It Started With A Tweet(45)

‘So, did you just bump into him on your walk?’

I think my sister is going to strain her eyes with that eyebrow raising if she’s not careful.

‘Uh-huh. Now I’d better go and have this shower. Make the most of the luxury while I still can.’

My sister’s face falls in disappointment. It’s as if she could sniff there was more going on than a simple stroll in the country. Of course, she’d be right, but I’d rather she keep up the fantasy that I was attracted to our neighbour, rather than know the truth that I was trying to log on with Alexis’s phone.

As I walk up the stairs and head into the bathroom, I almost laugh at the state of it. I can’t believe I called this a luxury. I run the water and peel my clothes off slowly. The mud having dried makes the jeans more rigid, and it’s even harder than usual to pull them off. I finally succeed and step into the warm water. I close my eyes and try to appreciate the warmth, thinking how I’m going to miss it over the next few days. Hair washed in record time, I get out of the shower reluctantly, as I know that if I don’t, I will soon be reliving my ice-bucket challenge.

I dry myself off quickly and walk, in my towel, back to my bedroom and start rooting around in my suitcase, wondering what the hell I’m going to wear. I settle for the tracksuit bottoms that I slob around in at the weekends, and I team it up with a long-sleeve Gap T-shirt and a big woolly cardigan. It will have to do. I also decide to put on my smelly gym trainers too. They’re not the type of trainers that Jack was talking about, but I guess they’ve got to be more practical than the espadrille boots, which are now only fit for the bin.

I’m about to walk out of the bedroom when I catch sight of my writing stationery. I must write Erica a letter; yesterday’s postcard is already out of date, thanks to Alexis’s arrival and my near-death experience this morning.

I pick it up and an idea hits me – I could write Jack a thank-you note and leave it in his mailbox at the end of the road. I feel as if I need to thank him, and a note is far less invasive than heading round to his house to do it in person. An old-fashioned equivalent of a text message.

I pop back downstairs and see that Rosie is bent down at the oven.

‘Just shoving some jacket potatoes in for lunch. Are you hungry?’

‘Starving,’ I say, thinking that I worked up quite the appetite this morning.

‘They’ll be about forty minutes as I started them off in the microwave. I figure we’ll wait for lunch before we get stuck into any work.’

‘OK, I might go for a little walk, take a few snaps while I wait.’

Rosie nods and starts taking the bathroom supplies upstairs.

I lean over the table and write my note.



Jack,

Thank you for your knight-in-shining-armour impression – on both counts. Alexis didn’t seem to notice the adventure his phone went on this morning, and my hands are slowly starting to relax out of the claw pose that they’d been stuck in from clinging on to that rock for dear life.

You’ll be pleased to know I’ve thrown my espadrilles (those stupid bloody boots) in the bin.

I’ll try and be less touristy in the future.

Thanks again,

Daisy



I’m deliberating whether to add a kiss or not when Rosie walks back downstairs.

‘Hey, do you remember who used to present The Price is Right?’

She stops and leans on the banister. ‘Hmm, Bob Monkhouse?’ she says, wrinkling her face as if she’s not sure that’s the right answer.

‘No, I don’t think it was him.’

This really is frustrating. It’s the kind of question that would be answered in a nanosecond if we had the sodding Internet.

‘What about Des O’Connor?’

I do have a memory of Des presenting something with a shiny model.

‘Could be.’



P.S. What about Des O’Connor?



‘I’m just going to test out the camera,’ I say, as I fold the note over and give Rosie a quick wave. I shut the door and I hope this time I have more luck on one of my walks.





Chapter Fifteen

Time since last Internet usage: 4 days, 21 hours, 37 minutes and 21 seconds

‘It’s day four in the Big Brother house, all of the housemates are going slightly mad. They’ve locked themselves in the world’s smallest bathroom and have taken to ripping the tiles and wallpaper off the wall to entertain themselves,’ I say in my best Geordie accent, which sounds more like I’m from Liverpool.

Rosie smiles a little and Alexis looks at me with confusion. It’s probably the accent. I have enough trouble understanding it, let alone a non-native English speaker.

The more I think about it, the more I think I have in common with the Big Brother housemates. Trapped away from the outside world; no TV, phones or Internet; forced to cook on random rations – my sister doesn’t appear to be a very practical shopper – and to make polite conversations with strangers – Alexis, and, to a lesser extent, Rosie. The only real difference that I can see, aside from millions of people watching their plight, is that they have a shower. What I wouldn’t give for a shower now .?.?. I wouldn’t even mind the millions of people watching me have one.

I’ve been steaming wallpaper off the wall for two days. Not only is it tedious, but it’s also hot. I’m a right stinky mess, and I know that I’m edging ever closer to the barn shower.