It Started With A Tweet(20)

I go to yank her arm away from the handle but she pushes me away. I decide to bide my time instead. I’ll come along and pull it up later on. In fact, this is infinitely better than a safe as at least I’ll have access to it.

I chuckle to myself at my sister making such a rookie mistake. It’s so unlike her. Perhaps the only reason her plans seemed brilliant when we were kids was because I was three years younger than her.

‘Right,’ says Rosie, pulling a penknife out of her pocket. ‘It’s time for you to cut the cord.’

I look at her in horror. Surely not?

‘Your iPhone addiction is holding you back, it’s time that you regained your life balance,’ she says in a level-headed voice, despite the fact that she’s suggesting something utterly ridiculous. ‘In order to fully reconnect with yourself and fully embrace mindfulness, you’ve got to let go.’

‘What?’ I say, looking at her spouting all this claptrap.

‘Come on, it’s what the people who designed the detox said to do. Apparently, if you want to do this properly, you’ve got to empower yourself and let go. But think about it. That phone is the reason why your life is in such a mess. If you weren’t so used to banging out social media updates every minute of the day, you’d probably have taken the time to consider what you were writing and where.’

The stupid thing is that I know she’s right, but it doesn’t make what she’s suggesting any less painful.

‘Now, are you going to cut or am I?’

She holds out the knife, which is a risky strategy as, right now, I’m pretty sure I value my phone more than my sister. ‘But how will we ever get them out again?’

This is all going a bit Lord of the Flies for my liking.

‘Ah, don’t worry. The people have a plan for that. I’ll be able to get it back out when the time is right, don’t fret.’

I wonder just who these sadistic people are to have designed this. First we’re staying in a falling-down wreck and then we’re throwing away our lifelines down an abandoned well. It has all the hallmarks of being the opening to a horror movie.

I look deep into my sister’s eyes, and for some reason, just as I did when I was a kid, I feel compelled to do what she says. Maybe the emotional turmoil of the day has taken its toll, but whatever it is, I take the knife from her and slowly cut the cord.

‘I can’t believe I’m doing this.’

I watch the strands snap one by one and I wince.

‘You’ll feel better when it’s done. You’ll be freeing yourself.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just do. Trust me, in a week’s time, you’ll be begging me to keep your phone down the well.’

She says it in the all-knowing way she used to use when we were kids to prove her role of older sister.

‘I doubt that,’ I say, as the thought reaches my brain that this is actually happening, that my phone is going to be physically separated from me for one whole week, but before I can do anything about it, the last strand snaps and the bucket falls down the well and lands at the bottom with a big thud.

‘Great job,’ says Rosie, in a mock American accent. She takes the knife away from me, which is a pretty astute decision as the magnitude of what I’ve just done hits me.

‘Are you sure the people have a plan of how I can get that back? It’s got all my photos on it, all my music,’ I say starting to hyperventilate.

‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘That’ll be all backed up on your iCloud.’

That wasn’t quite the reassurance I was after.

‘I can’t believe you did it,’ she says.

‘Did I have a choice?’ I ask, almost lunging myself down the well to retrieve it.

Rosie pulls me back, ‘No, but I thought you’d put up a fight. Maybe you won’t have as much of a problem with this after all.’

She walks back towards the main house and I’m sure I hear a small giggle carrying in the wind, but I don’t follow her. I’m adrift, staring into the darkness of the well, looking at my lost love. With my hand outstretched towards it, I start to wonder when a shiny bit of plastic became the closest thing I had to love?

Rosie’s right, I do need to do this detox.





Chapter Seven

Time since last Internet usage: 2 hours, 46 minutes and 40 seconds

‘I can totally cope,’ I say, laughing a little manically. ‘I’m unplugged, I’m free, and I’m totally fine.’

I try to pretend I’m A-OK that I’ve just thrown my life down a well, but as I shrug my shoulders, I find that they’ve practically lodged themselves at my earlobes. I now see why meditation and yoga feature so heavily in detoxes.

Rosie places a pan of water on one of the hobs on an ancient cooker that looks like it should be condemned.

‘How long’s it been?’ I ask, thinking back to the well incident that seems like a lifetime ago.

‘Seven minutes and thirty-two seconds,’ says Rosie, glancing at her expensive watch.

‘Oh,’ I say a little deflated. Seven minutes is quite a long time in the world of Twitter; I’m sure that would equate to around a hundred tweets on my feed. God knows how many of those would be in relation to #priceless.

But hey, I might have only lasted seven minutes so far, yet in those seven minutes I’ve been all right. I haven’t thrown myself down the well or run to the nearest village.