It Started With A Tweet

by Anna Bell

  ‘I am listening,’ she says, after I groan at the latest interruption. ‘So you talked through letters.’

  ‘Yeah, you know, nothing deep. Just chatty ones. And they had this common theme about The Price is Right – remember that TV show in the early nineties? It started because I couldn’t remember who presented it, and then he told me there was a link between it and John Major and I couldn’t guess what it was.’

  Erica looks at me with a look that suggests I’ve come from Mars.

  ‘Why didn’t you google it?’

  ‘Um, hello, digital detox? My phone was down a well.’

  ‘Ah,’ she says, picking up her hers and tapping away. ‘Here we go. There have been four presenters: Leslie Crowther, Bob Warman, Bruce Forsyth and Joe Pasquale. And the link between John Major – ah-ha, his son was married to Emma Noble, who was one of the models. So what else did your letters talk about?’

  My mouth drops open. I didn’t want to know the truth about The Price is Right, as not knowing somehow preserved the fun of the letters. Imagine if I had just been able to google it, then all that fun and banter wouldn’t have existed.

  ‘Oh my God,’ says Erica, as her phone beeped for the umpteenth time. ‘Look at the photo Helen’s just posted on her Instagram. Check out that food.’

  Instantly, Tess and Amelie pick up their phones to check it themselves, rather than look at Erica’s phone. As the three of them start picking their way through Helen’s feed and her unfolding wedding in Vegas, it starts to hit me how much the digital detox affected me. I start to analyse the way they’re interacting; they might be listening to whoever’s talking, but not one of them is looking at each other or really paying attention. They’re too busy scrolling on their phones, only half present.

  I glance up to my right and there’s a cute guy looking over at our table. He seems to be trying to catch Tess’s eye. He’s way cuter than the pictures of the guy who’s on her phone and he’s right here. Only she’s going to miss him, as she’s barely looked around since we’ve been here.

  I feel as if I’m having an out-of-body experience. Now that I don’t have my phone to hide behind, I can see everything going on around me with new eyes. I can’t believe that if it weren’t for my sister’s crazy idea of a digital detox I would be sitting here scrolling away too instead of talking and listening to what my friends have to say.

  It’s ridiculous. We’re four intelligent women with interesting lives, and we’re wasting our time on looking at fake versions of life on a tiny screen.

  If only they could see how much of their lives they’re missing. If only I could take them up to Cumbria – they’re definitely prime candidates for a digital detox.

  In fact, they’re not the only ones. I glance around and see that most people have their phones on the table in front of them, or in their hands. There are those who seem to be taking endless amounts of selfies, others who are sitting together on tables not speaking, each tapping away.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say, clapping my hand over my mouth. ‘That’s it.’

  ‘What’s it?’ mutters Erica.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ I say getting up. ‘I’m going to head back to your flat. I’ve got something I need to work on. I have an idea for a new job.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Time since last Internet usage: I don’t know, and I don’t really care . . .

  I wish I’d had my epiphany a few days ago while I was in still Cumbria, so that I wouldn’t have had to buy two extortionate train fares. My dwindling savings took a further hit of eighty pounds this morning buying a ticket back up north.

  It feels so strange to be back here at Manchester Piccadilly, almost four weeks on from when I first arrived. Last time, I was a crumbling shell of a person, and now I’m a woman on a mission.

  I spot Rupert’s shiny silver Audi in the pick-up point and he gives me a wave.

  I weave my way through the taxi rank and pedestrians to get to him.

  ‘Hi, thanks for coming to get me,’ I say, as I collapse into the passenger seat.

  ‘I’m not sure I entirely had a choice. When you use the words “order” and “demand”, it’s not really asking.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that, but I thought you wouldn’t take the afternoon off if I asked politely.’

  ‘No, I probably wouldn’t have. Luckily for you, the meeting I had scheduled was cancelled, and I’ve been working a lot of overtime of late.’

  ‘Well, I’m grateful, anyway.’

  ‘So I take it we’re heading to Cumbria?’ he says.

  ‘That’s right.’

  He sighs. ‘You’re just like your sister – a meddler.’

  ‘Family trait,’ I say smiling.

  Rupert pulls away into the traffic, and I try to relax but I can’t. Getting Rupert to take time off work and drive me there is the easy part of the plan; the hard bit is what’s to come.

  *

  We make it to Lullamby two hours later, and, thanks to the torrential downpour, there’s no one lining the route to the village as we drive through. We soon turn off down the mud track and I can’t help but smile at the little mailboxes as we drive by.

  ‘Blimey, it’s a bit different driving in this,’ I say as I grab on to the handle above the window.

  ‘Yeah, this is exactly what I was talking to Rosie about. This track will need to be paved or smoothed out for guests. It’s this kind of stuff she didn’t take into consideration when she bought this place.’

  I wish I hadn’t opened my mouth. I’m trying to bring the two of them back together, not drive them further apart.

  We pull into the courtyard and park next to the Land Rover. I get out of the car and notice that Rupert’s still clutching the steering wheel.

  ‘Come on,’ I say leaning in, my hand resting on my open door. ‘I told you that I have something to talk to you and Rosie about.’

  Reluctantly, he gets out and I slam my door shut, before walking towards the cottage. I go to barge it open, only to realise it’s been replaced, and it glides open with a swishing noise that I notice comes from little brushes underneath to stop the draughts.

  I walk into the kitchen, and I’m reassured to see that it’s still a complete shambles of broken cupboards and piles of building materials. I’ve only been gone three days, I couldn’t have handled too much change. I hear the radio coming from the lounge and I walk over and poke my head in.

  ‘Hey, Sis.’

  She looks up and almost drops her paint roller in surprise. She puts it back on the tray and runs towards me.

  ‘Daisy,’ she says, immediately rushing forward, and she’s about to give me a big hug before she stops herself. ‘I don’t want to get you covered in paint.’

  I look at her paint-splattered tracksuit and the white flecks all over her face, and I settle with patting her on the shoulder instead.

  ‘I can’t believe you came back. I feel so awful about what happened between us. I’m so sorry for tricking you into coming here, hiding that phone and ruining your iPhone,’ she says quickly.

  I put my hands up to make her stop.

  ‘It’s OK, really. In the end, you did me a favour. I couldn’t see it while I was here, but I think the digital detox was the best thing that could have happened to me.’

  ‘It was?’ she says looking confused. ‘I can’t believe you’re really back. I’ve missed you so much. So tell me about your interview. What do the company do?’

  ‘You’re not going to believe me about the interview, it’s a bit of a long story.’

  ‘Something tells me that we need to put the kettle on. How did you get here, by the way?’ she asks as she barges past me into the kitchen, ‘Did you walk or . . . ?’

  She stops dead and I almost bump into her.

  There’s no need for her to finish her question as she can see exactly how I arrived.

  ‘Ru,’ she says quietly. ‘You’re here.’

  ‘Yep,’ he says, putting his hands into his pock
ets and staying firmly on the doormat.

  ‘I made him come,’ I say, causing Rosie’s face to fall with disappointment. I guess she’d hoped he’d come back on his own accord to sort things out.

  ‘I asked him to come as I wanted him to hear my idea,’ I say.

  ‘Your idea?’ she says wrinkling her forehead.

  ‘Yep.’

  I had secretly hoped that Rupert and Rosie would have swept each other up in their arms upon seeing each other, leaving me time to work up to my big announcement, but both of them are rooted to their spots on opposite sides of the room.

  I had been quite confident when I pitched the idea to Erica over breakfast this morning, but with both of them standing with their arms folded, they are not coming across as being very receptive.

  I take a deep breath and hope for the best. ‘I know there’s obviously been a bit of controversy surrounding the purchase of the property,’ I say, trying to downplay it, ‘but despite how it happened, I think you both realise that it has an awful lot of potential. I understand, Rupert, that you have concerns about the amount of work involved, and maybe you’re right, what with trying to do the barn and everything.’

  Rosie shoots me a look as if I’m being disloyal.

  ‘Hear me out,’ I say, holding my hands up to try to stop her interrupting. ‘Rosie, you told me that when you’d originally bought the place you wanted the cottage as a house for you and Rupert, and the barn to be let out.’

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ says Rupert, ‘I’m not ready to move this far out, not at the moment.’

  ‘I realise that and I think that Rosie does too, which is why she’s started to convert the cottage to be a holiday let. Now, we all know that there are scores of holiday cottages in the area, and what this place needs is a USP, and I think the answer is to run retreats.’

  ‘Retreats,’ says Rupert, ‘what, like corporate retreats? I’m sure that this area is crawling with hotels and spas that offer just that.’

  ‘Ah, but I thought we could offer a digital detox retreat. I mean those three weeks here have changed me beyond recognition. I couldn’t believe how different I was when I went back to my old life in London. It’s made me stop and realise what a hold technology had had on me. Just those few weeks here with no phone, no computer, no technology, did wonders for me. It’s as if this place was built for it; you know as well as I do how hard it is to get a phone signal around here, and it’s impossible to get 3G.’

  I risk glancing up to look at Rosie’s and Rupert’s faces. Rosie’s eyes have lit up and a smile has crept over her face, but Rupert’s looks as if he’s yet to be convinced.

  ‘I’ve looked it up online,’ I say, coughing at the irony, ‘and there appears to be a growing market for these types of retreats. It’s huge in America but there’s barely any in the UK at the moment. I figured that we could use the farmhouse as the accommodation. You were going to put en suites in most of the rooms anyway. You could then do the first fix to the barn. Make it watertight and pigeon proof, with windows and doors, and then convert a small part of it at first to be used as a space for different activities. I was thinking you could get Trish in to do yoga, and maybe talk to that man in the village who does pottery to see if he’d run some workshops. I also thought Jack might be able to come along and do some sessions with his psychologist’s hat on.’

  ‘His what?’ says Rosie. ‘He’s a psychologist?’

  ‘Oh yeah, he is,’ I say, realising that with all the drama happening on Friday night she didn’t hear that nugget of information. ‘And I reckon that talking on this subject would be right up his street.’

  ‘Something like that would take an awful lot of management, someone to co-ordinate the sessions. But I don’t know if our marriage would survive with you being up here, I’ve hated being without you for these last few weeks,’ Rupert said looking at Rosie.

  ‘You have?’ she says, taken a back.

  The adrenaline is pumping round my veins and I was so close to the big reveal in my idea, but I don’t want to interrupt the reconciliation.

  ‘I have. I’ve had a lot of time to think since the weekend, and I’m mad as hell that you are still on the pill, but I started to think about what you said on Friday. I was too cross then to fully listen and understand, but the more I’ve been thinking about it, the more I realise that you’re right. If I carry on at work in the same way, you’ll be parenting like a single parent and I’ll be lucky if I see the kids. Now, I’m not saying that I’m going to give up my job, but I have spoken to my boss to see if I’d be able to do more home-working, and he was open to the idea. I also floated the idea of working four days a week and we decided that we’d review that if and when the time came.’

  I’m desperately trying to make myself invisible, and I slowly edge further across the kitchen, out of their way. I sneak a look at Rosie, who’s being unusually quiet; she looks as if she’s on the verge of tears.

  ‘I also understand that you want to move out of the city, and I’m all for that, but right now I can’t be too far away because I still need to commute to work. But, I did think that if you wanted to, we could sell the penthouse and look for somewhere in the Peak District. Not such a grand scale as this, and definitely not a project,’ he stresses, ‘but something big enough for us, and our kids.’

  I watch a tear escape Rosie’s eye and she nods as the tears run down her face.

  ‘I’m so sorry for lying, I just didn’t know what to do,’ she says, whimpering, as Rupert finally gets off the doormat and goes over and wraps his arms round her.

  ‘Buying a wreck of a farm was pretty extreme. You could just have talked to me, I’m not a monster.’

  ‘I know, I know. It’s just that I know how much you love your job; I never thought that you’d change it – for me, or for our family. I thought it would be easier if I made a grand gesture, that you might accept it a lot more easily.’

  He nods. ‘I just about understood why you did it, even if it was a crazy idea.’

  ‘But, it’s not. Not with Daisy’s plan,’ she says, pulling away from the hug and pointing over at me.

  Rupert looks up as if he almost forgot I was here, and I feel my cheeks flush red with embarrassment of having witnessed such a personal reconciliation.

  ‘I still don’t understand how it’s going to be any better for us,’ says Rupert.

  ‘Don’t you see? Daisy’s going to run it for us,’ she says, staring at me for confirmation.

  ‘If you’ll let me. I’d essentially live here, do all the marketing and run the courses. I’m guessing it will be a bit of a slow start, so I’ll probably pick up some freelance marketing work to tide me over.’

  ‘That’s brilliant. You’d be perfect.’ The smile on Rosie’s face is infectious and I’m grinning too.

  ‘So you’ll let me do it?’ I ask.

  ‘Of course, isn’t it a wonderful idea?’ says Rosie to Rupert.

  ‘It’s pretty good,’ he says, ‘but I’d like to see a proper business plan drawn up.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I say nodding, as if I know what would go in one. ‘I’ve got loads of ideas. Especially for generating PR. I’m thinking that the story of the tweet that got me fired would make a great backstory to founding a digital detox company.’

  ‘You’re willing to be open about it?’ gasps Rosie.

  ‘It’s already out there, what with the Mail Online article I found online, plus the coverage Dominic is getting about his company. Long story,’ I say, seeing the confused looks on their faces. ‘It least this way I’d be able to get my side of the story out and get some benefit from it, rather than Dominic.’

  ‘It sounds like you’ve got it all planned out,’ says Rupert, smiling. ‘I’m sure you’re going to make a great success of it. So are you going to show me the progress you’ve made since my last visit?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Rosie, guiding him into the living room, ‘you start here and I’ll be in in a sec.’

  Sh
e turns back to me and squeals as she goes to fling her arms around me, stopping short when she realises she’s covered in paint. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers as she gives me a delicate hug, trying not to get too close. ‘For saving me and my marriage.’

  ‘It’s me that should be thanking you; you’ve given me a new life.’

  ‘I can’t believe that it’s taken me all these years to realise how good a friend my sister is,’ she says.

  ‘Ditto. Now, you’d better get back to your tour-guide role. I want you to impress one of the investors.’

  Rosie gives my hand a squeeze, and she looks as if she’s about to start crying again, which is about to set me off.

  ‘Aren’t you going to help me?’ she asks.

  ‘I think you’ve got it under control. I’m going to see if Jack’s on board.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she says doing an exaggerated wink, before she practically skips over to Rupert. I watch as she takes his hand and he leans over and snuggles her head with his nose before kissing the top of her earlobe. My heart melts with happiness. This time, I’m not bitter that she’s got her happy ever after, as I know how much she deserves it.

  I don’t think they hear me as I leave, and I suspect that when I return Rupert’s clean jeans and jumper will be marked with paint splodges, but with the look in their eyes, I don’t think either of them will care.

  Thankfully, the rain has stopped, although it’s left a quagmire in its wake. I stop off at Rosie’s Land Rover, and cupping my hands to look through the window, I see a pair of wellies in the boot. I figure she won’t mind if I borrow them, and I set off to Jack’s house.

  The little cottage comes into view and I immediately hear Buster the dog barking furiously. I wonder if I’ve got time to run away before he comes, but I take a deep breath and remember to be brave. It’s only when I knock and no one answers that I look around and realise that the driveway’s empty.

  Bugger.

  I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to go back to Upper Gables so soon. Rosie and Rupert have a lot of making up to do. It was bad enough being caught up in their reconciliation with words, I don’t want to be caught up in the middle of anything else.