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‘How did it get in there?’ Mum asks.
‘Maybe the waiter knocked it when he was clearing the plates, or maybe I hit it accidentally, I don’t know!’
‘Don’t panic. You just need some rice,’ Dad reassures me. He flags down a waiter and, before long, my phone is encased in a plastic container full of basmati rice.
‘The rice draws the moisture out of the phone,’ he tells me. ‘Leave it in there overnight and try it in the morning.’
‘What if it still isn’t working?’
‘Is it insured?’
I think back to the reams of paperwork I filled in when I was in the mobile phone store with Mads. I’m certain there was one about accidental damage insurance.
‘I think so.’
‘Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?’
The next morning, the phone is still completely dead, but I’m certain that I did take out the insurance so, although I won’t be able to call Ed the moment the plane lands like I planned to, it should be a fairly straightforward process to get it replaced when I take it in. If I’m lucky, they’ll be able to read the memory card, or whatever it is, and retrieve the pictures of Mum and Dad as well. I’m feeling relaxed as I head out on the windsurf board towards the beach that Ed and I kayaked to. I spend some time tacking back and forth, enjoying the feeling of being in control and harnessing the wind to go where I want to go. I’ve splashed out at the hotel shop and bought myself a little GoPro camera that I strap to the board, so I can record myself and watch it back once I’m home. I head around the far side of the bay before turning back towards the beach. The sun is high in the sky and I can sense its warmth on my skin. As I come back into the shallows, being careful to avoid the area where the swimmers are, I spot two familiar figures watching me.
I hand the board and life jacket back and wander out to where Mum and Dad are standing.
‘Blimey, Charlotte!’ my dad exclaims. ‘You looked like a pro!’
I hug him. ‘Thanks, Dad. How long were you watching for?’
‘A good half-hour I’d say. You were miles out across the bay, and we had to ask the instructors which one was you. We thought we might come and watch some of your water-skiing this afternoon if that’s OK?’
‘Of course!’
The afternoon ski session also goes well. We fix the GoPro to the back of the boat before we set off, and I rise smoothly out of the water as we head out across the bay. I practise weaving in and out of the boat’s wake, as well as some one-handed holds. Of the two water sports I’ve mastered, this is definitely my favourite. The breeze, the spray, the speed and the constant movement of the skis beneath me as I cross the wake of the boat makes me feel truly alive. I’m in awe of the strength of my body, controlling my balance and keeping me upright as we power around the bay. At the end of the session we come back in towards the beach and, as I sink back into the water, I can see my parents applauding.
Mum and Dad have arranged for a late checkout, so I’m able to head back to my room to shower and get changed before we leave for the airport.
As the plane takes off that evening, I settle back into my seat with a glass of champagne and think about what I’m going back to. The first priority will be sorting out my phone and getting in touch with Ed, but I’m also looking forward to moving into my flat and getting on with the next part of my life, whatever that looks like. I realise that, apart from a couple of conversations when I first met Ed, I’ve hardly thought about Josh at all. After dinner, I put my seat down into its flat position, cover myself with the blanket, and drift off to sleep.
Waking in business class is a weird experience. The air of quiet sophistication from the evening before is gone; there are pillows and rumpled blankets everywhere and everyone looks dishevelled and bleary-eyed, apart from the cabin crew, who are coming round with breakfast. I join the queue for the loo to try to sort out the worst of the damage, eat my breakfast and drink two cups of coffee to try to wake myself up properly. Shortly after the stewardess has cleared my table, the captain announces that we’re beginning our descent into London.
England is much as we left it: cold, grey and miserable. After two weeks in the warm sunshine, my body is unprepared for the chill that strikes us as we get off the plane and start the long trudge towards immigration and the baggage reclaim. There’s no business class privilege here; immigration is heaving with people arriving from all around the world, and the queues are long. Dour-faced officials direct tired travellers towards the e-gates or manned desks, depending on their passport. Every so often someone gets stuck in an e-gate, and they’re hustled away to join the even bigger queue for manned immigration. There’s none of the anticipation and excitement of the departure lounge here, only weariness and an overwhelming desire to be anywhere else.
Once we’ve finally cleared immigration, there’s another long wait to see which baggage carousel the luggage from our flight will be unloaded onto. All the overnight flights seem to have landed at once and there are people milling about everywhere. Every so often a flight flashes up on the board with a carousel number and a load of people rush off to secure the best spots to get their luggage as quickly as they can. When our turn comes, Dad manoeuvres himself into a decent position but, despite the priority tags, our bags don’t seem to arrive any faster than anyone else’s. Eventually, we make our way through customs and out to the taxi.
The house is warm and inviting when we get back. The house-sitter heads off, and I take my bags upstairs. I stand under the shower, letting it wash the grime of the flight away, and then set about the task of unpacking. Most of my clothes are dirty and I’ll have to wash them, so I lob them into my dirty clothes basket to deal with later. I need to get to Bluewater and sort out my phone so I can call Ed.
22
‘What do you mean, you can’t retrieve any data?’ I ask the man in the mobile phone shop.
‘It’s the way these phones work,’ he explains. ‘All the data, your pictures, contacts and so on, are stored in the phone’s internal memory. We can only get to that by powering it up and, since we can’t power it up, we can’t retrieve the data. Did you turn on the online backup feature?’
‘The what?’
‘In the menu system, there’s an online backup option. Did you turn that on?’
‘I didn’t even know it existed.’
‘OK, we’ll take that as a “no”, then. We can replace your phone under the insurance you took out, that’s not a problem. The SIM card also appears undamaged, so there’s no issue there. But if you didn’t have the online backup turned on, then I’m afraid you’ll have to enter all your contacts again. What I will do, however, is show you how to turn it on so this doesn’t happen again.’
‘But what am I going to do about my contacts? I don’t know anyone’s phone number off by heart!’ I exclaim. That isn’t strictly true. I know Josh’s phone number, but that’s not exactly one I want to keep.
