Logging Off

by Spalding, Nick

  ‘But you have such a great story to tell,’ Fergus complains. ‘You’ve got a lot of wisdom.’

  ‘Wisdom?!’ I cry in a high-pitched voice. ‘I ended up on a date with someone who thinks the earth is hollow, and my Volvo’s engine has only just recovered from having several gallons of pond water pumped out of it!’

  ‘It’s your example they’re interested in, Andy,’ Grace says in a very calm voice. She’s trying to talk me down off the ledge I’m rapidly escalating towards jumping off. ‘The way you’ve changed your lifestyle completely is quite inspirational. It inspired me. And I feel a lot better for it.’

  Unfortunately, this is very true. I’ve only known Grace a few weeks, but she looks like a very different person from the scared, lost woman I opened my front door to.

  But that wasn’t because of anything I did. She chose to join me on the path of the digital detox. That all came from her, didn’t it?

  ‘But I wouldn’t have done it without your example, Andy,’ she tells me. ‘Without you, I’d never have dared give it a go. I needed your story to show me that I had a problem, and that I needed to do something about it.’ She points at Fergus’s phone, which is now on the table and flashing with new notifications on a frighteningly regular basis. ‘And maybe those people feel the same way.’

  ‘She’s right, mate,’ Fergus adds. ‘Pretty much everyone who’s contacted me has said how they wish they could get off the Internet . . . use their tech less. Live a calmer life. Just like you.’ He smiles. ‘Hell, even I’ve been thinking I could do with a little less screen time myself.’

  I look from Grace to Fergus, and then back to Grace again, my face a ball of anguish. ‘But I don’t want to be an inspiration for anyone, guys. I don’t think I’d be very good at it, and I don’t want to end up in a bunker.’

  ‘But you are good at it, Andy,’ Grace tells me with a warm smile. ‘Whether you like it or not.’

  ‘She’s right about that too, mate,’ Fergus agrees. ‘And there are people out there, like Grace, who would clearly like to follow you on your path.’

  Gosh.

  What a strange, strange thing.

  And by strange, I mean stomach-clenching.

  Then a thought occurs. One very salient thought that will put the kybosh on this whole thing good and proper – thank God.

  ‘There’s no way I can communicate with them, though!’ I say, possibly more triumphantly than is strictly necessary.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Fergus asks.

  I waggle my eyebrows. ‘I can’t go online, can I? I can’t go on social media! And I’m only allowed to use emails for work!’

  Ha!

  It’s the perfect get-out clause!

  Fergus looks a bit deflated. He knows I’m right!

  All of those poor people will just have to get along on their own, without the assistance of Andrew Bellows. This is no doubt for the best, as there probably aren’t enough duck ponds in the local area for them to drive into.

  I’m still on the digital detox, so there’s no way for me to speak to these people, even if I wanted to!

  Marvellous!

  ‘We could arrange a meeting?’ Fergus suggests.

  Somewhere, far off, the Jaws music starts to play.

  ‘What?’ I snap, coming out of my exultant mood in a split second.

  ‘You know . . . a meeting. A meet-and-greet. So they could come and see you in person.’

  Grace – who I would hope would be on my side in this debacle – nods and looks very interested in the notion.

  I should have slammed the front door in her face.

  ‘You want me to meet these people in person?’ I say, feeling my legs turn to jelly as I do so.

  Fergus nods. ‘Yes. I think that would be lovely.’ He scratches his chin. ‘It’d make a good third story for the paper too.’

  ‘We could do it here,’ Grace remarks.

  I whip my head around to look at her so fast I’ll need ibuprofen in the morning for the whiplash. ‘Here?!’

  She nods. ‘Yes. The café is big enough to accommodate a lot of people . . . if I move some of the tables out the back.’

  Fergus claps his hands together. ‘Ha! That’s perfect, Grace! On so many levels!’

  ‘Perfect?!’ I whine in a voice that is in danger of breaking into a million pieces.

  ‘Absolutely! I can reply to all of your new friends to let them know they’ll be able to come and have a chat with you about your detox.’ Fergus gives me a thumbs up. ‘Well done, mate. I wouldn’t have thought of that unless you’d pointed out that you can’t go online!’

  I must get out.

  I must run away.

  These people are clearly demons from hell disguised as my friends – bent on putting me through the torments of Hades until my soul explodes or my bottom falls off, whichever comes first.

  I shake my head rapidly back and forth. ‘I can’t. I can’t do it.’

  ‘Of course you can!’ Fergus argues. ‘You’re a lot better with people than you think you are.’ He opens his arms expansively. ‘And think how good the business will be for Grace! All of that coffee being drunk by all of those people.’

  I see Grace’s eyes light up.

  You complete bastard, Fergus!

  He knows that I have feelings for Grace – and I would probably do anything to make her happy.

  ‘Business has been slow since the whole thing with Henrietta,’ Grace points out. ‘People get a bit twitchy when the police turn up somewhere. And the repairs did cost an awful lot . . .’

  Oh well, that’s fucking it, then, isn’t it?

  How can I say no?

  I’m going to have to do this stupid meeting with a bunch of people I’ve never met before, because I’m being forced into doing it, thanks to my so-called best friend and the woman I’m in love wit—

  No!

  No, no, no!

  I didn’t say that!

  I didn’t say it!

  I’m not in love with her!

  Honestly!

  She’s my friend. Just my friend!

  I am not in love with Grace!

  ‘All right, I’ll do it!’ I splutter, not entirely in control of my own brain, thanks to the revelation it’s just thrown at me at one thousand miles an hour.

  ‘You will?’ Grace says, with no small degree of excitement.

  Fergus laughs. ‘Of course he will! He knows it’s the right thing to do!’

  I will visit you, Fergus Brailsworth! I will visit you in your sleep and do unpleasant things to your person!

  ‘I’ll spend a few hours getting in touch with all these fine people,’ he continues, ‘to let them know that Andy will be here to talk about the detox . . . and offer some advice.’ He snaps his fingers. ‘I’ll pop an advert in the paper too!’

  Oh, heavens to Murgatroyd.

  What have I done?

  Mind you, it can’t really be all that bad, can it?

  OK, so Fergus had a lot of people contacting him about my story, but that doesn’t mean they’re all going to want to travel to meet me.

  After all, it’s quite easy to find information about digital detoxes online. There’s no need to actually speak to someone about it.

  At least, I’m assuming there’s a lot of stuff online about them, anyway. Obviously, I can’t check. But given that you can find reams of information about a deep-sea creature called the flying buttocks, I’m pretty sure digital detoxes will be covered at some length as well.

  I’ll now wait while you go and google ‘flying buttocks’.

  . . .

  . . . . . .

  Done?

  Let’s carry on then.

  There’s a very good chance that not many people will turn up to hear me speak at all, which is just as well, as I have no idea what to say. Everything pertinent to my detox is included in Fergus’s annoyingly detailed stories, so anything I add will just be repetition. I might as well stand there and recite the articles verbatim, while the few
people who turn up to Grace’s coffee shop sit there and drink their cappuccinos.

  I am not looking forward to seeing Grace’s face when she sees the poor turnout. I can’t blame her for being excited at the prospect of a large crowd that Fergus put in her head, but I’m just not that interesting. I’m not that much of a draw.

  I wish she could see that.

  I also wish I could run away from the entire thing.

  Maybe visit, and get lost in, another one of the country’s many attractive cities. York maybe, or possibly Edinburgh.

  Yeah. That’d be nice. A trip to Edinburgh. Just me and Grace again, wandering through the streets, looking for fudge and avoiding vampires dressed in tartan.

  I could add a visit in to see my mother and father too. That’d be lovely.

  I’ve talked with them both a lot on the phone recently (and actually listened to what they’ve had to say properly for the first time in years, given that I haven’t also been fiddling around with my iPad at the same time).

  I’d love for them to meet Grace. I think they’d all get along like a house on fire.

  This daydream fills my head nicely as I drive to Heirloom Coffee on a sunny Thursday evening – a few days after Fergus contacted all of the people who’d emailed and messaged him.

  It is a day of some importance for me.

  It is the last day of my digital detox.

  Yes indeed, I have made it through to the end.

  I have completed my task.

  It’s a surreal feeling, to be completely honest with you. On the one hand I am delighted that tomorrow I will be able to go on Facebook for the first time in two months and play a few cheeky games of Call of Duty multiplayer, but on the other hand, I almost feel . . . I don’t know . . . regretful? Sad? A little melancholic that my online-free life is about to end.

  I’ve learned quite a lot about myself in the past eight weeks, and have improved my general sense of well-being a great deal . . . so I can’t pretend that bringing the detox to a close will be 100 per cent positive.

  Don’t get me wrong, though. I do intend to bring it to an end.

  Two months in the wilderness is probably enough for Andrew Bellows.

  Jesus only bloody managed forty days, and he was the son of God.

  This meeting tonight seems like an extremely good way for me to bookend my experience of a digitally free life. I can speak to the three or four people that do turn up, try to give them as much advice as I can with my limited conversational skills, and send them on their way.

  Then I can get up tomorrow morning and get on with life again.

  I just miss it all too much, you know?

  The last week has dragged massively as I’ve counted down the time to the end of the detox. My head has been filled with all of the exciting things I’m going to do once I’m allowed back online.

  But then I think again of wandering around Edinburgh with Grace, the same way we did in Bath, and I feel deeply confused again.

  That day out has become emblematic of all the positives that have come from the detox, and every time I fantasise about scrolling through my Twitter feed – finally plugging back into the world around me – the trip to Bath intrudes, and reminds me of what I might be missing out on when I do end the detox.

  And then there’s a question that I don’t want to know the answer to . . .

  What will happen with me and Grace when I do end the detox?

  Right now, we have something in common that binds us to one another – but what happens when that commonality disappears?

  Grace has said she’s going to take one day at a time with her own detox, so she hasn’t placed an end point on it like I have. That means she could want to carry on with it indefinitely. What will it do to our relationship if she’s still living a tech-free life, but I’m back using it again? Will our friendship last? Or will she drift away from me?

  Can I stand that?

  But then again, can I stand feeling so disconnected from the world any longer?

  Do I have to lose one to have the other?!

  Just think about holding her hand as you turn a corner, you fool. Anything else is likely to spark off the irritable bowel.

  I try my hardest to do this as I drive up the village street to where Heirloom Coffee is. The calming thoughts stay with me for about thirty seconds, until I actually drive past the window of the shop and look inside.

  OK, it’s not packed to the rafters, but there are certainly more than three or four people in there. I count at least twenty. Maybe even thirty.

  My heart instantly starts to pound.

  I have to be very careful turning in to the car park at the back of the terrace that Heirloom Coffee sits in. My hands are a little quivery, and I don’t want to crash into the post office on the corner.

  Thirty people.

  All of whom I assume have come to look at Andy Bellows.

  I should have worn a nicer shirt.

  And jeans.

  And been three inches taller.

  And have larger pectoral muscles.

  And a better haircut.

  Gulp.

  I park the car carefully and climb out of it very slowly. On legs that feel more rubbery than a comedy chicken, I make my way around to the front of the row of medieval houses, and walk towards the café’s entrance.

  Nice deep breaths.

  Think about Grace’s warm hand in yours.

  Try not to think about needing a poo.

  Oh no. I need a poo.

  That’s not good.

  That’s never good.

  The irritable bowel syndrome that has been kept under a decent amount of control recently is rearing its ugly head again as I draw ever closer to Heirloom’s front door.

  Why did I agree to do this?

  Because of Grace, you fool.

  Damn it.

  Damn it all.

  I really need a poo.

  I push open the door and try to affect a pleasant smile as I do.

  Have you ever tried to affect a pleasant smile when you really need a poo? It’s rather like trying to look relaxed while white-water rafting.

  With lips curled into what probably resembles more of a snarl than a smile, and buttocks clenched against the rising tide, I walk into the coffee shop and find a small sea of faces staring back at me.

  All of them with looks of recognition.

  For someone like me, who is very uncomfortable and anxious in large crowds, having everyone in the room look at me like they know me is akin to a soft, plump rabbit stumbling into a den of foxes.

  The smile drops off my face, and I desperately search for someone familiar. Luckily, Grace and Fergus are standing over at the counter, both smiling the kind of smile that comes from people who are not about to suffer a brown-trouser accident in front of a group of strangers.

  I twiddle over to them as fast as possible.

  I know you wouldn’t usually use the word ‘twiddle’ to describe how someone walks, but trust me, when your bowels are about to let go in public, about the only thing you can do is twiddle. Twiddle as fast as possible, and hope it’s not too late.

  ‘Hey, Andy,’ Grace says as I reach her.

  ‘Evening, pal,’ Fergus adds.

  ‘I need the toilet,’ I say in a rush, and twiddle my way past them and the counter, down the short corridor to the single toilet cubicle at the back of the shop.

  Inside, things occur that need no description. You’ve already had to suffer through one toilet escapade of mine, so I don’t feel the need to trouble you with another.

  Suffice to say, I emerge from the toilet about five minutes later a good couple of pounds lighter and somewhat calmer of mood.

  Calmer, that is, until I see all of those expectant faces again.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Grace asks me.

  ‘I think so,’ I reply, trying to ignore my stomach, which is still rolling like an angry ocean. ‘Are all of these people here to see me?’

  ‘Yep!’ Fergus says.
‘Had a better turnout than I was expecting. Shall I introduce you?’

  No, Fergus.

  I do not want you to introduce me.

  I only want to do two things right now – kiss Grace and kick you in the testicles.

  But as I don’t have the stomach for either, I guess you’d better just let these poor people know who I am, so we can get this palaver over with. ‘Yeah, go on then,’ I tell him, steadying myself against the counter.

  ‘Hello, everyone, thank you for coming,’ Fergus tells the crowd – who are all sat nursing a variety of coffees. The profits for the café will be good this evening. ‘This here is Andy, as I’m sure you’re all aware. We figured the best way we could do things is if you guys just ask him whatever questions you may have about his detox . . . so hands up anyone who has one to ask.’

  For a moment, everyone just sits there, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. If they’re as reluctant to come forward as I am to be standing up here, then this meet-and-greet will go a lot faster.

  But then, almost at once, every single person in the café puts their hand up, and I know I’m in this for the long haul.

  I feel Grace come and stand beside me, and reach one hand over to gently grasp my arm and give it a squeeze.

  I don’t think there’s many things I couldn’t do if it came with a gentle encouraging squeeze from Grace – up to and including white-water rafting.

  From the crowd of expectant faces, I pick out a heavy-set and pleasant-faced woman sitting just in front of me. ‘Er, yes, what would you like to know?’ I ask hesitantly.

  The woman shuffles in her seat a bit, looking somewhat surprised that I chose her, but after a moment she composes herself and says, ‘Hi, Andy. I’m Josephine.’ She seems to compose her question in her head for a moment before finally asking it. ‘Are you happy now?’

  Oh.

  What a thing to ask.

  I should have chosen somebody else . . .

  I stand there for a moment, swimming in a sea of uncertainty about what I should say.

  Do I say yes, and probably give her the answer she wants to hear? It might be the best way to go about things. Definitely the easiest.

  Or do I tell her the messy, complicated truth?