Chapter 5 #2
‘Yep. She’s not the best chaperone. We get a lot of complaints about that one. Half French, half Mexican. It’s a fiery combination. We reckon she was born angry.’
Good lord.
‘She’s not even introduced herself properly. She’s… she’s in the bathroom. She’s been in there since I arrived. I’m not sure she’s very well, judging by the sounds she’s making.’
Right on cue, she makes a sound like a distressed cow giving birth to a calf that’s half its own size.
‘I mean, what if it’s not food poisoning and it’s contagious? How do I get in touch with you or the emergency services without my phone? Who is in charge of my welfare?’
His eyes grow wide with alarm. ‘I’ll ring it in. Thanks for letting me know. Okay, I’ll be off if there’s nothing else you need.’
He can’t get away fast enough.
‘Oh, there is one more thing that I need,’ I shout after him. ‘Would it be possible to get these clothes cleaned, please?’
‘Sure, no problem,’ he says, hesitantly coming back to take the bag of stained clothes from me. ‘I’ll get them back to you in a couple of days.’
‘And has there been any news from the airport about my luggage?’
He shakes his head. When he sees my distraught face, he says, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll turn up eventually.’
* * *
Once I’ve put the food away, made myself a steaming hot mug of coffee and some fruit and gluten-free granola for breakfast, I slip into my bikini and head out to the pool to read.
This is more like it. I haven’t been on holiday for years so even being here, essentially alone, like I’m on a Trappist monk’s extreme intermittent-fasting retreat, feels nice.
After the whole morning reading and not a peep from my chaperone, Hortense, I find myself drifting off to sleep only to wake some moments later to the slamming of doors inside the villa and the sound of a car pulling up.
I hurry inside, throwing the hospital gown over my tiny bikini, to see what’s going on.
Hortense is green-faced and standing with her suitcase by the door.
‘How are you feeling?’ I ask.
‘I’m off to a hotel. I think it is food poisoning from your sandwich, but the powers-that-be aren’t sure, and don’t want me to pass any bugs on to you,’ she says, sounding as though somehow it is my fault that her own sandwich has given her the shits.
‘And for you then to pass the bugs on inside the Love on the Island villa.’
‘So, I’m about to go in the villa? But what about my luggage?
’ I try to hide my anxiety. ‘Will I be an original? One of the first contestants to go in?’ Lois has explained that it is vital to be on the show from the very beginning so that I can win over the general public with my girl-next-door vibes, which is also a significant factor when it comes to winning the show.
‘What did I say?’ she booms grumpily. ‘No questions about when or even if you’re going on the show!’
‘But who is going to look for my luggage? It has all of my outfits in. Who will look after me? I have no way of contacting Jake the runner because you haven’t given me my phone back or any information since the moment I arrived.’
‘Again. We’re not babysitters.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘We’re Emotional Support and Well-Being Officials. And FYI, there are more important things happening in the world than what outfits you are going to wear.’
God, she’s right. I’m letting this get too out of hand. It’s just a game show at the end of the day.
‘Important things like my entire village burned down while I’ve been ill,’ she says accusingly.
Oh, my God. I open my mouth to apologise.
‘And all my dragons died.’ She is spitting feathers. ‘All of them.’
I count to three in my head before I say anything. ‘So, who will my new Emotional Support and Well-Being Official be?’
I hope they are saner than she is.
She screws her eyes at me. ‘Cameron. He’ll replace me until they figure something out.’
Cameron is coming over!
I glance over to the hallway mirror. My hair is a mess.
Where are my expensive beach waves? My face is slightly sunburnt with streaks of two-day-old make-up under my eyes due to the lack of bathroom access and a general malaise from being starved half to death.
I am barefoot with matted hair and wearing a hospital gown.
Just add a knife dripping blood and I could be an escapee from a horror movie.
‘When will he get here?’ I panic as she throws her bags into the waiting taxi. ‘I need to shampoo and condition my hair. I need to make myself look more… less… more… waxed and polished,’ I say, making myself sound like a rusty second-hand car.
‘Good luck.’ She shakes her head and gives me a condescending look. ‘That gown makes you look mental.’
Sadly, she’s right. I should turn it round and tie it at the front. And I will, as soon as I think of a suitable retort. She is really getting on my nerves.
She slams the boot shut. ‘You’ll not last five minutes in the villa. People like you never do.’
People like me? Distinctly average, underwhelming underachievers with no sex appeal?
In just a few words, she has popped what little confidence I had like a balloon. She’s voicing my worst fears.
‘Maybe you need to take a long look at yourself first and concentrate on your own issues. It’s easy to stand there and judge others, but your opinion doesn’t make it fact. It just makes you sound bitter and jealous.’ I do namaste hands like Lois. ‘And by the way, dragons aren’t real.’
‘Fuck you,’ she yells back. ‘Why don’t you try working for a living? And FYI, getting your ass out on TV is not real work.’
This is becoming very tit for tat now, but she has hit a nerve. A very raw nerve. I have come halfway across the bloody world to get my ass out on TV.
‘I will be reporting you to the ombudsman and requesting that I never have to see you again.’
She yanks the car door open and turns to me. ‘I hope you get the shits real bad. And I mean real bad.’
Mean fudging cow.
‘I hope you choke on your own vomit,’ I retaliate, instantly regretting it. It’s the jet lag and two days without food.
A movement distracts us.
‘Hi there,’ says Cameron, getting out of the taxi, looking very startled. Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze. ‘Nice to finally meet you, Libby.’