It Started With A Tweet(59)
It’s been a long time since I’ve had an aubergine, real or what the Emoji represents.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I say, nodding encouragingly. I pick up another and smile at her.
Trish takes a couple too, and Liz is practically beaming.
‘Told you they’d sell,’ she says to Gerry as she walks back round the counter.
‘Just these, is it, love?’ asks Gerry, obviously not impressed with the new stock.
‘Just those,’ I say sadly, wishing I could ask for the gossip on Jack too.
‘Have you met Trish?’ asks Liz as she approaches with her aubergines and bread.
‘No, I haven’t. Hi, nice to meet you, I’m Rosie and this is my sister, Daisy.’
‘Ah, you’ve moved into Upper Gables, with Alexis. You lucky ladies.’
Is there anyone in the village he hasn’t met and charmed?
‘Trish here teaches yoga,’ says Liz gently nodding.
‘I certainly do, at the village hall. Got morning and evening classes. I do personal training too.’
‘Oh great,’ says Rosie, ‘we should definitely look into the yoga – see, Daisy, we were talking about doing yoga on our detox.’
‘Detox?’ says Trish, raising an eyebrow.
Liz is looking as though her eyes are going to pop out of her head, and I don’t want Rosie to explain our digital detox; it’d be around the village before we knew it.
‘Uh-huh, but yes, yoga sounds great. Look, we’d better get to the pub as I’m about to eat those crumpets untoasted.’
Rosie winces at the thought.
‘Righto, nice to meet you, Trish. See you again, Liz, Gerry.’
As I’m leaving, I raid the leaflet holder, which is rammed full of other accommodation and local attractions, hoping that it will be good market research. Not that I can face looking at any of it in my hungover state.
We cross the road towards the pub, my mind whirring with thoughts of Jack and his lady friends. If only I had access to Facebook, I could have friend requested him and then stalked through his life for the last few years and seen his relationship history.
‘You OK?’ asks Rosie. ‘You’ve gone really pale.’
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Nothing that a pint of coke and a read of these magazines won’t fix.’
I’m lying, as right now I’m pining for my old life. I can’t bear the thought that there’s information out there about a person and that I can’t get to it. I’ve got a digital itch to scratch and a magazine and a newspaper just won’t cut it.
Chapter Eighteen
Time since last Internet usage: 5 days, 23 hours, 17 minutes and 15 seconds
‘You can just drop me here,’ I say to Rosie as we pull into the driveway to our farm.
‘Here? Are you sure you want to walk along the drive? It’s no bother really.’
‘No, it’s fine. You might as well go straight off to the builders’ merchant. I’m feeling queasy after that big breakfast anyway a walk might do me good.’
I hop out of the car quickly so that she can’t read the expression on my face. I’m such a hopeless liar.
‘OK, then, I’ll see you later on. Don’t be out for too long,’ she says pointing out towards the village. ‘That black cloud doesn’t look good.’
‘No,’ I say shuddering. ‘It doesn’t.’
I wave her off as she turns out of the drive and heads in the other direction from Lullamby. I wait until her car disappears out of sight and I turn on my heels and head up towards Rodney’s farm. I cross the road and start walking quickly, or as quickly as I can on the uneven ground, up towards his house.
I knew it was perched halfway up a hill, and it looked steep, but I feel as if I’m scaling a mountain. Perhaps it’s just last night’s dancing to S Club 7, but my calves are burning. It seems I’m in desperate need of one of Trish’s yoga classes after all.
By the time I make it to Rodney’s front door, I’m huffing and puffing like I’ve scaled Mount Everest and I’m in need of supplementary oxygen.
There’s no doorbell, but it doesn’t matter as I can hear his sheepdog barking at full volume from inside.
‘That’s enough from you,’ I hear him shout and the dog instantly quietens.
The old wooden door opens and Rodney, who’s got a little bit of bread crust in his beard, is standing before me. His scowl instantly lifts as he sees it’s me.
‘Ah, the young lady of the Gables.’
‘Daisy,’ I say, realising that I hadn’t introduced myself properly. ‘You said that if I needed to use the Internet, I could come .?.?.’ I say peering into the dimly lit cottage and, for the first time, considering what I’m about to do. I’m about to go into a dark cottage with a slightly pervy farmer and no one knows I’m here. Hmm. The rational side of my brain that went on a personal-safety training day is trying to tell me that this is a bad idea, but the risk-taking side of my brain is telling me that I’m thirty feet away from Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Snapchat, my email .?.?. And besides, he’s not giving out any creepy vibes in the slightest.
‘Come on in,’ he says, holding his arm out in invitation.
I practically leap into his house.