by Anna Bell
‘Besides, remember he said he had a girlfriend? The one in the photo.’
‘Ah yes, how could we forget Alexis,’ I say using Rosie’s original pronunciation.
Rosie punches me playfully on the arm and I push her back, but before it can escalate, Alexis walks up to us.
‘I go upstairs,’ he says, more of a statement than question.
‘OK,’ says Rosie, ‘but remember it’s a bit of a work in progress,’ she calls up the stairs, but we can already hear him stomping across the floorboards above us.
‘You might need some insulation between the floors,’ I say helpfully.
‘Another thing to add to the list.’
Poor Rosie. This afternoon she’d almost come alive talking about her plans for this place and yet now she looks down in the dumps.
‘I can’t believe I’m about to say this,’ I say, ‘but I’ll stay as long as Alexis does. That way it won’t be awkward for you and Rupert.’
‘You’d do that for me?’ she says, wrinkling her nose in confusion.
‘Uh-huh, but only if you give me my phone back from the well.’
‘No deal,’ she says sighing, as if I’d got her hopes up. ‘I’d rather take my chances with Rupert. You’re doing so well, one day in, you can’t give up now. Your fingers have only just stopped twitching.’
I examine my hand and wonder if my fingers were moving without me noticing.
‘OK, fine,’ I say. ‘I’ll stay here without my phone.’
It’s not as if I’ve got anything to rush back to in my ordinary life.
‘Thank you.’ Rosie hugs me for the second time today. This time it’s not an awkward embrace but more a genuine hold.
I hear footsteps coming back down the stairs.
‘But I’m going to have to find something to do without a phone. I need a distraction,’ I say, whispering as Alexis comes back into the kitchen.
‘Luckily, there’s more than enough for you to do work wise, without looking at him,’ she whispers. ‘In fact, seeing as you’re going to be here for so long, why don’t you help me with the project management?’
‘Me? Project manage a building site?’
I try the title on in my head and I quite like it. I’ve seen more than enough Grand Designs, I know that it’s about good organisation and the ability to sweet-talk builders and contractors with tea and biscuits, and I am the queen of making tea. It would also put me on a more equal footing with Rosie, and be less like I’m just her little sister.
‘Yes, help me sort out a plan of what we’re going to do and when. I imagine you’d be all over a Gantt Chart and working out the critical path.’
‘Now you’re talking my language,’ I say, thinking that’s much more my cup of tea than getting my hands dirty.
‘There is much work,’ says Alexis. ‘We start tomorrow.’
Rosie nods. ‘So, your photo on the help-ex site,’ she says, as she unplugs the kettle and fills it up with water, ‘it was of you and your girlfriend?’
She looks a lot calmer now that I’ve agreed to stay, and it’s as if she’s thawed in her attitude towards Alexis.
‘My girlfriend,’ he says nodding as he pulls out a chair and makes himself at home. ‘Or, how do you say it, my old girlfriend?’
‘Ex-girlfriend,’ I chip in helpfully, nodding at the nugget of information, much to Rosie’s disdain.
‘Yes, that’s it. We travel together in Spain, and when I come here, alone, I forgot to change the photo.’
I notice that I’m sitting up a little straighter and tucking my hair behind my ear. I’m sort of glad that I’m not wearing a shapeless fleece, despite being chilly in my light cardigan.
I realise that I’m falling in lust mainly due to that sexy accent he speaks in. Although he is attractive in the conventional tall, dark and handsome way, I still don’t really know him yet. For all we know he might turn out to have a personality reminiscent of Dickhead Dominic. But unlike Dickhead Dominic, whose words, I imagine, if you closed your eyes, would still wound your soul, Alexis could be telling me how he murders kittens and it would still make my insides stand to attention.
‘So, you said there’s no Internet at the farm?’ He pulls his phone out of his pocket and I almost make a lunge for it. He stares down at it. ‘This does not work also.’ He looks at it sadly.
Welcome to my digital detox world, Alexis.
He shrugs his shoulders and pops the phone on the table. ‘No matter,’ he says.
Why is everyone else coping with the lack of mobile signal and Internet so well? If anything, Rosie’s been relieved since her phone’s been down the well, yet I can’t stop thinking about mine.
While I’ve stopped hearing phone sounds, mainly because I’m trying to tune out noise for fear of it being rodents, I am still reaching for it all the time. Like now, I’m desperate to text Erica to tell her about the arrival of Alexis. He’d so get the flexed arm Emoji in his description. I’d also be trying to take a sneaky snap of him for Instagram – you know, to make it look as if I’m having the best time up on this lovely farm with my sister and a sexy, suave French dude. I’d look proper cosmopolitan.
‘Right, are you hungry? We were just about to make tea,’ says Rosie, standing up.
‘I don’t like tea,’ he says. ‘I’ll just have water.’
‘OK,’ says Rosie, biting her tongue. It must be hard for non-native speakers to understand all the little nuances of our funny language. ‘Would you like some food, for dinner?’
She gets out two pizzas from the fridge and switches on the oven.
‘Food, now? It’s only just after five.’ He looks at us like we’re weird.
‘Of course,’ says Rosie, switching the oven back off, ‘we’ll eat later.’
She must be able to hear my stomach growling as she automatically goes over to the toaster and pops in a couple of crumpets.
‘This ’ouse, then,’ says Alexis, ‘there is a lot to do.’
I’m not sure if that’s a question or a statement.
‘There is,’ says Rosie. ‘I’m getting builders in to do the big things, but then I guess there’ll be a lot for us to get stuck in to. Of course, you won’t have to work all the time.’
I see a look of fear in her eyes as if she doesn’t want to scare him off.
‘Yes, I think there is much to explore here,’ he says.
‘Lots. There are lots of walks and climbs; the Lakes are, of course, outstanding and not very far. Scotland’s only half an hour away and Newcastle’s pretty close too,’ says Rosie, turning into the local tourist information office.
He nods. ‘Yes, lots to explore.’
He looks at me and I turn into a total teenager wishing he would explore me.
The crumpets pop up and Rosie puts them and the jam on the table, and I tuck in. Alexis looks dubiously at one before following suit and tucking into one, I can tell he’s pleasantly surprised.
‘So what are we going to do first?’ he asks.
‘I thought perhaps we’d start on the bathroom. It needs new laminate on the floor and the tiles all need to come off, and the wallpaper stripped. I’ve got a local plumber who can come and check things out and put in new units, and then I’m going to tile it.’
‘You’re going to tile it?’ I say, almost choking.
‘Uh-huh, I’m actually pretty good at it.’
I’m learning so much about my sister.
‘Right, well, why don’t I start a list?’ I say, picking up my new journal. It’ll be much better used for renovation planning than it would be for mindfulness. ‘OK, so bathroom first,’ I say. ‘And then what’s next?’
‘Then kitchen, I guess.’ And as she goes on to tell me exactly what needs to be done, I try and keep up, marking things with stars that need external contractors, and putting initials by the side when Alexis and Rosie volunteer to do things. After half an hour, the list has stretched over seven pages, and I get the impression that this is probably just the tip of t
he iceberg – after all, these are only the jobs that come instantly to mind, and once each room is started I’m sure there’ll be loads more.
‘This’s some project. We can’t get it all done in a month,’ I say, shaking my head in disbelief.
‘You’d be surprised,’ says Rosie. ‘But no, it’ll probably take longer than that, but at least this will be a good start. I’m just glad that the previous owner did all the damp-proofing before they sold it, as at least now we can crack on with the painting and things.’
‘I hadn’t really thought about who was here before,’ I say, realising that I hadn’t considered who’d used the archaic kitchen, but presumably they left this place a long time ago.
‘There was an old man living here until he went into a home about two years ago. His son considered doing the renovations, he’d pulled out everything in the lounge and had the damp-proofing done, but I think he balked at the project when he realised how much else needed doing: the re-wiring, the plumbing, the plastering . . . If you think it’s a wreck now, you should have seen it when I first bought it. Over the last few weeks I’ve had the builders in to do the first fix.’
‘A good start,’ says Alexis.
‘I think this calls for more than tea and crumpets, and now it’s after five o’clock, let’s open the wine.’
‘After five o’clock?’ says Alexis. ‘You do not drink until after five?’ He mutters something about the British under his breath as I open a bottle of red and pour it into three mismatched glasses.
I hand them out to everyone and raise it up.
‘To the project,’ I say, chinking glasses with Rosie and then Alexis.
As I look at the three of us I wonder what we’ve got ourselves into, but at least with the renovation, and now Alexis, I should have plenty to take my mind off the digital detox.
Siri who . . .?
Chapter Twelve
Time since last Internet usage: 1 day, 19 hours, 35 minutes and 2 seconds
Who knew that the secret to a good night’s sleep was sleeping on a half-deflated airbed next to my sister in a crumbling farmhouse where the wind constantly rattles the windows. I don’t know whether it’s still the exhaustion or if it’s the good old Cumbrian air, but for whatever reason, I’ve had a great night’s sleep and I’m the last one up.
I can hear noisy chatter in the kitchen as I shove a large hoodie over my flimsy pyjama top. I hesitate for a second, wondering if I should shower first and get dressed, seeing as Alexis is here, but then I stop myself. We’re all going to be living together, I’m sure at some point he’s going to see me for the dishevelled mess I am in the mornings.
‘Ah, you’re up,’ says Rosie, flicking on the kettle as I walk down the stairs. ‘There’s some porridge on the hob if you want some.’
‘Yes, please,’ I say, going over and helping myself.
‘Not to put you to shame, Daisy, but Alexis has been out for a hike already this morning.’
I look over at the Frenchman and take a deep breath. He’s got a little stubble on his face making him looking even more roguish.
‘It was very nice. The sun over the ’ills was beautiful.’
And that accent. Resist, Daisy, resist.
‘I’ll have to get up early one day,’ I say, trying to ignore Rosie’s sniggers. I may not be a natural early riser, but I reckon I could make an exception one morning if Alexis was leading the way.
‘Well, we’re going to go and hit-up the local builders’ merchants and then go to B&Q,’ says Rosie, fussing around the kitchen.
‘OK, well, I can hop into the shower and come too,’ I say, rising out of my chair.
‘Actually, it would be easier if you stayed here.’
‘Oh,’ I say, feeling a bit put out.
‘It’s just that we’re going to put the seats down in the back of the car so we can fit the bathroom suite in, plus all the other bits and bobs we need to buy. And it will be easier for Alexis to do the lifting and shifting.’
‘That’s fine,’ I say, trying not to feel too left out. I gaze around the kitchen wondering what I’m going to do by myself while they’re away.
Alexis flashes me a smile as he and Rosie head towards the door.
‘We’ll see you later on,’ Rosie says.
‘OK, see you,’ I say, waving and putting on a brave face.
I stare around the room wondering what I’m going to do with myself, then decide to clean the kitchen. Rosie would probably be really grateful, and it would ease my apprehension that we’re all going to get sick from it. I stand up, a woman on a mission, and go in search of cleaning supplies under the sink, but there’s nothing aside from a half-rusted can of furniture polish and a bottle of Jif disinfectant, which must be really old as I’m sure they changed that brand name at least ten years ago.
I’ll just text Rosie and see if they can get some more supplies, I pat around the table, then stop myself. Bloody phone.
I look out of the window, just in case they haven’t left yet, but the courtyard is empty. I suddenly feel lonely here in the house. Not to mention cut off. What if there’s an emergency? What if we run out of milk and I need Rosie to pick up a pint on her way home? Or worse, what if the spiders cocoon me in one of their webs and start to eat me?
I stare suspiciously at a web in the corner of the stairs and remind myself not to walk under it.
I tap my fingers idly on the table and wonder what it was people did in the old days. It’s not only my phone that I miss, but it’s the TV, the radio, the noise of modern life. Even the old fridge in the corner doesn’t have the right hum.
I can’t stay in the house, the silence is going to drive me nuts. And with nothing to distract me, all my thoughts turn to the Twitter implosion and the mess my life is in.
I stare at the hills and figure that if Alexis went for a quick walk, then there’s nothing to stop me from doing the same. It might even impress him – not that I’m trying to impress him, of course . . . The rolling hills around the farm look gentle enough. I’m sure I can follow one of the crumbling walls and walk straight along it so that I don’t get lost.
I go into the bathroom for a quick shower and, realising that it’s on our list as needing to be gutted in the next couple of days, I spend a little longer making sure that my hair is fully washed and that I’m properly shaved, exfoliated and buffed, despite the fact that I’ve ended up in freezing cold water again.
I attempt to dress more practically, finding a Fat Face hoodie to go with some jeans, and as I slip on my espadrille boots it reminds me to pester Rosie about me going in search of more Cumbrian-friendly attire.
I pad back downstairs, having a quick glass of water to make sure I’m fully hydrated before I go, and I’m just about to leave when I spot Alexis’s phone on the table.
What an idiot. They’re off on an excursion where there’ll probably be a phone signal and he’s left it behind.
I shake my head, fighting every temptation to pick it up, and tug open the front door. I’m across the threshold when I peer back over my shoulder at the phone. It’s as if it’s calling me, telling me it wants to be held and cradled in my palm.
‘Don’t do it, Daisy,’ I chide myself. ‘You’re stronger than this.’
I try to tell myself I don’t need a phone to complete me. It’s not even like I’d be able to use it; Alexis probably has it locked.
I go to walk out the door but before I’ve even got a foot over the threshold, I’ve turned back and picked up the phone, if only to prove to myself that it’s locked. But, to my amazement, it isn’t.
Now I know what Alice felt like standing at the top of the rabbit hole.
Who doesn’t lock their phone? They’re leaving it wide open to addicts like me to come along and steal it.
Of course I’m going to have to take it now.
I feel a ripple of excitement flow through my veins as I try to think about what I’ll log in to first. Obviously, I won’t be able to sign him out of
any of his apps, so WhatsApp is out, but I can still access Twitter and my emails. Of course, I’m only checking from a professional point of view to see how bad Tweetgate has got, but even with that dim proposition, I’m still positively giddy with anticipation.
I peer at the screen and there are no bars of signal. But, luckily, I’m going for a walk up a hill, and didn’t Rosie say that there was a signal higher up? It really would be like striking gold in the hills.
I slip the phone into the large front pocket in my hoody and triumphantly set off.
For the first hundred metres or so I have a real spring to my step. The weather is better than yesterday, it’s dry and the sky is a dirty blue colour with only patchy cloud, and the wind that’s been rustling all night has died down. Aside from the cool temperature, it’s a pleasant spring day.
It’s not until I get to the boundary of the farm, where I have to go cross-country, that the spring in my step disappears, largely due to the depth of the mud. It seems that yesterday’s rain has turned the surrounding fields into a scene reminiscent of a festival.
I stare hard at the space between the quagmire in front of me and the hill on the horizon. I could stay here, where I’m standing upright without problem, albeit with no phone signal, or I could run the gauntlet of falling in the mud and be rewarded with a sneaky look at Facebook.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I step forward. The soles of my boots slide as they squelch into the mud. If my boots weren’t ruined before, they certainly are now. With reed soles and baby-pink suede, this wasn’t what the designers had in mind, but the lure of the Internet is too strong for me to resist.
I squelch along trying to keep myself upright, and after a while I get used to it. As long as I keep my arms outstretched for balance, I’ve got the stone wall running along to my right to grab on to if I need to cling on. Luckily, it’s that really sticky mud that makes your foot slide slowly so I’ll have time to react if I feel myself going over.
