Chapter 16
Where. The. Hell. Are. The. Real. Bloody. Contestants?
I’m starting to worry that Simon has forgotten about me and Lockie. We’re still here, in the middle of our second full day, and we’re keeping up the act but I don’t know how much longer I’ve got in me.
‘Cleo,’ Lockie calls out.
I turn to look at him. He’s dripping wet from his swim in the sea. Water is rolling down his body, droplets weaving in and out of the contours of his muscles, and I’m trying to ignore that his swim shorts look much clingier when they’re wet.
‘Yeah?’ I reply.
‘Can I borrow you?’ he asks.
‘Erm… yeah,’ I say cautiously.
Ozzy, who is doing push-ups next to me, eyeballs me as I go.
‘This way,’ Lockie says, leading me towards the sea. ‘I have something to show you – you’re going to love it.’
I hesitate – part of me doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of dragging me away from Ozzy – but curiosity gets the better of me. I brush the sand off my legs and follow him down the narrow strip of beach until the voices of the others fade into background noise.
The tide is coming in – or going out, I haven’t been paying attention – so we have to walk a little to get to the water.
‘You look stressed,’ Lockie points out.
‘Oh, I’m fine,’ I insist, very much for the audience’s sake, well aware that our mics are obviously still on, and the cameras can see down here (even if it’s not as closely).
‘I know this relaxation tip,’ he says. ‘I thought you might like to try it with me.’
I look at him and notice something subtle, him pleading with me with his eyes, letting me know not everything is as it seems.
‘Sounds great!’ I say with faux enthusiasm. ‘I could always be less stressed.’
Ain’t that the truth.
We stop just before we reach the water. The sea doesn’t seem as calm today, waves breaking and foamy on the sand, crashing against any rocks that dare to stand in its way.
Still, it seems like paradise. On the surface.
If you forget that we’re taking it in turns to empty the outhouse, and I haven’t had my turn yet.
I’m hoping I’ll be voted off before my turn comes around, if I’m being honest with you.
‘Okay, so how do I relax?’ I ask, sounding like I really need it. The breeze whips my hair into my mouth, which only makes me feel more stressed.
‘Try to relax,’ he says, taking deep breaths in and out.
Is he just trying to wind me up?
He gestures to the horizon.
‘I read something once that said if you sit quietly and stare out to sea, while holding hands, it’s supposed to be… good for you. Calming. Resets your head. You only have to do it for a minute. Want to give it a go?’ he asks.
I really, really don’t – but I don’t think all is as it seems. I think this is for the cameras.
‘You want me to hold your hand?’ I check.
‘It’ll relax you,’ he says with a smile.
I roll my eyes for a split second, so only he can see, but fine, I’ll do it. I place my hand in his. His palm is warm, his grip steady. It feels… No, I’m not doing that, I’m not thinking about how it feels. It feels like a hand.
His thumb brushes against mine, slow and deliberate, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. I guess he does. He’s probably held a hundred hands on a hundred beaches. Convinced a hundred girls to make the biggest mistake of their lives by thinking they were special to him.
So we’re sitting, looking out over the bluey-green water, holding hands.
The sunlight reflects on the water, sparkling like glitter.
I take a deep breath of the salty air and, he’s right, this does feel better.
I could almost forget the cameras, the competition, the fact I feel like I’m trapped here…
but not quite. Lockie doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him watching me out of the corner of his eye.
‘And now we face one another,’ he says. ‘Holding both our hands.’
I humour him, because I’ve come this far, but I’m still so confused.
And then he moves, quick, precise as he plunges our hands into the sand, letting it cover them up and above our wrists. It doesn’t do much to ease my confusion.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘Shh. We’ve got one minute before the tamper alarm goes off,’ he says. ‘The sand muffles the mics. Talk fast. No one will be able to hear us.’
There’s a real urgency in his voice. He must want to talk exit strategy.
‘You and Ozzy,’ he begins. ‘You seem close.’
My mouth falls open.
‘Are you actually… are you jealous?’ I blurt in disbelief.
His jaw tenses.
‘No. I’m not jealous – of course I’m not,’ he insists. ‘I’m smart. We’re supposed to get voted off together, remember? As a couple. If you’re with Ozzy and I’m with Honey, we can’t both go, can we? Most likely, you’ll end up staying longer. But if not you, then me. Maybe both of us.’
Shit, he’s right. I knew that was the plan, I guess I just got a little carried away. I’m not actually enjoying myself, am I? I didn’t want to be here, or doing any of this, I guess I just got… temporarily caught up in it all.
His fingers squeeze mine under the sand.
‘Right, yeah, I didn’t think of that,’ I reply.
His eyes dart from side to side, his usual level of confidence not quite there.
Silly of me to think he was jealous. He’s right, we go together, or at least one of us ends up staying.
Plus, Ozzy is popular with the public, so if I’m with him I’ll be collateral damage, I’ll end up staying, and I cannot stress how much I want to get off this island.
‘So, what do we do?’ I ask.
‘We need to end up together,’ he says quickly. ‘We need to flirt, to seem inseparable. The next vote will probably be the public pairing people off – we want them to choose us.’
‘But we don’t even like each other,’ I point out.
His eyes widen, his head tips.
‘Well, we pretend we do,’ he replies. ‘Failing that, if they think it will piss Ozzy off, they’ll put us together. Either reason will do.’
‘Fine,’ I mutter. ‘Fine. We can pretend – it’s probably just for a day, right?’
Time must be up. Lockie pulls our hands out, shaking the sand off before he lets go.
He was clever, I think, making sure the camera didn’t see our hands (it’s not the crew we need to hide from, it’s the twenty-four-seven live feed the public can tune into), so maybe it just seemed like technical problems.
Thankfully the tamper alarm didn’t go off. I exhale, my heart racing faster than it should for something so small.
My hands are shaking a little, which I try to disguise by pretending to brush sand off my legs. I’m not sure who I’m trying to fool – Lockie? The cameras? Myself? All of the above, probably.
He’s right, of course – annoyingly. Pretending to be into him is smart. We need to end up together, if we’re going to get out of here as soon as possible.
As we walk back toward camp his hand brushes mine again – casual, almost accidental, but then he hooks his finger with mine.
It’s a move, I’ll give him that. He’s setting out his stall, showing that he’s interested in me, letting Ozzy know too.
But it’s all for the cameras, right?