Logging Off

by Spalding, Nick

  OTHER TITLES BY NICK SPALDING

  Dumped, Actually

  Dry Hard

  Checking Out

  Mad Love

  Bricking It

  Fat Chance

  Buzzing Easter Bunnies

  Blue Christmas Balls

  Love . . . Series

  Love . . . From Both Sides

  Love . . . And Sleepless Nights

  Love . . . Under Different Skies

  Love . . . Among the Stars

  Life . . . Series

  Life . . . On a High

  Life . . . With No Breaks

  Cornerstone Series

  The Cornerstone

  Wordsmith

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2020, Nick Spalding

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542017480

  ISBN-10: 1542017483

  Cover design by Ghost Design

  I’d like to dedicate this book to everyone who follows me on social media. You clearly all need something far better to do with your time. Try knitting.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  DIGITAL DETOXING AND YOU!

  Chapter Three

  LOGGING OFF!

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  GOTTLE OF GEER

  Oh my God.

  This is amazing.

  Why haven’t I seen this before?

  It’s an app . . . that records your bowel movements!

  Its name?

  HowUPooing.

  Yes, that’s right. It’s called HowUPooing.

  Genius.

  I already use several health-checking apps that let me chronicle my blood pressure, cholesterol levels, weight, sleep patterns and BMI, but I’ve never had one that lets me note down (in exquisite detail) each and every bowel movement!

  It’s amazing!

  Particularly useful for somebody like me – cursed with the joys of rampant irritable bowel syndrome. One day I’m bunged up like someone’s shoved a cork up my bum, the next I’m an upside-down brown fountain. At least with HowUPooing I can maintain an overall picture of how things are going in my digestive system, so I can tell my doctor all about it the next time I visit him.

  This morning, I have to chronicle in my shiny new app (which was only 99p to boot) that I am once again as constipated as a dog that’s eaten a pound of plasticine. I’m also dog-tired – to continue the canine analogy – as I slept very badly last night, waking up at 2 a.m. in the legendary cold sweat. Snoregasbord – the sleep app I use – told me I got less than two hours of decent REM sleep. Terrible stuff.

  I’m not surprised by either of these things in the slightest, as I have an important presentation to give today, and am feeling decidedly nervous. Sleep always goes out the window under such circumstances.

  When it comes to nervous bowels, however, anybody else would be pooing like a mad thing, but my bowels don’t work like that. They are contrary bastards, and like to do the opposite of what everyone else’s do.

  Having carefully noted down the ongoing fight with my inner digestive workings, I have a shower and a shave, and take a quick look at Twitter while I wait for the kettle to boil.

  It’s the usual cavalcade of nonsense opinion and trending hashtags that conspire to make the world seem like even more of a madhouse than it really is.

  Today, people are up in arms about something that happened on a TV show about other people with weight problems. It’s not a programme I watch, but I appear to be in the minority, as #FatChance is right at the top of the Twitter trends, and people are very angry about something Sandee has done. I have no idea who Sandee is – and, judging from the way people are speaking about her, I don’t think I want to.

  I then spend another few minutes looking at all my favourite movie and TV stars, to see what they’re up to. Robert Downey Jr. has taken to wearing a unicorn onesie, I see, and Ryan Reynolds continues to make appalling jokes about how bad Blake Lively is at cooking. Ricky Gervais has managed to insult the entire Catholic world this morning, and The Rock has just bench-pressed Mount Everest.

  Everything seems quite normal, then.

  After all that, it’s time to take a look at what my favourite Instagram influencers are up to – especially Lucas La Forte, who is just about the coolest bloke I think I’ve ever seen. Lucas is the same age as me, but his life choices have been somewhat more successful than mine – to say the least. He’s a millionaire, has the kind of smile that can remove underwear from a hundred paces, and wears expensive suits in a way that I never could, even with a lottery win and about half a mile of run-up.

  He’s also extremely good with the old motivational speaking – something I am severely in need of this morning, with my presentation looming. Today, he’s telling me I should always focus on my goals, but learn to love the little things in life – all from the driver’s seat of his Porsche 911.

  The fact that he doesn’t live all that far away from me makes me cooler by geographical association, I’m sure you’d agree.

  With my tea made and all influencers present and accounted for, I flick over to Facebook and spend a constructive ten minutes having an argument with Jerry Pimbleton on the local news forum, about the proposed plans to build houses on the old, disused dairy farm on Cobb Street.

  This argument between us has been ongoing for months now. I think the new houses would be a very good idea, as we’re bursting at the seams around here. Jerry thinks otherwise.

  Mind you, Jerry does live on Privett Road, so he has a vested interest in not seeing it chock-a-block with lorries and dumper trucks for the next two years. To be honest I can see his point, but I’m thoroughly enjoying the discussion, and have more or less taken up this opposing position just to keep it going.

  I have to force myself to end this latest confrontation, because I really do have to make sure everything is ready for the meeting later today.

  This involves putting down my iPhone, and picking up my iPad.

  On it is the presentation I intend to give to the people at Fluidity this afternoon – along with several carefully picked examples of my work to show them once it’s concluded.

  Fluidity designs the kind of clothes I wouldn’t be seen dead in, as I am not twenty-one and barely in control of my own faculties, but they do seem to have a lot of money to throw around.

  I intend to be the graphic designer they throw some of that money at, when I wow them with my skills. I am convinced I can do a great job designing the visuals for their next spring promotion, and that’s why this presentation needs to be absolutely perfect.

  I should probably move to the iMac to make any last-minute changes, but there shouldn’t be too much to alter at this late stage, so the iPad will do the job fine, I’m sure.

  I regret this decision abo
ut half an hour later, when my neck starts to throb again. Staring down at an iPad while you’re slumped on a couch is not the greatest way to work.

  And yet, I still don’t get up off the couch and make my way over to the desk. I’m so engrossed in making minute alterations to page four that I just put up with the pain, until it finally becomes unbearable.

  Never mind, I can always pop a couple of ibuprofen – and I think I’ve definitely made page four sing about as loudly as it can. The discomfort is worth it just to get the damn presentation right.

  I have it on good authority that the guys at Zap Graphics are also pitching to Fluidity, and I desperately want to beat them. They’ve swiped a good two or three contracts out from under me these past few months, and I don’t want that to happen again!

  I pop the iPad into my rucksack and look at my watch. I still have an hour to kill until I call the Uber to take me over to Fluidity’s office.

  Hmmm.

  Maybe I’ll play a little Candy Crush on the toilet. I’m so close to level 3,000 now, I can almost taste it – and maybe if I park my bottom on the loo for a while longer, my bowels might get the bloody message and start functioning again.

  Unfortunately, this does not happen, but I do indeed manage to reach level 3,000 – so it’s not a complete loss. I also answer a couple of emails, check Twitter again, as well as Facebook (Jerry hasn’t responded to my last message as yet; he must be at work), and then pop on to the PlayStation Reddit forum to see if anyone has completed Death Curse Intransigent yet.

  Death Curse Intransigent is a Japanese horror game that came out two days ago, and is as baffling to play as the title is to understand. Even CrackdownCharlie is having problems with it, and CrackdownCharlie is one of the greatest gamers I know. Without him, I’d never have finished off the Spaghetti Kid in Steel Revolver, and would still be up to my arse in goblins, playing Gates of Torment.

  I’ve been umming and ahhing about buying Death Curse Intransigent, and was rather hoping Crackdown would have put his review up by now. He tends to finish games within days of their release, such is his commitment to his craft – but this game has confused and frustrated him as much as anyone else.

  I think I’ll hold off on buying it for a while. I don’t need any more frustration in my life right now. Not with Zap Graphics stealing jobs off me, and my bowels refusing to work properly.

  I don’t recognise the Uber driver who’s taking me across town. He must be new. I use the service so much that I’ve become pretty familiar with all of the drivers in my local area.

  Mustafa drives a rather nice Mercedes, I must say.

  I tell him as much as I climb into the back seat.

  ‘Thank you very much, sir! It’s a wonderful car to drive!’ he tells me enthusiastically, before pulling away from my block of flats and beginning the twenty-three-and-a-half-mile journey to Fluidity. According to the Uber app, we should get there in twenty-nine minutes, so I sit back and try to relax as much as I can, with a little more Candy Crush.

  During the journey, Mustafa tells me all about why he decided to buy the Mercedes over the Audi, and I pass another five Candy Crush levels. I also receive a text from my friend Fergus, reminding me about the drinks party he’s holding to celebrate his promotion at work, and also telling me that I have to watch season three of Kill Space on Netflix, as it’s literally the best show he’s ever watched. I reply, telling him that I will of course be at the party, and will also watch the show.

  In actual fact, though, I doubt I’ll get around to it any time soon, as my watch list is already longer than my arm.

  My watch list on Amazon Prime Video is only slightly shorter. There just aren’t enough hours in the day!

  After that, I take a quick look on Tinder, as you never know when the future love of your life might pop up on your phone screen. I end up swiping left seven times, and right once, on a particularly pretty black-haired girl with a set of lovely green eyes, called Grace. I don’t hold out much hope that she’ll also swipe right on me, but Tinder is more about the fantasy than the reality, in my experience.

  ‘We have arrived, sir!’ Mustafa tells me in a happy, excited tone. He must be angling for the coveted five-star review.

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply, and gather up my rucksack, checking that the iPad is still plugged into the bag’s inbuilt charger. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see that it is. I never want a repeat performance of what happened at Spinnaker Sails. Everything was going so well until the bloody battery ran out. I’m pretty sure that was one of the main reasons why they chose Zap Graphics over me. It’s a little hard to show off your graphic design skills when all you have to work with is a pen and one of their napkins. The K1425 Smart Rucksack cost me a small fortune, but I’ll never turn up to another business meeting with a battery on less than 100 per cent again.

  As Mustafa drives away, I thumb in a five-star review on Uber, before swiping it away and checking my emails one final time. I’m still waiting on a response from McGifferty’s Pies about whether they want me to pitch for their new shop logo. My teeth grind together as I see that there still isn’t one. Paul McGifferty promised he’d get back to me within one week, and it’s been nearly two.

  Never mind.

  That’s not important now.

  I have to concentrate on getting across the line with Fluidity. That’s all that matters. Like my Instagram friend Lucas La Forte says – you have to focus on your goals! He has a Porsche, and a haircut you could eat your dinner off, so he must know what he’s talking about.

  I feel my stomach flip over and hear it give a little gurgle as I walk into the enormous glass office block that contains the Fluidity offices on the twelfth floor.

  These kinds of meetings never go down well with my internal workings – be they the ones in my gut or the ones in my head. Being a self-employed, freelance graphic designer is not easy on the mind or body. Especially not when the spectre of Zap Graphics is constantly looming over one shoulder.

  During the ride in the elevator up to the twelfth floor, I note that Jerry Pimbleton has replied to my last comment on Facebook, with another lengthy diatribe about how the lorries will kill off his begonias. I’ll have to read it and respond later.

  I also check the weather for this evening, choose the Chinese restaurant I’m going to order my dinner from on Deliveroo, and look at my DeviantArt page. On the last, I’m pleased to see that the illustration I drew last night of Imiko from Death Curse Intransigent has gone down a storm. I may not have bought the game yet, but that doesn’t mean I’m not buying into the hype. So far, the picture has over seven hundred likes, and I’ve gained thirteen followers. A warm bloom of happiness swells in my chest as the elevator door bings open.

  I walk down the rather nondescript corridor, and arrive at the main door to Fluidity’s offices. These do not look nondescript. Not in the slightest.

  In fact, if there’s some great universal scale on which nondescript is at one end, then these offices must be at the other. They are superdescript. Megadescript. There’s so much descript going on here, you could bottle it and sell it at a car boot sale.

  I would say a riot of colour hits me as I walk through the doorway and into the offices proper, but that wouldn’t do it justice. This isn’t a riot. It’s a bloody thermo-global nuclear war.

  Fluidity designs clothes exclusively for Generation Z. And Generation Z really loves a lot of colour. I know this because I googled it.

  I’m thirty-six now, and am therefore completely disconnected from the youth of today, but the world’s most popular search engine has told me all that I need to know about Generation Z’s fashion choices. They largely consist of bits of multicoloured material, sewn together haphazardly before being torn to pieces by a hyperactive badger.

  The interior decor of the Fluidity offices apes this approach to an alarming degree. No two walls are the same colour. Hell, no two square yards of wall are the same colour. It’s headache-inducing.

  But I dutifu
lly sit down on one of the brightly coloured plastic chairs in the reception area, having been directed there by the receptionist, who gave me a very funny look for daring to be over the age of twenty-five.

  While I wait for someone to come and get me, I have another look at Twitter, to see that Fat Chance has been replaced at the top of what’s trending by the latest shenanigans in Parliament. I generally ignore everything to do with politics, as in recent years it’s become abundantly clear that those who work in it roundly ignore everything to do with me.

  I also read Jerry’s Facebook post properly, and find myself grinding my teeth at his selfishness. There have been no additional comments on my latest DeviantArt picture in the last few minutes – which is rather disappointing, as I really thought I was gaining traction.

  Then I pull the iPad out of my rucksack, and have one last-minute read-through of the presentation. I absently rub the back of my neck and my shoulder as that familiar aching pain reappears. I should probably get something done about that.

  ‘Andy!’ a clipped voice says from off to my left. I look up to see someone dressed in Fluidity clothing coming towards me. I wish I was wearing sunglasses.

  This must be Pikky – the person who arranged this meeting with me.

  No, I have no idea what Pikky’s real name is. I haven’t had the courage to ask.

  All I know is that Pikky is one of the three founding members of Fluidity, and is something of a rising star in the fashion industry.

  Pikky is of Asian heritage, and requires a pie in his life at the earliest possible convenience. He’s incredibly skinny. The colourful, badger-assailed clothing I mentioned before hangs off his frame in all the wrong places.

  Mind you, I have no idea what all the right places are, so who am I to judge?

  I get up from the plastic chair, wincing slightly as I do. I really must get my neck and shoulder seen to.

  ‘Good morning, Pikky,’ I say to the thin man, as he sashays over and holds out a skeletal hand.

  ‘Oh please, Andy. Call me Piks. Everybody else does,’ he replies happily.

  ‘OK . . . Piks. It’s very nice to meet you – and thank you for inviting me here today.’