It Started With A Tweet(44)

Jack, much to his disdain, helps unpack the whole car. He scowls at me each time he passes, just in case I was in any doubt that he was doing me a big favour.

I go over to the kettle while everyone else goes back to the car to do the final run.

When Rosie comes in and shuts the door I look up at her in surprise.

‘Where are the boys?’ I say, thinking that after commandeering so much of his day the least I could do was to make Jack a cup of tea and offer him some of the handmade cake we bought yesterday.

‘Jack said he had to go to the village, and Alexis asked if he could go with him. Don’t worry, I asked him to pick up some more of those cookies.’

‘Oh, good,’ I say, suddenly feeling awful that I didn’t get a chance to thank Jack for everything he’s done for me – both the dramatic rescue and him covering up the phone theft. Normally, I’d send someone a text to say thanks, but it’s a bit tricky with neither of us being in possession of a phone.

‘I can’t wait to get started on the bathroom,’ says Rosie, clapping her hands in delight, the same way I do when I’m excited about something. It seems funny to be watching someone with the same mannerisms. ‘Now, do you want to use the shower before we rip it out? It’s going to be a few days before it’s plumbed in and ready to use.’

‘What are we supposed to do in the mean time?’ I haven’t asked before, too fearful of the reply.

‘Ah, now I did think of that when we were at the shops.’ She roots around in the bags until she finds what she’s looking for. ‘Ta da,’ she says, holding up a solar-powered shower, the type you use if you’re camping and desperate.

Having spent so much time with Jack this morning, I’ve got his frown down to a tee and I glare at her.

‘You want me to use that? Outside?’

‘Not exactly. I thought we could hang it outside to warm it up then pop it up in the barn, where it might be a bit warmer.’

‘And a bit more private.’

‘Oh, yes, there’s that too. I’ll get Alexis to whip up something this afternoon. I bought some value shower curtains, I’m sure he’ll be able to do something.’

I’m starting to appreciate how easy my life was this time last week. Sure, I was slaving away, working all hours to the point of exhaustion, but at least I knew I’d always have hot showers, a warm and cosy bed, and my beloved phone. I chide myself because there are people that live in these conditions every day, even for their whole lives. I suddenly feel awful about the private pity party I’m holding just for me. If this was a Facebook post, I’d totally follow with #firstworldproblems, as that’s exactly what this is.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, instantly manning up. ‘It’ll be like one giant adventure.’

‘Won’t it?’ says Rosie. ‘You know it’s so exciting actually living on-site and doing a refurb. Usually I’m just popping in and out, supervising the contractors before going home. Oh, I forgot, I bought this earlier.’

She picks up a Boots bag, pulls out a bottle of dry shampoo and gives me a nod as if to tell me that it’s going to solve all our problems.

I take the bottle and plant a fake smile on my face, ‘Great.’

‘And .?.?.’ she says, pulling out a bright blue box that appears to have an old-fashioned camera in it. It takes me a moment to register that it’s a disposable one.

‘What’s this for?’ I say, thinking that it looks like the type of thing that would look more at home on a wedding table.

‘You said you missed taking photos, and this way you’ll be able to snap away on your walks.’

I look at it and try and remember the last time I used a camera with real film in it. Was it the nineties? Just after? I scratch my head.

I take it out of the packet and smile at the faux snakeskin that gives it a vintage feel, which is in keeping for its surroundings.

‘Thanks, Rosie, that’s really thoughtful,’ I say, almost in surprise that my sister would do something so nice for me.

I run my thumb over the wheel to wind it on so that it’s ready to use. There’s something so satisfying about the physicality of it.

‘I bought a few,’ she says, pulling out pink and cream boxes too. ‘Thought it would be nice to have some in-progress photos as we do up the house.’

‘Great idea,’ I say, sitting down at the table, which is a bad move, I realise, as my wet jeans spread even more over my thighs.

‘So, what was Jack like, then? He seemed a bit less frosty than he was when we met him on the road the other day.’

‘You mean, when we almost ran over his dog.’

‘I didn’t almost run over his dog. His dog just did a very spirited run near my car.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Anyway, so, what is he like? He seems very helpful.’

Her eyebrow is raised in a way that I recognise; it’s so much like our mother it’s uncanny. I only need to pass within three feet of a man who’s vaguely my age and unmarried for my mum to get her fishing rod out for information, and it appears Rosie is the same.

‘Yes, it was nice of him to unload the car.’

‘Wasn’t it,’ she says nodding and staring at me as if I’m supposed to elaborate. But I don’t. I carry on trying to pick the mud off my jeans in big lumps. It’s fairly satisfying when you get a big crusty bit off intact, and it’s fulfilling my need to fidget now that I don’t have a phone to occupy my fingers.