The following morning, Saturday, Myra dropped Rachel off at 8 o’clock for the weekend. We went straight out for breakfast, which nearly always means salmon and scrambled eggs on granary toast for me, and granola and yoghurt for Rachel.
Rachel showed me her new watch. She’d been looking for one for a few weeks; even though I was convinced kids weren’t into watches any more on the basis they all have phones.
“I’ve been waiting for it to come down a bit in price,” she explained. “And there it was on Monday with twenty percent off and next day delivery.”
It wasn’t quite my style, but then that was hardly a shock.
“They track everything you do you know,” she said.
“Er, what? The watch?” I replied.
“No, the websites. You see one day I’m searching for it, and the next day I see it advertised in a few different places.”
“Oh, right. Yes, I’ve read about some of these techniques. Does that bother you?”
“No. Well. Not really.” She adjusted the watchstrap. “Well it bothers me that they don’t come clean that that’s what they’re doing. And you don’t really know how much they’re spying on you, how much they know about you, because I don’t know who or how you’d ask.”
“So you reckon they know more about you than me or Mom?”
I gave Rachel a wink.
“Probably. Guess. Well you knew I was looking for a watch right?”
“So did they. But they also knew which one. And who I’ve chatted with about it. And where I was at the time.”
We both adopted facial expressions conveying dissatisfaction with the situation.
“So, do you think they were waiting for you to bite at the full price, and because you didn’t they ponied up a discount?”
“Oh, I never thought about that. Can they do that?”
“I think they can.”
“Reckon I’ll take my time every time then!”