Chapter 11
Working on the show for so long means I’ve eaten, slept and breathed Welcome to Singledom, season after season, to the point where I could give even the superstars a run for their money.
In fact, if I ever end up on Mastermind, I know exactly what my specialist subject is going to be.
Well, Welcome to Singledom or the original Gossip Girl series, I reckon I could clean up there too.
I’ve watched people arrive here year after year – nervous, tanned, teeth so white they could warn ships away from the rocks.
I’ve seen megastars being made, people getting voted off the week they arrived – I’ve even seen contestants removed for unacceptable behaviour.
The thing is though, everything I know, everything I’ve experienced, everything I’ve seen – it’s all been from behind the camera.
My experience in front of the camera is non-existent and my desire to be there is even less.
Even if I had the confidence, I’m just not the show’s type on paper. I don’t look, sound or act the part.
‘All right, islanders! Let’s get you show-ready,’ Dan announces, smirking. ‘You’re about to live the dream! Let your face know.’
Dan works on the show and today his job is to prep me and Lockie, ASAP, for our island debut. What he’s failing to realise, however, is that one person’s dream is another person’s nightmare.
His enthusiasm makes me cringe, because he can’t be serious, he knows that I work on the show, that he can’t pump me up like he does the other contestants. The only plausible thing he could be right now is sarcastic, and I’ve got no time for it.
Lockie is taking it like a champ, probably just to make me look bad.
‘So, you know the drill,’ Dan begins. ‘The public loves a good first impression – big smiles, flirty banter, make it look natural, yeah? You’re contestants, so act like it.’
‘Got it,’ Lockie says – I swear, he’s excited about it.
‘You need to survive together,’ Dan continues.
‘Challenges, twists – you’ve got to back each other up, until the new arrivals turn up.
You want the viewers to like you, to believe you have enough chemistry to put you together, but don’t be too memorable, or too hateable.
We all know it’s the favourites and the least favourites who the public keep in the longest.’
‘Has a villain ever won the money?’ Lockie asks. ‘I’ve seen bits of the show, here and there, but I’ve never seen that.’
‘One time, one villain ended up in a couple who won the popular vote,’ Dan tells him. ‘But to win the money the public decide whether or not you’re in love. You only win the money if they believe it’s love.’
‘Well, we don’t need to worry about that, do we?’ I interrupt. ‘Because our plan is to get in and get out.’
‘And do your best not to fall in love with me,’ Lockie instructs me with faux seriousness, pointing an accusatory finger my way.
‘Oh, it’s going to be such a struggle,’ I say in a breathy voice. ‘I just don’t know how I’ll resist you, I really don’t.’
Dan just laughs.
‘So, I know you’re not the usual type, but I’m sure you know the lingo to blend in,’ he continues. ‘You know when you’re being mugged off, when you’re grafting, when you’re cracking on… You know getting a pie-ing from doing bits?’
‘I’ve worked on this show long enough to know a snake from a sort,’ I remind him.
‘Doing bits is a new one to me,’ Lockie says. ‘Bits of what?’
‘Bits of what you think,’ I tell him.
‘Comedy?’ he replies.
‘I’m sure it is the way you do it,’ I joke.
A stylist wheels in a rail of swimwear – the brightest colours in the smallest styles. It’s hard to say if they’re eye-catching or invisible.
‘Right, Cleo, this looks like your size,’ the stylist says, grabbing a bikini for me.
Looking at it in my hand, this looks like no one’s size.
‘Where’s the rest of it?’ I joke.
‘Lockie, these are for you,’ she says, ignoring me, handing him a pair of trunks.
Because the men get to feel comfortable, of course.
‘Try them on,’ the stylist instructs us.
I cannot believe this is happening.
We head into a cabin each (for which I’m very grateful), and I put on the barely there bikini, then stare at my reflection under harsh light.
To be honest, it’s not the light that’s harsh, it’s my own self-criticism.
I’m all for everyone wearing whatever they want, no matter what society says…
except me. How am I going to feel comfortable in this?
My skin is pale, my hair is flat, and the bikini might look my size but it doesn’t act it.
I tug at the material, trying to make sure all bases are covered.
When I walk out, Dan looks me up and down.
‘You’re looking very… white,’ he tells me. ‘Like… the ghost of a Victorian woman who died of something incredibly draining.’
‘Thanks,’ I say plainly.
‘We could sort you a spray tan,’ the stylist helpfully suggests. ‘We can do a quick coat or two – just make sure to keep dry, while it develops. I can contour your body a little, if you’re worried…’
I wasn’t worried about that. I am now.
‘I’m fine, thanks,’ I say, folding my arm across my chest, trying to protect my body.
Lockie comes out wearing his swim shorts. He looks ridiculously good, hot as any contestant we’ve ever had. He looks comfortable – then again, his shorts are made of so much material that you could make at least ten of these bikinis.
‘Right,’ he says, clapping his hands. ‘Ready to humiliate ourselves?’
‘It is what it is,’ I say, borrowing a phrase that is always overused on the show.
Standing here half-naked feels so weird – like being in your underwear at work.
I can feel Lockie’s eyes on me. Not in a gross way, just… noticing. And I don’t know whether that makes me feel flattered or panicked. Probably both – something to worry about later, though.
‘Are you going to offer me a tan?’ Lockie asks the stylist. ‘Can you spray me on an eight-pack?’
He must have overheard that when he walked out.
‘No, you’ll have to settle for the six you have,’ she tells him flirtatiously.
‘Oi, not in front of my show girlfriend,’ he pretty much flirts back.
‘Ugh, don’t flatter yourself,’ I blurt.
‘I have to flatter myself,’ Lockie jokily replies. ‘You won’t do it for me.’
‘As hot as I think this angsty banter you seem to have is, it’s not going to play, not the way we want it to,’ Dan chimes in.
‘If you’re going to sell yourselves as a couple, get paired off, but then voted out, it needs to be real but boring.
They need to see you fancy each other. They want a bit of heat! Stand up…’
Dan steps between us. We both get on our feet – one of us less enthusiastic than the other.
‘I need flirty. I need sparks. Touch each other like you’re obsessed,’ he instructs us. ‘You need to seem genuine and compatible. We don’t want this to seem sus.’
‘But it is sus,’ I remind him.
‘So try extra hard,’ he patronises.
‘I’ll recite poetry, Cleo can gaze at me in slow motion…’ Lockie jokes – at least I think he’s joking.
‘That’s not going to make anyone horny, is it?’ Dan reminds us.
‘I don’t want to make anyone horny,’ I quickly insist.
‘Yes, you do,’ Dan says. ‘Him. Lockie. Make him horny.’
My face scrunches up at the thought.
‘Grab him,’ Dan suggests.
‘Where?’ I blurt.
‘His arm, you dirty cow,’ he says with a laugh.
I do as I’m told and I feel beyond awkward. Lockie tries to smoulder at me playfully, but he looks more like he’s got trapped wind. I roll my eyes and let go.
‘Eye contact,’ Dan urges, ‘look at him like you want to kiss him.’
‘Look, Dan, with all respect, I don’t think we need this,’ Lockie tells him. ‘It’ll be all right on the night.’
‘Are you sure?’ Dan replies. ‘Because this is giving me the ick. Cleo, I think it might be you, you’re too wooden, you’re not… I don’t know… I might have to tell Simon, I can’t see this working.’
‘Just… watch,’ Lockie tells him.
Lockie approaches me slowly, looking down at me, with just a hint of a smirk creeping across his lips. He places a hand on the back of my neck.
‘You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you, Cleo?’ he says, his voice gruff and oh-so sexy. ‘You’re going to do what it takes, right? We’re going to do what it takes.’
He pulls me closer with the hand that’s on my neck, bringing my body to meet his. The skimpy swimwear means it almost entirely skin-on-skin contact. I just gaze up at him, my mouth partly open with a combination of shock and, to be honest, reflex.
‘Right?’ he checks, his face close to mine.
‘Right,’ I practically breathe back at him.
‘And that’s how it’s done,’ Lockie tells him, dropping me, stepping back, switching off whatever he just switched on. Like it was nothing.
‘Okay, well, that’s too good, if you want voting out first,’ Dan points out. ‘So just… something in the middle, yeah?’
‘Yeah, okay, great,’ I say, composing myself.
‘One more thing, just a formality,’ Dan says, pulling contracts out from nowhere. ‘You need to sign these.’
I take it from him and eyeball it suspiciously.
‘It’s the same ones as the real contestants sign,’ I tell Lockie. ‘Anything goes, all footage can be used, no exceptions.’
‘Well, you will be real contestants,’ Dan reminds us. ‘It wouldn’t be fair, if not.’
I don’t know how happy I feel about signing it. It basically absolves the production company of all responsibility, and also allows them to film whatever they want, so whether a contestant falls off a cliff or has a nervous breakdown. It’s all for the telly.
‘Yeah, okay,’ Lockie says. ‘Pass me a pen – the show must go on.’
His last few words hit me. The show must go on.
Lockie signs his without hesitation. I hover for a moment, pen in hand, knowing he’s right, I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.
But then I sign.
The sooner this is over, the better. I’ve got my bikini on, I’m working on my smile – inside I’m screaming though.
This is going to be hard – especially if Lockie keeps being so annoyingly sexy.