Logging Off

by Spalding, Nick

  Of course, as we’ve already discussed, staying on the detox may also lead to me getting probed by an Afghan hound while my pubic hair is on fire . . . but I fear I am now prepared to take that risk.

  ‘Great! Thanks, Andy! I’m really grateful you’re happy to help me out,’ Grace tells me, having no idea that she’s probably going to have to watch the Afghan hound defile me, and drive me to the hospital with third-degree burns.

  ‘No problem. Really happy to.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So . . . how do you do it?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Detox?’

  ‘Oh. I have a leaflet here somewhere . . .’

  I go rummaging in the kitchen drawers and manage to find the annoying pamphlet Dr Hu gave me. ‘Here, have a look at this.’ I hand over ‘Digital Detoxing and You’, and while Grace reads it, I make us a fresh cup of tea.

  By the time I plonk it down in front of her, she’s got to the end, and looks a bit sick.

  ‘That’s appalling,’ she says, handing it back. ‘Written by someone who is clearly a serial killer.’

  This makes me laugh. ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. But if you can ignore the tone, the information is pretty much correct. It’s what I’ve been sticking to.’

  Grace swallows hard and looks deeply worried.

  I can sympathise. It’s exactly the same response I had when I first realised the extent of what the detox was.

  ‘Gosh. That’s . . . that’s everything, isn’t it?’ she says, pulling out a necklace from under her blouse. She starts to fiddle absently with the small golden locket hanging on the end of it.

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘It’s a massive shock to the system, I can tell you.’

  ‘I feel a bit light-headed even considering it.’ Grace grimaces. ‘Don’t you feel . . . like . . . divorced from everything?’

  ‘Yep. It’s like you’ve had the world taken away from you. Or at least . . . that’s what it feels like at first.’

  ‘But it gets better?’

  ‘Ye-es,’ I say uncertainly. I want to be encouraging, but I also don’t want to barefaced lie to her.

  ‘OK, that’s good,’ Grace says, nodding. I’m not sure she really believes me, given the way she’s continuing to fiddle nervously with that locket.

  ‘What’s that?’ I ask, trying to change the conversation.

  Grace looks down and laughs ruefully. ‘Sorry. It’s a habit I’ve picked up. Any time I’m feeling a bit on edge, I start twiddling with it. Probably shouldn’t. It’s very old.’

  ‘Where did you get it?’

  ‘It was my grandmother’s. When she died, it was passed down to my mother, and when she died, Megan had it. It came to me after . . . well . . .’

  Oh, bloody hell. She’s lost so many people!

  ‘It’s very beautiful,’ I say, voice a little thick.

  ‘Thank you. It opens up.’ Grace plays with the clasp for a brief moment. Her hands are shaking as she does so. I guess that’s because she’s still digesting the horror of what the detox entails, but I’m sure there’s also an element of being nervous about sharing so much of herself with someone she’s only just met.

  ‘Here, these are pictures of Megan, Mum and Gran inside.’ Grace shows me the opened locket, and there are indeed tiny pictures of three very similar-looking raven-haired ladies. You can tell instantly that they are related to Grace from their features. ‘Gran’s picture was taken in the sixties, Mum’s in the eighties and Megan’s about a year before she died.’

  ‘It’s very nice. A . . . a nice thing for you to have.’

  ‘It’s my most precious thing. My family’s only heirloom.’ Grace smiles warmly as she closes the locket again and tucks it back in her blouse. ‘Megan named the coffee shop after it.’

  ‘Where’s your father?’ I ask, hoping against hope that she’s not about to tell me he’s dead as well. I’m finding all of this heartbreaking enough.

  ‘He lives in New Zealand. When Mum passed, it affected him deeply. He just . . . well . . . ran away.’

  Oh, great. So, not dead. Just on the other side of the world.

  Grace sees the expression on my face. ‘Don’t think badly of him, please. He’s honestly a good man . . . just not very strong. I still speak to him all the time on FaceTime.’ Grace’s eyes go wide. ‘Oh no! Would I still be able to do that if I’m on a detox?’

  ‘Yes! I’m sure!’ I reply quickly. ‘There are no real rules here, Grace. Just try to do what you can. And it’s only for a few weeks, anyway.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ I can see her visibly relax hearing this. ‘What about you? Where are your family?’

  ‘My mum and dad live in Scotland. Moved up there a few years ago. They weren’t . . . running away from anything. They’ve just always loved the place and wanted to go there in their retirement. Can’t blame them really. The pace of life up there is much more laid-back.’

  ‘Do you see them much?’ she asks.

  ‘Probably not as much as I should,’ I answer honestly. ‘Scotland’s a ball-ache to get to at the best of times.’ I scratch my cheek. ‘Actually, I think I speak to them more on FaceTime than I do in real life, as well.’

  I wince a little internally as I say this. I really should get in touch with Mum and Dad more. Grace’s sad story proves that your parents won’t be around for your whole life, and I have been quite neglectful of them recently.

  Oh, great.

  Now I get a little more guilt to add to the pile, alongside what happened at Heirloom Coffee with Henrietta.

  ‘So, do you think you still want to try the detox?’ I ask Grace, once more neatly diverting the subject of conversation. Sadly, I’ve managed to divert it back to the thing I was previously trying to divert it away from, proving that I probably need some kind of satellite navigation system for my brain as much as I do for my car.

  Grace seems to think about it for a second, before nodding her head once. ‘Yes. I do want to try it. I need to get back out into the world. I need to stop hiding away. And I’m not going to do that if I’m glued to my bloody laptop.’ She reaches into her jeans pocket and pulls out her phone. ‘Or this thing.’ Grace thumbs the screen and turns the phone around to show me. It is covered in apps. Far more even than were on mine. The ones that take the most prominence at the top of the screen are Snapchat, Instagram, Facebook and Pinterest. Behind all of them is a picture of her and Megan. You couldn’t sum up Grace’s predicament better than with this single image if you tried. ‘Just look at the state of that screen, would you? All those apps!’ she says with disgust.

  ‘Yeah. Mine was a lot like that too.’

  Grace turns the phone back to her own face and looks at it angrily. ‘No more,’ she says in a determined voice. ‘No more of you.’

  And with that, she quickly gets up from the breakfast bar, walks over to the sink and drops the phone into the dirty water, where it sinks underneath the saucepan still half covered in the remnants of last night’s bolognaise sauce.

  ‘Er, why did you do that?’ I ask her as she turns and looks at me triumphantly.

  ‘Didn’t you get rid of all of your tech?’

  ‘Yes. I put it in a box.’

  Grace stares at me for a moment with a blank expression on her face, before looking down at the sink. ‘Bugger,’ she says. ‘And I’ve got four months left on my contract.’

  It’s nearly midday before Grace leaves my flat, carrying her phone in a sandwich bag full of rice.

  I agree to pop round to the coffee shop in a couple of days, to see how she’s getting on. I figure by that time she’ll be seriously contemplating giving up on the detox, having been bereft of tech for forty-eight hours. She’ll probably need some encouragement to stick with it at that point.

  I have to marvel at my change of heart over the whole thing.

  I was fully prepared to give up my own detox right before Grace called at my door, but now I know somebody is attempting to do it alo
ngside me, it has given me a renewed resolve.

  Is it just because misery loves company?

  Or is it because, deep down, I know the idea of cutting my time spent on the Internet is a good thing, regardless of the problems it also causes?

  Or is it just because Grace is a pretty girl? One I’d probably like to spend more time with?

  I just don’t know.

  But when you get right down to it, it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I am going to continue with the detox, and that makes me feel good about myself.

  I don’t actually like to quit. I don’t like to let people down. And I sure as hell don’t like to think that my life is controlled by anyone – or anything – other than me.

  I’m sure there’s a chance I will still meet with some kind of disaster – simply because I’m so inadequately prepared to live a life without the comfort and convenience of the online world – but at least there’s someone doing the detox alongside me now. Someone who is calm in a crisis. If I can’t stop myself being chased down the street by a pensioner dressed as Hitler, then hopefully Grace can.

  And maybe in return I can help her get her own life back together again.

  One with you in it, Bellows?

  Maybe?

  Hopefully?

  We’ll just have to see, I guess.

  Chapter Eight

  TURNING A CORNER

  When I do get to Heirloom Coffee two days later, I can see that I have arrived just in time.

  Grace looks harried, tired and twitchy.

  ‘How’s it going then?’ I ask her as I sip my flat white. It’s still very good, even though it’s been made by someone who’s clearly extremely on edge.

  ‘I feel like someone’s cut one of my legs off,’ she replies as she feverishly cleans a coffee cup. ‘No. Not my leg. My head.’ Grace slams the cup down on to the counter, before picking up another one and going to work on it just as hard. ‘You’ve made me cut my head off, Andy.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I tell her, suppressing a smile. I know exactly how she feels, of course. That feeling of dislocation and disconnection is extremely hard to cope with.

  ‘Do you know how awful it is not knowing what your favourite people are up to?’ Grace continues. ‘I haven’t a clue what Chrissy Teigen is doing this morning. Or Selena Gomez. They could both be dead, for all I know.’

  ‘Not all that likely, but I get your point.’

  ‘And what’s happening in the bloody world, Andy? I tried to watch Sky News this morning, but it just went on and on about an MP being caught with a prostitute. For a good fifteen minutes. I’m used to getting all the news I want in seconds. I usually don’t have to wait for Kay Burley to stop banging on about some Tory’s adventures in a knocking shop before hearing about the weather!’

  ‘Things do take longer when you’re not online,’ I concede.

  Grace bangs the second cup down on the counter. ‘Yes! They certainly do!’

  ‘It gets easier,’ I promise.

  ‘It had better! I don’t want to live in a world where I don’t know what make-up Kylie Jenner is wearing out tonight.’ She thinks about this for a second. ‘No. I don’t want to live in a world where I care about what make-up Kylie Jenner is wearing out tonight!’

  ‘It takes a while for your brain to rewire itself,’ I say. ‘The damn thing gets used to being fed certain information on a regular basis. It doesn’t like it when it gets starved.’

  Grace thinks for a moment. ‘That sounds about right.’

  ‘The trick is, you just have to start feeding it something different.’

  She nods. ‘That’s a very clever way of putting it.’

  I shrug. ‘Is it? Thanks!’ I think for a moment. ‘Maybe my brain’s started to function more efficiently now I’m not bombarding it with rubbish all the time. Yours could too!’

  Grace gives me a look of mock outrage. ‘What are you saying about my brain, Andy?’

  ‘Oh God! Sorry! I didn’t mean your brain was . . . you know . . .’

  She smiles and puts her hand over mine briefly. ‘Relax. I was only messing about. And I like your idea of feeding my brain something else . . . but the question is, what?’

  ‘I’ve been reading lots of books,’ I suggest.

  ‘Hmmm. Yeah. That sounds good. But I’d like to do something a little bigger and more meaningful than that. Something that occupies my mind, but also gives me a real sense of what life is like without being so insular.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Grace goes a little wide-eyed. ‘I need to get out, Andy. Now I’m not online, I just feel so restless at home. It’s frankly a blessing to come into work! And I’m surrounded by temptation when I’m in my house as well. I want to spend as little time there as possible at the moment.’ As Grace talks, the locket comes out again, and she starts to twiddle it. ‘It’s strange. Home has always been my haven, because I’ve been able to communicate with the world from it, using all of my lovely technology. But now? I feel hemmed in. Even after only two days. I have to get out!’

  ‘Well, that’s got to be a good thing, hasn’t it?’ I reply. ‘You said you were tired of just being stuck at home?’

  Grace now looks confused. ‘I think so . . . I’m not sure. On the one hand, I’m desperate to be away from my house, but on the other, I’m terrified of going out . . . thanks to being such a shut-in over the past few years.’

  I nod my head. ‘I can understand that. Doing a digital detox is something that comes with both its good points and bad. I’ve learned that fast. It forces you to confront things about yourself that can be . . . challenging.’

  ‘Maybe that’s what I need!’ Grace says with some excitement.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A challenge!’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes! Something that gets me out of my house and challenges my fears about going out into the world.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Grace lapses into silence and continues to twiddle with her locket. Then she looks down at it, and a smile spreads across her face. ‘Tell me Andy . . . have you ever been to Bath?’

  The answer to that question is ‘no’.

  Bath is not a place I’ve ever had the chance to visit. For no other reason than I’ve never had any call to go there, it’s quite a long journey away on some fairly questionable A-roads and I’ve never really had a thing for bathing in public. This is largely due to the fact that I have odd-shaped toes. They are gangly toes. Toes that require being covered up at all times. The last thing the good people of Bath need is to see the toes of Andy Bellows.

  ‘Are you telling me you’ve never visited Bath because of your toes, Andy?’ Grace asks me from the passenger seat of my rental Polo.

  ‘More or less, yes,’ I reply, noticing a sign that says we’re only ten miles from the city now.

  ‘I don’t think you’re required to actually have a bath in Bath, you know.’

  ‘But it’s right there – in the name,’ I argue. ‘You can hardly go to Bath without taking a bath, can you? It just wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘Well, I don’t particularly want to have a bath in Bath today, Andy, so I guess we’ll just have to fly in the face of convention on this one.’

  ‘Fine by me. My toes can remain hidden.’ I frown a little. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m not so keen on getting my knees out in public, either.’

  ‘Well, rest assured I will not be requiring a look at your knees or your toes on this entire trip.’

  ‘Excellent. So, what are we going to do then?’

  ‘It’s like we discussed, remember?’

  I do remember . . .

  . . . and I’m still not sure this is a good idea at all.

  Grace’s proposal in the coffee shop was quite simple: that she and I should take ourselves off to a large city, and try to negotiate our way around it, using absolutely nothing but our wits.

  No electronic devices. No apps. No Internet. And no maps.


  Gulp.

  Having already driven my car into a duck pond the last time I tried to get around without technology, this is naturally something I am very wary of doing.

  ‘This will be different,’ Grace confidently told me. ‘Because you won’t be doing it alone.’

  Which is more than fair enough, I suppose. Grace should be able to stop me from entering into too many disasters. She’s already managed to navigate us straight to the outskirts of Bath, using only road signs, without any deviations or issues whatsoever. It’s quite remarkable.

  And why Bath?

  Quite simple, really.

  Bath is where the jeweller’s that made Grace’s locket used to be. They were called Hackett & Mostrum Fine Jewellery. Grace’s grandmother told her when she was young that they shut down a long time ago, but Grace wants to find the building where they were and see what’s become of it.

  Obviously, she also wants to find out how well she can cope with being out and about in a busy city, instead of being parked at home in front of a screen. And I have to confess, I’m interested to see how I get on with it, as well.

  I’m now several weeks into the detox and have settled into a routine that isn’t too traumatic. But that’s largely because I haven’t really done that much with myself. I’ve been working, reading, taking walks and watching a lot of TV – but that’s about it.

  The combination of feeling uncertain about the world now I’m divorced from so much of it, and the fear of stumbling into any more catastrophes, has left me a little inert.

  I think a day out in Bath might be just as much of a challenge for me as it will be for Grace.

  And the plan is quite simple. We’re just going to drive into the city centre, find a place to park and . . . have a wander.

  I cannot remember the last time I just had a wander.

  Even on all those walks I mentioned, I have a route laid out in my head that generally takes me towards the leafy common about a mile away from my flat, or up past the shopping centre and around the playing fields of the local school. I certainly don’t venture off the beaten path of either.

  I have lived a life of refined order – up until I started the detox, anyway. Technology has a way of regimenting your existence, which only becomes truly apparent once you have to do without it. It’s almost as if all that reliance on computers starts to turn you into a bit of a computer yourself.