It Started With A Tweet(72)
‘Really? Is that all?’ I say, biting my tongue to stop myself from laughing.
He pushes me playfully on the arm. ‘It’s the beard, right? Rodney’s always telling me to get rid of it. It’s just, without it, Liz and Gerry kept ID’ing me in the village shop.’
I laugh, ‘Got a right baby face under there, have you?’
I can’t help stroking his face, and as I look into Jack’s eyes, I suddenly want to kiss him. He’s smiling back at me and I get the impression that he wants to too. I take a deep breath and I go to lean forward, when the sound of a car horn blasts and I leap up. Now I know exactly how Jack felt when I made him jump.
Rosie winds down her window.
‘Ian wants me to grab some more bits for the en suites so I’m off to the plumbers’ merchants. You want to come? Thought we could stop off for scones at that little tea shop on the way back.’
I look between Rosie and Jack.
‘Go on,’ he says. ‘Those scones at Mrs Farley’s are to die for.’
He stands up and calls Buster over. ‘I was going to take Buster up to see Rodney anyway.’
‘Are you sure you don’t need to post anything first?’
‘Quite sure,’ he says winking, before he waves at Rosie and crosses the main road.
‘That looked cosy,’ says Rosie, as I climb onto the passenger seat.
‘He was just checking his post,’ I say, still not ready to explain my friendship just yet.
‘Uh-huh. Very attentive to that mailbox, then, just like you.’
I fold my arms defensively and look out the window, daydreaming about what was in his letter and gutted that I didn’t find out.
Dear Jack,
I know you haven’t seen me around for a while, so I thought I’d let you know that I am safe and well now that you’ve stood down on your rescuing duties. I’m not stuck down a well or anything (I still haven’t worked out how I’m going to get my phone out .?.?.)
Seeing as the weather has been so wet it’s been quite easy to throw ourselves into getting the house sorted. It’s gone a bit mental this week with contractors everywhere. We’ve now had new windows installed and I’m no longer shivering, although maybe that’s because I’m now dressed in a polar fleece all day. There are also doors on each of the bedrooms, so I can no longer hear Alexis snoring in the night. Someone has come in to plasterboard the ceilings and we’ve got rid of that awful Artex. It’s just like DIY SOS! Unfortunately, Nick Knowles isn’t here to lend a hand, so Rosie and I have started to do the painting, but it’s coming on in leaps and bounds. I’m sure next time you visit you won’t recognise the place.
I hope that Buster is well and isn’t attacking too many pigeons, and your day job is keeping you busy now you don’t have me to rescue. What exactly is your day job? You’ve never actually said .?.?.
Daisy
P.S. Did John Major’s son present The Price is Right, or was he a contestant? I can just see him winning a boat, or was that Bullseye where everyone won boats?
DEAR DAISY,
FLIPPING HECK – BULLSEYE .?.?. I SO WANTED ONE OF THOSE MUGS AND A BOAT TOO, OBVIOUSLY. IT WOULD HAVE BEEN QUITE HANDY WITH ALL THE RAIN THIS WEEK. THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO APPRECIATE THIS WEATHER ARE BUSTER AND THE FROGS HE’S BEEN CHASING ABOUT.
GLAD YOU ARE COPING OK WITH YOUR SOUL SEARCHING. I WAS WORRIED THAT I HADN’T SEEN YOU AROUND. NEARLY MADE A TRIP TO RODNEY’S HOUSE JUST TO CHECK.
I’M INTRIGUED TO SEE THE HOUSE. I’LL COME AND DO MY BEST KEVIN MCLOUD IMPRESSION WHEN I’M PASSING.
WHAT DO I DO? NOW THAT’S A QUESTION .?.?. I BET IF YOU WERE LOGGED ON, YOU WOULD HAVE LOOKED ME UP ON LINKEDIN ALREADY. WHAT DO YOU THINK I DO??
JACK
Dear Jack,
I saw the sun yesterday. The sun! Did you see it too? I’m guessing you might have blinked and missed it. So just in case, I can confirm that at 2.32 p.m. on Friday, 18 May, the sun was indeed out. I never really got how people talked so much about the weather, but that’s clearly because I’d never spent a significant time in Cumbria before. It’s amazing how it changes on a minute-to-minute basis, and it makes London’s weather seem pretty dull in comparison.
I’ve been giving your day job serious thought and have drawn a blank. You clearly aren’t a farmer, as you don’t appear to have any animals other than Buster, and I think I spot more weeds in your fields than in ours. You spend a lot of time at your house, so you don’t appear to keep normal office hours. So what does that make you? Professional stay at homer? You’re not an IT genius or you’d have faster Internet than dial-up, so what do you do? The only clues I have are a conference call and that you used to work in Canary Wharf. The mind boggles.
Now, you underestimate me. I may not have LinkedIn, but I do have Gerry and Liz at the post office. I bet they know ;)
Daisy
P.S. I think you can get one of those Bullseye tankards off the Internet on one of those gadget sites.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Time since last Internet usage: 2 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour, 40 minutes and 54 seconds
It’s finally stopped raining, and the water seems to have run down the valley, leaving the drive covered in squelchy mud reminiscent of a Seamus Heaney poem. Luckily, my all-singing, all-dancing, super-sturdy Gortex boots are keeping me both dry and upright. They also only need a quick brush off when the mud’s crisp and flaky and they live to walk another day, unlike my poor suede espadrilles – RIP.