It Started With A Tweet(37)

‘Well, we’re going to go and hit-up the local builders’ merchants and then go to B&Q,’ says Rosie, fussing around the kitchen.

‘OK, well, I can hop into the shower and come too,’ I say, rising out of my chair.

‘Actually, it would be easier if you stayed here.’

‘Oh,’ I say, feeling a bit put out.

‘It’s just that we’re going to put the seats down in the back of the car so we can fit the bathroom suite in, plus all the other bits and bobs we need to buy. And it will be easier for Alexis to do the lifting and shifting.’

‘That’s fine,’ I say, trying not to feel too left out. I gaze around the kitchen wondering what I’m going to do by myself while they’re away.

Alexis flashes me a smile as he and Rosie head towards the door.

‘We’ll see you later on,’ Rosie says.

‘OK, see you,’ I say, waving and putting on a brave face.

I stare around the room wondering what I’m going to do with myself, then decide to clean the kitchen. Rosie would probably be really grateful, and it would ease my apprehension that we’re all going to get sick from it. I stand up, a woman on a mission, and go in search of cleaning supplies under the sink, but there’s nothing aside from a half-rusted can of furniture polish and a bottle of Jif disinfectant, which must be really old as I’m sure they changed that brand name at least ten years ago.

I’ll just text Rosie and see if they can get some more supplies, I pat around the table, then stop myself. Bloody phone.

I look out of the window, just in case they haven’t left yet, but the courtyard is empty. I suddenly feel lonely here in the house. Not to mention cut off. What if there’s an emergency? What if we run out of milk and I need Rosie to pick up a pint on her way home? Or worse, what if the spiders cocoon me in one of their webs and start to eat me?

I stare suspiciously at a web in the corner of the stairs and remind myself not to walk under it.

I tap my fingers idly on the table and wonder what it was people did in the old days. It’s not only my phone that I miss, but it’s the TV, the radio, the noise of modern life. Even the old fridge in the corner doesn’t have the right hum.

I can’t stay in the house, the silence is going to drive me nuts. And with nothing to distract me, all my thoughts turn to the Twitter implosion and the mess my life is in.

I stare at the hills and figure that if Alexis went for a quick walk, then there’s nothing to stop me from doing the same. It might even impress him – not that I’m trying to impress him, of course .?.?. The rolling hills around the farm look gentle enough. I’m sure I can follow one of the crumbling walls and walk straight along it so that I don’t get lost.

I go into the bathroom for a quick shower and, realising that it’s on our list as needing to be gutted in the next couple of days, I spend a little longer making sure that my hair is fully washed and that I’m properly shaved, exfoliated and buffed, despite the fact that I’ve ended up in freezing cold water again.

I attempt to dress more practically, finding a Fat Face hoodie to go with some jeans, and as I slip on my espadrille boots it reminds me to pester Rosie about me going in search of more Cumbrian-friendly attire.

I pad back downstairs, having a quick glass of water to make sure I’m fully hydrated before I go, and I’m just about to leave when I spot Alexis’s phone on the table.

What an idiot. They’re off on an excursion where there’ll probably be a phone signal and he’s left it behind.

I shake my head, fighting every temptation to pick it up, and tug open the front door. I’m across the threshold when I peer back over my shoulder at the phone. It’s as if it’s calling me, telling me it wants to be held and cradled in my palm.

‘Don’t do it, Daisy,’ I chide myself. ‘You’re stronger than this.’

I try to tell myself I don’t need a phone to complete me. It’s not even like I’d be able to use it; Alexis probably has it locked.

I go to walk out the door but before I’ve even got a foot over the threshold, I’ve turned back and picked up the phone, if only to prove to myself that it’s locked. But, to my amazement, it isn’t.

Now I know what Alice felt like standing at the top of the rabbit hole.

Who doesn’t lock their phone? They’re leaving it wide open to addicts like me to come along and steal it.

Of course I’m going to have to take it now.

I feel a ripple of excitement flow through my veins as I try to think about what I’ll log in to first. Obviously, I won’t be able to sign him out of any of his apps, so WhatsApp is out, but I can still access Twitter and my emails. Of course, I’m only checking from a professional point of view to see how bad Tweetgate has got, but even with that dim proposition, I’m still positively giddy with anticipation.

I peer at the screen and there are no bars of signal. But, luckily, I’m going for a walk up a hill, and didn’t Rosie say that there was a signal higher up? It really would be like striking gold in the hills.

I slip the phone into the large front pocket in my hoody and triumphantly set off.

For the first hundred metres or so I have a real spring to my step. The weather is better than yesterday, it’s dry and the sky is a dirty blue colour with only patchy cloud, and the wind that’s been rustling all night has died down. Aside from the cool temperature, it’s a pleasant spring day.