by Anna Bell
‘We’d better pick up the pace a little, that storm is getting closer,’ Jack says pointing.
‘Righto,’ I say nodding.
We get down the hill and it starts to rain slightly. Jack turns to me as if to silently ask for the rope back and I look at him.
‘Um, would you mind walking with me back to the farm? It’s just it took me ages to get here and I slipped over,’ I say, as if he wouldn’t have noticed that I’m caked in mud if I hadn’t pointed it out to him.
‘Sure, why not? It’s not like I was doing anything else,’ he says sarcastically.
‘I thought you would have been heading home anyway, what with the storm and everything. You know, with you being such an expert in the changes of the weather.’
Jack merely grunts and I can’t help but smile. He knows as well as I do that he was homeward bound.
We start walking along in complete silence, apart from the sound of him stomping and my shoes squishing into the mud.
I try and distract myself from the awkwardness, concentrating on trying to think of the game show with that catchphrase. We get all of about a hundred metres before I can’t take the silence any longer.
‘I don’t suppose you remember who said “come on down”, do you? It’s from one of those eighties game shows I used to watch, but I can’t for the life of me remember which, and I can’t google it.’
I’m expecting Jack to growl, but to my amazement he answers me.
‘The Price is Right,’ he says as if it pains him to join in the conversation.
‘That’s it,’ I say, clapping my hand excitedly. ‘Come on down, the price is right,’ I say in a mock American accent. ‘Bruce Forsyth presented it, didn’t he?’
‘No, I don’t think so. He did that one about higher or lower, and the Generation Game, but I don’t think he did The Price is Right.’
‘Hmm, it wasn’t Nicky Campbell, was it?’
‘No, that was Wheel of Fortune.’
‘Oh, yes, Wheel of Fortune.’ I make the noise that the wheel used to make when it wiped out the contestant’s money.
I detect the smallest hint of a smile on Jack’s face. He tries to cough to cover it up, but I’m sure it was there.
‘So who did The Price is Right, then?’ I try to go through my head with all the familiar faces of childhood: Bob Monkhouse, Michael Barrymore, Paul Daniels. But the more game shows and presenters, the more frustrated I get that I can’t remember.
‘What about Roy Walker?’ I say, clutching at straws.
‘No, he did Catchphrase.’
The walk back towards the farm seems a lot quicker as we pass the time chatting eighties and nineties game shows. It turns out we were both big fans of The Krypton Factor and Blockbusters. By the time we make it back onto the field that is officially the start of Rosie’s land, I’ve had three laughs.
‘You are allowed to smile, you know, I won’t tell anyone. Not even Liz or Gerry in the post office. Although I’m sure it would make their day.’
‘Oh, so you’ve already met them, then? No doubt I’ll get a full report next time I pop in there. Something to look forward to.’
I giggle. I can just imagine the reaction they’d get from him as they witter on about the village. ‘Yes, they were quite excited about Rosie doing up the farm, and a little pleased that they might have some tourists to sell their jams to.’
‘At least someone’s pleased.’
‘What have you got against tourists? It’s not like you’re a born-and-bred local, is it? Through all that growling and grunting, I can quite clearly hear a southern accent.’
I’m expecting a hint of bared teeth, like a dog issuing a warning, but instead I’m rewarded with a smile – a fleeting one – but a smile all the same.
‘You’re very right, I’m not from here – as Liz and Gerry will be the first to point out. I’m a newcomer, even though I’ve been living here for over ten years.’
‘So, what is it you have against others coming here? It’s a bit greedy for you to want it all for yourself.’
‘I don’t want it all for myself. I’m all for people coming to enjoy this part of the country, it’s just that I get a bit fed up with people coming and going. If you lived here, you’d know what I’m talking about. It’s bad enough when you get stuck in a traffic jam caused by a herd of cows, let alone when you are trying to get through a village in the Lakes that’s bunged full of cars, making it seem like you’re driving through Central London during rush hour.
‘And then there’s the fact that a lot of them don’t respect the land, and end up putting themselves, and others, in danger when they go off with their GPS-enabled mobile phones thinking they can call Mountain Rescue like they would an Uber taxi.’
I bite my lip and hang my head a little lower in shame, but out of the corner of my eye I can see that his frosty exterior has softened a little.
‘I mean, they do this stupid stuff like walking for miles to get a phone signal,’ he says laughing.
‘It’s not funny. Have you ever been separated from your phone for three consecutive days?’
‘I don’t have one.’
I look at him like he’s a Martian. ‘What do you mean you don’t have one? Everybody has a phone.’
He shrugs before conceding. ‘OK, I have one somewhere,’ he says, ‘probably lurking in the glove compartment in my car. A pay-as-you-go one.’
I shudder in horror.
‘As you found out today, the signal’s so hit and miss that it’s almost a hindrance having a phone when you’re out climbing and what not. You almost rely on it, and then if you were to get into trouble, chances are you’d be somewhere where you couldn’t use it. I prefer to use old-fashioned fail-safes, like I’ll usually tell Rodney from the farm over the valley if I’m climbing, and I’ll radio him when I get back safely. If ever I didn’t, then he’d pop over on his quad to see if all was well.’
‘I guess that’s smart. But what about the Internet, how do you cope?’
‘I don’t live in the Dark Ages, you know. I’ve got dial-up on the farm.’
‘Dial-up? Isn’t that from the Dark Ages?’ I try and recreate the squeaky noise that you used to hear in the days before broadband.
‘It’s more like this,’ he says, squeaking along in exactly the right pitch.
‘Oh my God, that’s it!’
‘I hear it a lot.’
‘Don’t you mind being somewhere so remote and cut off?’
‘Not really. I enjoy my own company, and I’ve got my work to keep me busy.’
‘What is it you do?’ I ask, but I trail off, as, bounding down the road, is Rosie’s green Land Rover.
‘Oh shit,’ I say, rubbing the phone against my hoodie like it’s a lamp with a genie inside. But I fear that as much as I rub it, there’s no one to answer my wish to magically teleport it back onto the kitchen table before they arrive.
Chapter Fourteen
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 h
alf 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.
