It Started With A Tweet

by Anna Bell

  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 I must write Erica a letter; yesterday’s postcard is already out of date, thanks to Alexis’s arrival and my near-death experience this morning.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.

  True to her word, Rosie got Alexis to whip up a shower cubicle outside. I think she thought putting it in the barn would provide an element of privacy. Only, with the light flooding in from the holes in the roof and the use of a white shower curtain, I’m pretty sure that there would be some naked shadow puppetry going on.

  I’ve been putting it off, but I’m slightly conscious that the three of us are working in such close proximity, and both Alexis and Rosie have braved the cubicle, so if I don’t go soon, they’re going to realise that the funky smell in here has nothing to do with the old toilet.

  The only thing I’m glad of right now is that Rosie didn’t get Alexis to whip up a toilet too. Instead, she’s ordered a Portaloo, saying that it will be useful for when contractors are on site anyway, as when the bathroom is all finished, she’s not going to want any muddy boots ruining it again.

  So far, the project itself is going well. I’ve covered a wall of the sitting room in Post-it notes with all the work that needs to be done. Not only does the room require a much-needed boost of colour, but it also meticulously plots the path of outstanding work. Rosie went to the village and stood in the phone box for over an hour making phone calls to various builders, and we now have the next few weeks planned solidly.

  As for the three of us living and working together, so far we are getting on quite well. But I think that’s mainly because Alexis can only understand what we say if he concentrates, and the rest of the time he seems to zone out. I can’t say I blame him. To make conversation, Rosie’s been filling me in on the last few years of EastEnders episodes that I’ve missed. To give Alexis credit, he did try to stay with the plot lines, saying that it helped with his English, but then Rosie told me that Kathy came back from the dead and we lost him. Since I’m now fully up to date, things have gone pretty quiet and we’re struggling to find a replacement topic.

  ‘Finished,’ says Alexis, doing a fist pump as he pulls the last tile off the wall.

  ‘Blimey,’ I say, taking a step back and admiring his handiwork.

  The smashed avocado tiles litter the floor as he stands in the cast-iron bath that’s covered in a towel. Rosie didn’t want to make it any worse before the restorer comes to recoat the enamel next week.

  It’s hard to say it looks great, as now the wall’s bumpy and uneven, but it looks a whole lot better now that it doesn’t look as if someone’s thrown up on it after a heavy night of tequila.

  ‘All I’ve got to do now is sand it off,’ she says, ‘and then I can start tiling again tomorrow. Great work, Alexis. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off?’

  ‘Thanks, I go for a walk up the hill. Daisy, you like to come too?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I say, thinking back to my last walk and how badly that ended. I promised myself I wouldn’t try that again until I was properly kitted out.

  ‘You should have gone with him,’ says Rosie as he leaves. ‘It’s probably easier if you’re out of the way when I sand the plaster back. It’s going to get really dusty.’

  ‘Nah, I really should take a shower, and if he’s out, I’ll probably feel a little bit more comfortable in the barn.’

  �
�It’s really not that bad. I mean, he’s put some Perspex on the top of it so that the pigeons can’t poop on you while you’re in there.’

  ‘You’re really selling it to me.’

  I blow a bit of sweaty hair away from my face as I finish off the bit of wall I’m working on. I step back, feeling proud at my handiwork. I’m probably going to feel more exhausted than proud by the time I’ve stripped the wallpaper off all four bedrooms too, but for the moment I’m feeling accomplished.

  ‘It’s a good feeling, isn’t it?’ says Rosie, raising an eyebrow. ‘If I’m honest, I find it quite addictive.’

  ‘I can see that. It’s nice to actually make an immediate difference to something.’

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ she says, nodding so enthusiastically that she chips out part of the wall as she scrapes a bit of paper. ‘I think that’s why I couldn’t go back to an office job.’

  I look carefully at the wall, tilting my head; I’m not quite at that point yet. ‘It’s a nice break, but I can’t see that I’d like to do it full-time. Every muscle in my body is aching, for starters.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a lot more physical. But maybe it will tempt you away from going back to marketing.’

  I start to collect the discarded wallpaper that’s strewn all over the floor and place it into a bin liner. ‘That’s if the marketing industry will have me back. The more I think about what happened, the more it worries me that no one is going to give me a job ever again.’

  I’m thankful that at least with the house renovations there’s a lot to keep my mind occupied so I don’t have to think about it, as I’m not qualified for anything else.

  ‘I don’t know what else I’d do, or if I want to do anything else. I did really love my job. OK, so it was maybe a bit too full-on and busy, but I’d love to do the same sort of thing with a smaller company.’

  ‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’ says Rosie, perching on the side of the bath. ‘We’re told that we’re supposed to want these great jobs and then when we get them, we realise that it’s to the detriment of our lives. I don’t think I really noticed it when I was working, but since I left and I see Ru – or I don’t see Ru – during the week, I see how much of our life he’s missing out on.’

  She looks a little lost and it’s interesting getting a glimpse into her life. It’s funny, as I’d always been so envious of her life with Rupert and their beautiful flat, but it seems as if it’s not all as perfect as it looked.

  ‘It’s a shame that you don’t like doing this, though. We could have gone into business together,’ she says, laughing.

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure Mum would be well impressed if we both became professional strippers.’

  ‘Watch it. I’m managing a property portfolio, I’ll have you know.’

  ‘That’s fair enough. I just don’t think it’s really me. I wish I was one of those people who harboured a secret dream to run their own company, like baking cupcakes or running a little country cafe, but I liked my job.’

  I shake my head. It was nicer not thinking about the future and just mindlessly pulling off wallpaper.

  ‘I think I’m going to take that shower now,’ I say, picking up the last of the rubbish on the floor. ‘I’ll take this down on my way.’

  I peer out the window on the landing and I see the tiny spec of Alexis walking on the horizon. Pleased that the coast is well and truly clear, I grab some toiletries and clean clothes and hurry to the barn before I can change my mind.

  I slide the door open, leaving it slightly ajar, as the last thing I want to do is get stuck in here like Alexis did that time. Rosie would probably struggle to hear me over the sander and I’ve got no desire to be shouting again for someone to rescue me.

  Pecking around the floor between me and the shower are half a dozen pigeons cooing away. I’m not usually bothered by them in parks when I’m eating a sandwich, but there’s something about being in an enclosed space with them that makes me feel a bit uneasy. I feel as if I’m starring in Hitchcock’s The Birds.

  ‘Coo, coo,’ I say, doing my best impression as I walk through them, trying not to make eye contact in case it sets them off.

  I take a deep breath outside the makeshift cubicle Alexis has cobbled together. There are four old stepladders of varying heights, with brooms and shower curtains hanging off them, woven through the steps. He’s then hooked the solar powered shower to the top of the tallest ladder, and the bottom of the cubicle appears to be an old baby bath, which I’m supposed to empty outside when I’m finished. If it were not me who had to use it, I’d be slightly impressed by the ingenuity, but as I strip off my clothes, I wonder again what I’ve got myself into.

  I climb into the mini bathtub and I stand behind the bright white curtain. Forget The Birds, I now feel like I’m in Psycho.

  I take a deep breath, bracing my shoulders, as I pull the shower cord. The water drips out in a warmish dribble, reminiscent of the inside shower. This isn’t actually that bad; my bum barely has goosebumps on it. I’m just starting to relax when I hear the pigeons cooing loudly, followed by a bark.

  ‘What the –?’ I shout, desperately trying to rub the shampoo out of my eyes and hair in a race to finish quickly.

  The barking gets louder and a pigeon flies into the curtain, making the brooms start to wobble.

  ‘Buster!’ shouts a voice.

  I see the spritely springer spaniel dart around the back of the shower, yapping away as he goes.

  I lunge for my towel, realising exactly whose dog it is, when a pigeon flies overhead and Buster decides to use the shower as a shortcut to get to it. Barging under a curtain and jumping over the baby bath as if he were a horse jumping a water fence, he bursts through the gap on the other side. For a second, I think that I’ve got away with it, that the shower is going to remain intact, but then I see the solar shower bag start to wobble and the next thing I know the cubicle starts to fall down around me. I instinctively crouch down, and fling my arms over my head and scream as I brace myself for impact. The ladders and brooms hit the ground noisily. I realise that I’ve escaped more or less unscathed; that is, until I open my eyes to assess the damage and see Jack standing in front of me.

  ‘I’m not looking,’ he says, shielding his eyes with his arm and desperately hissing at his dog to come to him.

  I’m glad that I’m at least hunched up behind my knees so that Jack can’t see anything. The only trouble is, if I make a lunge for my towel, I risk exposing a boob or a buttock. Neither of which I’m too happy about.

  ‘Um, are you going to catch Buster anytime soon?’ I say, my teeth starting to chatter.

  ‘Absolutely. Come here, Buster, you’re not getting away from me that easily.’

  ‘What the bloody hell’s going on?’ says Rosie, running in and gasping as she sees the ladders and the tangled mess of shower curtains.

  She picks up my towel, and for a moment I think she’s going to run off with it, as she would have done when we were kids, but instead she wraps me up in it.

  ‘Are you OK? Are you hurt?’ she asks, looking a little nervous.

  ‘No, I’m fine. Luckily everything fell away from me.’

  ‘Gotcha!’ shouts Jack as he grabs him with both hands and slips a lead on.

  ‘Um, sorry about that. I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing,’ he says, his cheeks colouring.

  He practically runs out, dragging Buster along behind him, and I wonder what he was doing here in the first place.

  ‘What happened?’ asks Rosie giggling, as I sigh with relief that he’s gone.

  ‘I was having a shower when his bloody dog came bounding in chasing pigeons. He leaped right over the baby bath and the step ladders collapsed like dominoes.’

  ‘You could have been killed. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault,’ she says shaking her head.

  I start rubbing myself dry and dressing before I get any colder.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t make Alexis build it to withstand attacks from
springer spaniels, did you?’

  ‘No, but I should have perhaps made sure it was a little safer. I feel awful.’

  I think Rosie is more in shock than I am. ‘I’m fine, really,’ I say, towel-drying my hair.

  ‘So apart from letting his dog run riot, what was Jack doing here?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I say, ‘but I’m guessing by the way that he followed Buster in, that he was looking for him, that’s all. I probably scared him more than he scared me.’

  What with my giant bottom being naked and all that.

  ‘Well, I guess that it’s back to the drawing board with the shower. Hopefully, the plumber will at least have put the sink in tomorrow, and then we can do a good old strip wash.’

  ‘Now you’re even sounding like Grandma. You’ll be pulling out those funny things she used to have on those taps. The ones that went separately from the hot and cold tap to mix them.’

  ‘Oh my, I’d forgotten about them. You’d have one end and I’d have the other, then we’d both scream down them, “I am a mole and I live in a hole”.’

  We both start to laugh at the shared memory.

  ‘Where did that come from anyway?’ I ask, thinking how random it sounded.

  ‘I think it was from an old song from the fifties that Grandma used to play.’

  Rosie starts to sing it, and I laugh even more.

  I honestly don’t think I’ve laughed this much in ages. I’m doing that proper, infectious bellyache stuff, not the hashtag lols that I usually pretend I’m doing to make it seem like I’m having a good time.

  ‘It used to be fun when we’d stay there, you know, before we hated each other,’ says Rosie as she starts to sort out the mess of tangled curtains.

  ‘I didn’t hate you,’ I say getting dressed under my towel. ‘You were the one who never wanted me to touch your stuff or talk to you.’