Reality Check

Chapter One Carys

Should I start talking now? Haha, this is so weird, isn’t it?

Sorry, I’ll start now. Um. Hi, I’m Carys.

I’m twenty-seven, and I’m from London. Well, I’m not from there, I’m from Wales, but I live there.

I’m on Wedded Bliss to find love… isn’t everyone?

I guess I like men who are nice and nice looking and kind.

That’s what I want. Someone who is kind.

And likes animals! After all, I work on a city farm and sometimes have to bring home a baby lamb to bottle-feed so they’ve got to like animals.

Does that sound alright? I don’t want to sound too silly.

In three weeks, I’ll be married to the love of my life.

Well. Provided I actually meet him. I hope I will.

If I’m honest, I never thought I’d fall in love on television. Though, I suppose most people don’t expect that, but on Wedded Bliss the matchmakers do all the hard work of finding men who are perfectly compatible with me, which cuts out most of the hard work.

Maybe it’s a drastic way to find a soulmate, but when all else fails, what you need is courage, and the intervention of a successful reality television show.

It feels old school, kind of romantic. There’s no swiping left… Or is it right? I can never remember. And this way I don’t have to see quite so many men holding fish. Not that I can see if they’re holding fish for the first few dates.

Oh God, what if he’s some kind of fish-holder?

That’s not a thing, is it? I’m spiralling.

I try to push this out of my brain, and focus on who he will be. Or who he is? Presumably he already exists and they aren’t just cooking up a bunch of people in the lab when we get there.

I take a deep breath. I don’t have time to worry about whether the dating show I’m going on is an elaborate cover for a covert human cloning operation.

I would probably calm down if we could just get out of this traffic jam.

I had naively thought being driven around in a fancy car sent by the production company would be relaxing.

‘We’ll be there in about five minutes, pet,’ says my driver, Victor. He must sense the barely suppressed panic radiating off me.

Hopefully he can’t smell it. I fake a cough and dip my head down to surreptitiously sniff for anxiety-armpit.

Not that I can smell anything over the aggressively pine-scented air freshener hanging from his rearview mirror.

When I glance up at the offending item, I meet his unexpectedly kind eyes.

‘Roads always gets bunged up this time of day.’

I hope he didn’t just catch me sniffing my armpit.

A car horn honks violently, and I let out a long rush of air to try to steady my nerves.

I very much dislike getting stuck in transit and losing control.

You can’t will a halted tube to move; trust me, I’ve tried.

There’s nothing I can do about the gridlock.

And even if I accept it, surrendering to the lack of control, I still get sweaty and panicky like now. There’s no winning.

I know it could be worse; I could be one of the people stuck on a toilet-less Lizzie Line train for hours who had to designate one corner a makeshift loo.

I suspect Victor is still watching me, so I force a smile that I’m not convinced wasn’t a Cheshire Cat-like grimace. Oh well. I tried.

Victor cranks up the air con and fresh cool air rushes across my hot face.

I block out the traffic and try to focus on what matters.

Falling in love and getting married is what every little girl dreams of.

I might be about to feel the spark, those fireworks that tell you that man is The One and you’re on track for a beautiful wedding, family, life. The whole shebang.

Congestion is temporary; true love is forever. That’s probably on a pillow somewhere.

It still counts as true love, no matter how you find it, right?

Not all of us can Disney princess it. If I lose a shoe in London, that’s gone forever and I’m barefoot.

Even if I did find a Prince Philip (Disney version, not the deceased royal family member), the idea of having hundreds of women try on my shoe is… well, gross.

I think I’m spiralling again.

I need something to do with my hands that isn’t picking at bits of my skin, so I smooth out the wide skirt of my dress, hoping the tucks and pleats still lie where they are supposed to, and that the bum isn’t too wrinkled.

I try to tune into the London skyline and work out how far we might be from the city farm I work at, or my house share. There’s no clear starry sky here, so navigation is all by buildings and landmarks. But try as I might, I can’t orient myself.

A driver behind us beeps their horn in a staccato beat, and each honk makes me jump. My heart beats wildly out of control.

I tap on my sternum in a steady rhythm to try to ground myself.

Don’t lose it, Carys.

I’m supposed to practise self-compassion when I’m finding things hard – that’s what my therapist used to say.

I give it a go. Yes, I’m nervous but it’s normal to be nervous before big life changes.

This is a pretty big life change. Not just the romance but the prospect of sharing part of a window-less East London warehouse with nine other women I’ll meet for the first time today. That might be the scariest part of all.

‘As we’re stuck here, why don’t you tell me about this show you’re going on?’ Victor’s voice is a beacon, calling me back to safety.

I’m so grateful for the distraction. I know most people think autistic people hate small talk, but I live for it.

I think that’s why I’ve done so well on the farm, where I’m constantly meeting new people, reeling out animal facts and pleasantries so we share a tiny moment of joy before they go back to their lives.

Those kinds of fleeting moments are much easier than building something bigger. There’s no pressure.

‘It’s a dating show. Wedded Bliss, have you heard of it?’ I say, hearing the rasp in my throat.

He shakes his head. ‘No, I haven’t. Is it like Love Island? Are they going to jet you off to a nice hotel?’ Victor glances again at the SatNav. ‘Poplar isn’t their usual sunny destination.’

I can’t help but laugh at that. ‘Basically, I’m going to find my husband.’

I’ve practised this conversation plenty of times, long before I told my family or my colleagues, who up until my last day at work thought I was off backpacking and had gifted me more DEET and factor 50 than I might ever need.

Luckily, the global success of the US seasons meant that most of them knew where I was going.

Turns out my sisters, Del and Ang, are big fans, deep in the gossip.

I told them I didn’t want to know much; I want to go in without any preconceptions.

The only thing they told me is that before the UK, Sunset Motions did a season in Australia that was a total disaster with only one wedding, and that couple broke up at the altar. Awful.

Despite their requests, obviously I didn’t ask any of the production team interviewing me for behind-the-scenes info. I don’t want to be a bother.

Anyway, I must say enough that something clicks for Victor. ‘Oh! Is that the one with the screens that go down every few dates so you end up seeing them and kissing before you get engaged? I think my Shreya watches that.’

‘That’s the one,’ I say, my knee bouncing with nerves. At first, I’d thought falling in love through voice alone was romantic, and now I’m just worried about everything hinging on me not saying the wrong thing.

‘Best thing I ever did was get married.’ He raises his hand from the steering wheel to show off a burnished gold band on his ring finger. ‘Forty years, four kids, a few grandkids on the way. Luckiest man alive, I am.’

Wow. That’s the kind of life I dream of. A family of your own built together. A whole life of lives.

‘Any advice for me?’

‘On life in general or marriage in particular?’

‘I don’t think we have enough time for you to fix my life,’ I laugh.

What do I want to know? You’d think I’d have talked to my parents about this.

They met as teenagers and are about to hit their fortieth wedding anniversary, but when I told them I was going on the show, we got distracted with Del and Ang explaining what it was.

Plus, the extent of their interest in my dating life is asking how the revolving door of men I see once is going.

‘What should I be looking for in someone that might mean they make a good partner?’

Victor nods slowly as he ponders my question. ‘Some people think it’s about liking the same things, that kind of hobby matching, but I don’t agree.’

This throws me. ‘Really?’ Wasn’t compatibility partly about liking the same things?

‘Oh yeah. Shreya has her Pilates and brunches with her friends and I like going to watch the cricket. We’ve done those things together before, but she hates sitting around in the stands and I am more of a jogging in the morning man.

It’s not that we don’t like spending time together, but we have our own things separate from our relationship. ’

I’m not sure I’m entirely following him, but I nod along eagerly so he doesn’t stop.

‘We have our separate lives as individuals, but we’ve made a life together.

And to do that, you need someone you can collaborate with.

That’s what a relationship is: a collaboration,’ he explains, and that part makes sense to me.

A shared life is like a group project you’re both invested in, I think.

‘For some people that’s a partner who challenges them or complements their own personality, but at the end of the day, they’ve got to be someone who always has your back and isn’t afraid to tell you when you’re wrong. ’