Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,11

face lacking cheekbones and non-pouty lips. That was all I had on offer really, until I put make-up on. So, I gave myself a quick makeover and looked a million times better, if I do say so myself. Then I placed my phone on the dashboard of the car carefully, looked at the road in front of me, and drove forward. Slowly. Very slowly. I inched my way towards the sign, glancing down at my phone, watching and waiting. Waiting for the signal to die, waiting for that dreaded “no signal” exclamation mark to light up my screen, waiting for it to all finally come to an end. But when it did, even though I was expecting it, I hadn’t expected the intense rush of emotions that flooded me.

I pulled over onto the side of the road and took my phone in my shaking hands. And then I held it to my chest and wept. I don’t know why exactly I was crying, and I didn’t even have my app to tell me. But it had something to do with the fact that, to me, this little palm-shaped lump of wires and glass and metal and buttons, had been my everything for years. It had taken me out of the lonely place when I didn’t think it was possible for a human to feel any lonelier. It had given me friends, status, fame, a whole life, a network that I could plug into twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, from anywhere in the world . . . except here. But then, just like that, like some fickle beast, it had turned on me. Blown up in my face and now . . . now I had to turn it off.

It was already eight p.m. when I arrived at the only hotel in town and checked in. I lay on the bed, looked up at the ceiling and watched the lonely fan going round and round and round, like some kind of hypnotic thing. It had been dark by the time I’d arrived—except for the ridiculous blue light that illuminated the road beneath my car, making it look like some futuristic UFO—so I hadn’t really had much of a chance to look around, other than the few things I’d seen on the main road. My only concern had been getting to a bed, a place where I could lie flat on my back and rest.

I’d driven for eight hours straight and I was exhausted. Physically, emotionally, and also on some other level that I wasn’t even sure I understood yet, and probably never would, since I couldn’t check Google to find out. I turned over on the bed and looked at my phone. I had placed it on the side table to charge, like I always did. At night it usually came alive. Lighting up with DMs and likes and comments. I liked falling asleep to that, knowing that while I was sleeping, people were still there. But this time the phone was not lighting up. It was just . . . dead. For the first time in its life it really was just a lump of metal and wires and glass.

I sat up and sighed. I needed a distraction. This silence was too damn deafening. I reached into my bag to pull out my AirPods, only to realize I’d left them in a rucksack on the backseat of my car. I moaned loudly and made my way out again. The hotel I was staying at was old—the plaque at the reception said 1899. The architecture—not that I was some architectural expert (but I did have a very popular Pinterest board of interesting buildings)—was a mixture of Cape Dutch and Victorian. Some of the antiques in the room looked like they were actually from the 1800s and had been perfectly preserved and refurbished. A wooden wash-basin stand with a ceramic jug, an antique bedside table, and what looked like original black and white tiling in the bathroom with one of those old baths with claws. All in all, not really my taste, I preferred a more boho-chic vibe—it really photographs well for Insta—but I could still appreciate this. I walked out into the small street where I’d parked the blue cheese. I pressed the immobilizer and the blue lights under the car flickered on and off. #cringe. I opened the backseat and was just about to reach in when . . .

“Oh my God! How did you . .