It Started With A Tweet(103)

‘Well, someone here did let someone into their pants at the weekend,’ says Tess, pointing at herself. ‘I hooked up with this hot guy at a house party. He’s a friend of a friend, so obviously I’ve been stalking him on Facebook.’

She picks up her phone and scrolls around, before proudly showing us a photo of a blond man grinning wildly at the camera.

‘He’s cute,’ says Amelie, stealing it to have a closer look.

‘There are more photos,’ says Tess, leaning over and swiping, and the two of them are lost to the phone, critiquing the guy’s choice of Facebook photos and imagining what he’d be like.

‘So are you going to see him again?’ I say, interrupting them talking about his swimming hobby – which they got from one photo of him in a pool on holiday.

‘I hope so. I mean, I checked out his profile on LinkedIn and he’s a senior accountant at his firm. That’s got to be good.’

Amelie’s nodding.

‘But you haven’t actually spoken to him since you slept with him?’

‘Well, no, but I know he likes to go drinking at the Florence. He checks in there most Friday nights.’

‘You’re as bad as Alexis,’ I say, as I come to the realisation.

‘Alexis?’ she says, wrinkling her nose in confusion.

‘The French guy who pretended he liked what I did on Instagram. It’s the same thing. Manipulating a situation by social media.’

‘It’s not manipulating,’ says Tess, folding her arms. ‘I’m sure we’d meet up again anyway as we’ve got friends in common after all. I’m just helping things along.’

There’s a tension in the air, which is only broken when the waiter comes along to see if we want any more drinks, and we almost bite his hand off.

By the time the cocktail reinforcements arrive, Tess and Amelie are back pouring over photos of cheeky blond men; I’m trying to fill Erica in on what went on between me and Jack, as, with Chris around over the weekend, we hadn’t had a proper gossip. Trying being the operative word, as every minute or so her phone pings with a message from Chris and she taps a quick reply.

‘I am listening,’ she says, after I groan at the latest interruption. ‘So you talked through letters.’

‘Yeah, you know, nothing deep. Just chatty ones. And they had this common theme about The Price is Right – remember that TV show in the early nineties? It started because I couldn’t remember who presented it, and then he told me there was a link between it and John Major and I couldn’t guess what it was.’

Erica looks at me with a look that suggests I’ve come from Mars.

‘Why didn’t you google it?’

‘Um, hello, digital detox? My phone was down a well.’

‘Ah,’ she says, picking up her hers and tapping away. ‘Here we go. There have been four presenters: Leslie Crowther, Bob Warman, Bruce Forsyth and Joe Pasquale. And the link between John Major – ah-ha, his son was married to Emma Noble, who was one of the models. So what else did your letters talk about?’

My mouth drops open. I didn’t want to know the truth about The Price is Right, as not knowing somehow preserved the fun of the letters. Imagine if I had just been able to google it, then all that fun and banter wouldn’t have existed.

‘Oh my God,’ says Erica, as her phone beeped for the umpteenth time. ‘Look at the photo Helen’s just posted on her Instagram. Check out that food.’

Instantly, Tess and Amelie pick up their phones to check it themselves, rather than look at Erica’s phone. As the three of them start picking their way through Helen’s feed and her unfolding wedding in Vegas, it starts to hit me how much the digital detox affected me. I start to analyse the way they’re interacting; they might be listening to whoever’s talking, but not one of them is looking at each other or really paying attention. They’re too busy scrolling on their phones, only half present.

I glance up to my right and there’s a cute guy looking over at our table. He seems to be trying to catch Tess’s eye. He’s way cuter than the pictures of the guy who’s on her phone and he’s right here. Only she’s going to miss him, as she’s barely looked around since we’ve been here.

I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. Now that I don’t have my phone to hide behind, I can see everything going on around me with new eyes. I can’t believe that if it weren’t for my sister’s crazy idea of a digital detox I would be sitting here scrolling away too instead of talking and listening to what my friends have to say.

It’s ridiculous. We’re four intelligent women with interesting lives, and we’re wasting our time on looking at fake versions of life on a tiny screen.

If only they could see how much of their lives they’re missing. If only I could take them up to Cumbria – they’re definitely prime candidates for a digital detox.

In fact, they’re not the only ones. I glance around and see that most people have their phones on the table in front of them, or in their hands. There are those who seem to be taking endless amounts of selfies, others who are sitting together on tables not speaking, each tapping away.

‘Oh my God,’ I say, clapping my hand over my mouth. ‘That’s it.’

‘What’s it?’ mutters Erica.