact. I do it as quickly as I can while I freeze my arse off and goosebumps prickle up my arms. Finally, I rejoice as I see the water running clear between my toes and I turn off the taps. I have the ultimate brain freeze, which is bad enough when you’ve been eating ice cream, but so much worse when you haven’t even had frozen-chocolate pleasure beforehand.

  I grab at a towel from the rack – at least that’s clean and oh so soft. Rosie wasn’t joking when she said she’d brought a little luxury from home.

  I towel myself down as quickly as I can to get warm and dry. At least it’s May and not the middle of January. I think my hair would have turned to icicles if it had been any colder.

  I wander back into the bedroom I shared with Rosie and give my suitcase a prod around before I open it, just in case any of Mickey’s friends have decided to set up home in it.

  Deciding that it’s not moving on its own, I open it up and pull on a fresh pair of jeans and T-shirt, followed by a nice fitted cardigan. It’s great to have clean clothes again. I slip my feet into my suede espadrille boots and tie a scarf around my neck. I rub my hair as dry as I can, before plaiting it quickly to the side. I might not have a mirror, but I can tell I’ve pulled off the ultimate country chic look. If only I were able to snap a selfie. I’m sure it would look impressively arty taken up against one of the crumbling stone walls outside. It makes me pine for my phone, thinking how perfect this place is for Instagram.

  I hear a thud above my head and I freeze. What the hell was that? It sounded too big for a mouse.

  I wish that I’d gone with Rosie. I could quite happily have camped out in her car; she could even have locked me in. At least then I wouldn’t be bait for the monsters that live in the attic.

  ‘Hello?’ I call.

  It’s quiet again and I reassure myself that it must have been the wind. I can hear it rattling around the windows. I’m sure that something just blew over.

  I hurry downstairs and find myself in the big kitchen. It’s draughtier today; the big hole in the bottom of the door is doing nothing to keep the chill out.

  The noises are freaking me out and I figure that staying inside will only remind me of all the go-to gadgets I’m missing. I decide instead to go out and explore. It takes me three attempts to pull the heavy door open and it almost knocks me back as I set off. I’m met with a grey sky that matches the boulders in the walls and I instinctively fold my arms to stay warm. Why didn’t I bring a coat with me?

  I scan the horizon wondering which way to head, when I spot the well. I try not to look at it at first, but it’s as if my phone is calling for me. I listen out for the sound of Rosie’s car, but all I can hear is the wind.


  I might have gone along with the plan of detoxing when we were in London, when I felt as if I had to escape the Twitter backlash, but now, after a proper night’s sleep, I’ve realised that it was a mad thing to do – surrendering my lifeline to a well for all eternity . . . well, a week.

  If I got it out, I could hide it in one of the derelict barns and then check on it occasionally. It’s not like I’m addicted and can’t live without it, it’s just that I could be harming my career prospects by not being connected. I’d obviously only check my emails to see if Andrea was begging for me to come back, or if I was being headhunted now people knew I’d gone. I’d probably send Erica the odd little message too – I miss my bestie. But that would be it. I would be really good and wouldn’t do any general surfing and I’d even forgo looking at Facebook.

  I stride purposefully up to the well and look down.

  I can’t really see anything other than the fact that it’s gloomy. If only I had a torch, but it’s on my bloody phone . . .

  I bend down and pick up a loose stone from the ground and throw it down the well. Am I supposed to make a wish, or does that only work with a coin? I wish for my phone back just to be on the safe side. It takes a couple of seconds before it hits the bottom.

  What the hell does that mean? That it’s quite far down?

  On the plus side it didn’t make a splash, so at least Rosie was right; there’s no water.

  I look around for something to help me and I see a big stick propped up against a barn. Maybe I can hook it round the end of the bucket and somehow pull it up?

  It takes a little bit of angling to get the stick in, and as I lower it down, I have to lean myself in.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I shout, as my scarf gets tangled in the side of the well and it tugs around my throat. I try and hold on to my precious stick in one hand and loosen the scarf with the other without strangling myself. It comes free from my neck so I lean back over the well, this time digging my elbows in so that I don’t fall in too. Although, at least if I did, I’d be reunited with my phone . . . I weigh up the broken bones and pain caused by said fall versus the relief of my reunification with my iPhone. In the end, I pull myself back out, as I wouldn’t get any signal down there anyway.

  ‘Don’t worry, phone,’ I say down to it. ‘I’ll get you soon.’

  I’ll have to wait and think of a better plan to get it out of its resting place.

  In the meantime, Rosie said she’d be at least an hour, which might just give me time to get to the village before she returns.

  Now that I’ve been thinking about logging on, I can’t seem to think of anything else, and now I’m desperate to go online. The village looked far too small to have an Internet cafe, but maybe there’s a B. & B. with a computer terminal or someone might lend me a phone. I’m clutching at straws, but I feel as if I have to at least try.

  I shove my ruined scarf in my pocket, deciding that perhaps a crumbly old farm in Cumbria is not the best place to wear it, and I set off up the drive.

  Despite it being dry today, it’s pretty muddy underfoot, and I have to concentrate to see where I’m putting my feet. The espadrilles are doing a pretty rubbish job at stopping the stones from wedging themselves right into the soles of my feet. Not to mention the fact that they’re getting really dirty. I bend down and try to scuff a bit of mud off the pink suede.

  ‘Bugger it,’ I say, wishing I’d picked more practical footwear. I don’t think there’s any amount of suede cleaner that is going to get these back to their baby-pink hue. Damn Rosie. Messing with my phone is one thing, but my shoes are quite another.

  I’m just coming up to standing when I hear a rumble growing louder, and it takes me a second to realise what’s making it. I jump out of the way as a quad bike comes flying over a hill in my direction, splattering my jeans with mud.

  ‘For goodness’ sake,’ I shriek. First my scarf, then my espadrilles, and now my 7 For All Mankind jeans. It’s a bloody good job that I don’t have my phone for this; there’d be no #blessed words written about this outfit.

  ‘Sorry,’ says the man, stopping in front of me.

  He might have a helmet on but I’d recognise that beard anywhere – it’s Big Foot from yesterday.

  ‘I don’t expect people to be walking up here. Got lost, have you?’

  ‘No, I know exactly where I’m going,’ I say snappily.

  ‘Right,’ he says looking me and my mud splatters up and down. I can see a slight smirk on his face as if he’s pleased with his handiwork. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’

  He puts his hands back on the handlebars and goes to pull away when I realise that I’m shooting myself in the foot – if he’s off out, perhaps he can take me with him.

  I look at the quad. I’m not entirely sure if you can ride on it pillion like a motorbike, but I’m sure I could perch somewhere.

  ‘Wait! Can you take me to the village? I need to get there urgently,’ I say.

  ‘Not going that way.’ He shakes his head, revs the engine and he’s off, leaving me to jump out of the way as mud flies in his wake.

  ‘How bloody rude was that,’ I say out loud.

  I start to reach into my pocket to rant about him in a tweet to make myself feel better, but my phone’s not bloody there.

  ‘For fuck’s sodding sake,’ I shout as loud as I can, but I know that no one other than me will hear it, as the wind seems to be swirling around me.

  I look down at myself and know that I can’t walk to the village like this, so I turn round admitting defeat.

  ‘Who the bloody hell does he think he is. I’m not going that way,’ I say, mimicking his gruff voice.

  The horn of a car beeps behind me and scares the life out of me as I jump into a verge.

  For a minute I think it’s the yeti come to have another try at knocking me over, before I see that it’s Rosie and her beat-up Land Rover.

  ‘Hey, sis,’ she bellows out the window. ‘Want a lift?’

  I sigh; she’s got back quicker than expected. Any hope of reaching the village is now thwarted and only the phoneless farm awaits.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she asks as I climb in.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ I say as she starts moving. ‘Hmm, now that is a good question. Let’s see: we’ve fallen victim to some sort of digital detox scam that should be featured on Holiday Watchdog, with a holiday let that is so disgusting it should be condemned; in the space of ten minutes I’ve ruined a Biba scarf, a pair of Solilla’s espadrilles and my ridiculously expensive jeans have been splattered with mud; and if all that wasn’t enough, I’ve been without Internet for at least twenty hours. Anything could have happened by now,’ I shriek.

  ‘Oh, boy,’ says Rosie, pulling up into the farmyard and cranking up the handbrake. ‘It’s just like when I cut out caffeine, you’re all grumpy.’

  She pats me on the leg, like that’ll make it all better, and jumps out of the car to open the boot. I get out, slamming the door with such ferocity that it’s in danger of coming off its hinges.

  ‘We’ll start doing a few meditation sessions, maybe some yoga,’ she says calmly.

  ‘But that’s my point,’ I shout. ‘You can’t lead yoga sessions, you can’t even lead a conga line at a family party. This whole thing is wrong. Let’s just admit that this was a mistake and go and check ourselves into a nice hotel. One where we won’t be sharing a room with the cast of Ratatouille and where I won’t go through more outfit changes than Lady GaGa in concert. Let’s just abandon this place and leave it to rot like it was doing before we got here.’

  ‘We can’t go anywhere,’ says Rosie, shaking her head.

  God, my sister is so infuriating. Just because this was her idea.

  ‘Come on, Rosie, we gave it a good go, but enough’s enough,’ I say pleading. ‘These people, whoever they are, aren’t going to care, are they? Unless it’s like some creepy cult, in which case that’s even more reason to leave.’

  ‘We’r
e not going anywhere,’ she says again, firmly.

  ‘But we can’t stay here. I mean, look what it did to my outfit – it’s ruined.’

  ‘Then we’ll get you some more appropriate clothes,’ says Rosie, picking bags out of the back of the car as if she’s listening but not hearing what I’m saying.

  ‘Look, if you’re worried because these people are friends of yours, we can pretend to stay here; they don’t even have to know we’ve moved to a hotel.’

  ‘There are no bloody people,’ says Rosie, dropping the bags at her feet.

  ‘What do you mean, there are no people?’ I say, slowly.

  ‘I made them up. I made this whole thing up,’ she says turning to look at me. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes look wild. ‘The whole digital detox was to try and get you here.’

  ‘You made it up?’

  I’m trying not to panic that I let my sister throw my phone down a well on the advice of someone who apparently doesn’t exist.

  ‘Surprise,’ she says.

  Once I get over the shock, I’ll bloody kill her.

  Chapter Nine

  Time since last Internet usage: 21 hours, 10 minutes and 36 seconds

  I try to breathe in and out as I slowly consider my options. If I kill my sister and bury her body here, it would be days, or maybe even weeks, before anyone found her. I could totally make it to Venezuela or somewhere else without a UK extradition treaty by then.

  I take a deep breath, muttering a quick ‘I love you’ to Siri down the well before heading back to the cottage, following Rosie.

  I need to find out what she’s talking about.

  Besides, my earlier attempt to leave the drive proved that I’m not going to make it out without her Land Rover.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ I shout at her as I storm into the farmhouse. My sister is calmly unpacking the shopping into the cupboards as if she didn’t just make a huge revelation minutes earlier. ‘What do you mean, you made the whole thing up? What about my digital addiction?’ I say, all high-pitched and squeaky.