by Anna Bell
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.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Time since last Internet usage: 2 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour, 40 minutes and 54 seconds
It’s finally stopped raining, and the water seems to have run down the valley, leaving the drive covered in squelchy mud reminiscent of a Seamus Heaney poem. Luckily, my all-singing, all-dancing, super-sturdy Gortex boots are keeping me both dry and upright. They also only need a quick brush off when the mud’s crisp and flaky and they live to walk another day, unlike my poor suede espadrilles – RIP.
I’ve been walking practically at the pace of a snail to get to the mailbox today; I’m that desperate to bump into Jack. Despite our frequent letter writing, it’s been almost a week since I’ve seen him, and after our near kiss . . .
I’m pleased when I open the mailbox to see a folded note that instantly I know is from him, as well as a more official-looking letter. Unable to contain my excitement, I open Jack’s note first.
DAISY,
YOU’D NEVER BELIEVE WHAT ARRIVED AT MY DOOR TODAY! THAT’S RIGHT, MY VERY OWN BULLSEYE MUG!
GLAD ALL IS WELL ON YOUR SIDE OF THE FARM. I CAN CONFIRM THAT I SAW SUNLIGHT TOO, AND, I BETTER WHISPER THIS, IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE SUNNY FOR THE REST OF THIS WEEK AS WELL! I’M HEADING OFF TO NEWCASTLE FOR A COUPLE OF NIGHTS (FOR WORK – STILL NOT TELLING), BUT I’LL PROBABLY SEE YOU OUT AND ABOUT LATER IN THE WEEK, AS I BET YOU’RE DYING TO TEST OUT YOUR NEW OUTDOOR GEAR ON THINGS OTHER THAN TRIPS TO YOUR PORTALOO.
JUST TO LET YOU KNOW, I KEEP A SPARE KEY UNDER THE BOOT CLEANER (THE THING THAT LOOKS LIKE AN UPSIDE DOWN BROOM HEAD) WHICH CAN BE USED FOR EMERGENCIES WHEN I’M AWAY – SUCH AS HAVING A SHOWER.
HOPE THE BUILDING IS GOING WELL.
JACK
P.S. WILL GIVE YOU ANOTHER CLUE ABOUT JOHN MAJOR – IT HAS TO DO WITH HIS SON’S WIFE . . .
As I read the letter, the warm glow that runs over me ebbs away as it dawns on me that I’m not going to see him for another few days. I don’t bother to write a reply like I’d planned to do. I don’t want him coming back to a full mailbox, as that’ll make me look too keen.
I turn my attention to the official-looking letter; the address has been crossed out and the farm’s address written next to it, in what looks like Erica’s loopy writing. I’m confused for a second, before I remember that she was going to forward me a letter, and I open it, only to find another envelope inside with just my name on it. Hastily, I open it, even more intrigued.
Dear Ms Hobson,
I have asked your previous employer to forward you this letter as we have been trying to contact you without success.
We are a small, recently launched company called E.D.S.M., and we are looking for a forward-thinking marketing manager. From your LinkedIn profile and professional reputation, we think you would be perfect for the role.
Please could you contact us at your earliest convenience to arrange an interview.
Kind regards,
Ben Stone
M.D.
I stare at the typed letter and wonder if it’s some sort of joke. Surely no one would go to all that effort to contact me based on my professional reputation, which right about now has to be at laughing-stock level? If I had the Internet, I’d be on it like a rocket to google the company.
I fold the letter up and put it in my pocket as I start walking back to the farm, eager to see what Rosie makes of it. I hurry along, now that I’m not expecting to see Jack, only I freeze as I pass the turning to his drive. I remember what he wrote in his letter. He’s away for a couple of nights and he’s left a spare key out for me to have a shower.
I close my eyes for a minute and imagine the hot water rushing over me. Rosie’s got the bath working again, yet, with the amount of hot water we have at the moment, we can only fill it a few inches so it’s like bathing in the Blitz.
I glance at my watch. I’m sure Rosie won’t even notice that I’m not there. She’s so busy working on the bathroom.
I practically jog down the path to his house. As it comes into view, it’s exactly what I imagined. A small cosy cottage built in dark-grey stone, with ivy creeping over one side. It’s got a bright red front door, and despite its austere setting, it looks inviting. I find the boot cleaner – he was right to tell me what it looked like as I would never have guessed that’s what its purpose was – and, sure enough, there’s a small Yale key. Quickly, I open the door and return the key to its hiding place, not wanting to lose it, before I head inside.
I guess I thought it would be like Rodney’s – a bit old fashioned – but instead it’s surprisingly modern and everything’s white. I slip my shoes off, not wanting to leave a trail of mud, and I head up the stairs, thinking it’s the most natural place for a shower. I find a towel resting over the edge of the bath, and there’s a note for me:
DAISY,
GLAD YOU TOOK ME UP ON THE OFFER, NOW YOU’LL SMELL AS FRESH AS YOUR NAME WHEN I NEXT SEE YOU ;) HERE’S A CLEAN TOWEL, AND HELP YOURSELF TO SHAMPOO AND SHOWER GEL (ALTHOUGH THEY’RE PROBABLY A BIT MALE).
JACK
I don’t care that Jack only has Head and Shoulders two-in-one, as right now it’s just about the feeling of getting clean. I strip off and walk into the shower cubicle in the corner of the room, and practically groan with delight like the woman out of the Herbal Essences advert. Knowing that Jack won’t be home anytime soon, I take the world’s longest shower, safe in the knowledge that I’m not using up anyone else’s hot water like I would be back at the farm. Never did a shower feel so good.
Finally, I prise myself out of the shower when my hands are fully wrinkled and prune-like, and I dress quickly. I’m just towel-drying my hair, when I realise I’ve missed a great snoo
ping opportunity. I bet I could find out what Jack does.
I come out of the bathroom and peer into the bedrooms on either side. One is most definitely a guest bedroom, which looks as if it doubles as a laundry room, with all the odd socks and piles of clothes strewn on the bed. The other has a neatly made bed and a bedside cabinet full of books. I’m about to look at what he reads, before I remind myself to be more mission-focused and less Lloyd Grossman nosy.
Padding downstairs, I find a cosy-looking lounge, a modern kitchen and a small office – bingo! That’s exactly where I’ll find my answers.
I open a drawer and I’m about to start rifling through when I catch the large computer screen out of the corner of my eye. All thoughts of detective work stop as I realise how close I am to the Internet. I hesitate for a second, wondering if I should actually go through with it, before I switch it on. Telling myself that I can be good and that I’ll just look up that E.D.S.M. company. I pull the letter out of my jeans pocket, ready to type in the URL.
The computer whirrs into life, the screen begins to load and I feel my stomach churn, as any second now I’m going to be connected to the real world again. I actually feel nervous.
Suddenly, a phone rings behind me and scares the bejesus out of me, forcing me to jump back from the mouse. It only rings three times before the answerphone kicks in.
‘You’ve reached the voicemail for Jack Lowe; I’m not here at the moment, but if you leave your name and your number, I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.’
The machine beeps and I half expect his voice to come out of it, as if he’s sensed I’m here and knows what I’m doing.
‘Jack, it’s me, Jenny. I really need to see you. Will you call me as soon as you’re back? Thanks, Marra.’
The room goes silent and instinctively I hit play to hear it again it. She’s got her own pet name for him? They really must be close. I go to replay the message and realise that it’s not flashing anymore, indicating that it’s been listened to. Oh crap. I’d not thought of that. If I leave the message on here, then he’s going to know I listened to it. And if I delete it, then he’ll never know that Jenny wanted to speak to him. I’m torn as I weigh up my options. I guess he could just have a faulty machine . . .? Before I can talk myself out of it, I delete the message, telling myself she’ll probably phone again. I mean, who trusts answerphones anyway?
The world’s slowest computer is still chugging into life and I idly pick up a card on his desk with a cartoon dinosaur. I know I shouldn’t look, but I can’t help myself.
I saw this and thought of you! Thanks for being there, Jenny xxx
That could mean anything, surely? Maybe they’re just really good friends. But do really good friends put three kisses on their correspondence?
The computer is finally booted up and I stare at the screen. I’m desperate to connect, but I can’t help feeling guilty. I’ve done so well with this detox over the past two weeks, I don’t know if I can go through with breaking it, or even if I really want to. As I wrestle with my conscience, I hear the front door slam. WTF? Desperately, I try to fumble around with the mouse to shut the computer down again. Jack said he wasn’t back until later in the week. The footsteps in the house grow louder, as if he’s heading straight for his office. What if he’s forgotten some important work and now he’s going to come back and find me in here using his PC? The screen goes blank as the door swings open. Hastily, I shove my letter from E.D.S.M. into the dinosaur card to hide what I’m up to.
‘You,’ I shout, relaxing back into the chair in relief when I see it’s just Alexis. Though he practically jumps out of his skin at the sight of me.
‘Daisy, you scared me,’ he says, clutching at his chest. ‘I thought I was ’ere alone.’
‘Ah, you will be,’ I say jumping up. ‘I’m heading home. I was just having a shower. Jack said I could,’ I add. I start towel drying my damp hair for effect as I shuffle towards the door, before it hits me. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Jack told me where the spare key was so I could use his computer. Jack ’as been letting me use it as I organise the next ’elp-exchange placement.’
‘Oh, I see,’ I say nodding. ‘So you’re only with us for another couple of weeks, then?’
‘I think so. Rosie said that you will be going, and that her ’usband will be coming after. Besides, with you not there – there is no reason to stay.’
I do a double take as I’m sure that was lost in translation, but I feel my cheeks blushing anyway.
‘I should head back to the farm,’ I say. ‘I’m sure Rosie will wonder where I am . . .’
‘She went to the village to pick up some food. I like to be alone.’
‘Um, OK, I’ll go,’ I say, taking the hint.
‘No, no, I like to be alone, with you. I ’ave not spent much time alone with you and I would like to.’
I feel a bit weird being here with Alexis in Jack’s house, I really should go.
‘Please, I am feeling lonely today and I ’ave been thinking a lot about my dad.’
He raises his eyebrows like a sad puppy dog, and while I’m almost too young to fully remember my dad, I do know about the void a parent dying leaves and I can only imagine the level of grief he has.
‘Of course I’ll stay.’
He sits down on a leather couch in Jack’s office and pats a spot next to him for me to sit on. Reluctantly, I sit down next to him and as I do, I get a whiff of his aftershave which makes me want to lean over and nuzzle his neck. I think being finally clean has heightened my sense of smell, as I’m not just smelling myself anymore.
‘So tell me more about yourself.’
‘Um, well, you know the main bits. I got fired, I’m living with my sister –’
‘Yes, yes, but who is Daisy?’
‘Well,’ I say, getting a sense of déjà vu about the date with Dickhead Dominic. ‘I like to go hiking.’ I’ve never done as much off-road walking as I have in the past two weeks. Surely that has to count for something.
‘I like to ’ike too. You must join me on a walk round ’ere. It would make the scenery even more beautiful.’
I almost close my eyes to appreciate his sing-song voice. It’s funny as I’ve been around Alexis a lot over the past few weeks, but this is the first time I’ve been alone with him where his attention is solely focused on me. And did I mention he smells really good?
What was it Erica was saying about a holiday romance? And what with Jack and Jenny, then perhaps I’ve been looking in the wrong direction. Especially now we’ve got doors on our bedrooms – that’s a real game changer.
‘Stop it,’ I say, playfully giggling and hitting his arm.
‘It is true. You are the ’ighlight of the area.’
I’m about to protest, but my ego could do with a bit of a boost.
I’m trying to think of a witty reply, better than my goofy thanks, when Alexis leans over to me as if he’s going to kiss me. For a second I’m going to let him, before the phone rings, making us jump.
I laugh awkwardly as we wait for it to finish ringing, and the answerphone clicks in.
‘Me again,’ rings out Jenny’s voice. ‘Just realised it’s the dance on Friday – promise me I’ll see you before then. Ring me ASAP.’
‘Oh shit,’ I say out loud. Now Jack’s going to know that someone deleted an earlier message. I jump off the couch and go over to it.
‘What are you doing?’ asks Alexis coming over with me.
‘Oh nothing, just making sure that it’s working,’ I say, leaning over it, and I’m about to hit the delete key when he grabs my hand and spins me round.
‘Where were we?’ he says, a smile on his face that could melt my heart and drop my knickers in an instant. Only I have to be strong and delete that message, but every time I turn towards the phone, Alexis spins me round a little more.
In the end, I stop. I can always sneak back later to get rid of it.
‘I’ve got to get back to the
farm,’ I say to Alexis, who seems to have cheered up no end. ‘I’ll see you at home later.’
I drop his hands and run out of the room quickly before he can protest. Right now, I need to get away from Alexis and the Lynx effect before I do something silly.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Time since last Internet usage: 2 weeks, 4 days, 19 hours, 48 minutes and 5 seconds
After yesterday’s near kiss, I’m not wildly ecstatic about spending the morning painting the lounge with Alexis, but the walls aren’t going to paint themselves. At least it’s a big room, and hopefully the paint fumes will drown out his aftershave. I’ve realised that being down in the dumps about my lack of career prospects is not going to get any better by kissing the handsome Frenchman. He’s not a frog, after all, who’s going to magically turn into a prince and solve all my problems.
‘You ready to commence?’ says Alexis with a smile. He climbs down a ladder, having masking taped the edges of the newly installed windows.
He goes over to the industrial tin of white paint that we’re using to coat most of the farmhouse walls with, and prises off the lid. His arm muscles flex as he does so, and I try not to look. I keep telling myself it would be a bad idea, as how awkward would it be living and working in this small house if we hooked up?
‘So, shall I do this one?’ I say, picking the wall with the doorframe that leads to the kitchen, as it looks like the one that requires the least amount of attention to detail.
‘OK. I start ’ere,’ he says, pointing to a section right next to where I’m going to be working. So much for me keeping my distance. He pours the paint into the roller tray for me before doing the same for himself.
